Seldom Comes Glory Till A Man Be

Gather Ye Rose-buds While Ye May, Old Time Is Still A Flying: And This Same Flower That Smiles To Day, Tomorrow Will Be Dying.

Let My Muse Fail Of Thy Former Helps, And Only Use Her Inadulterate Strength. What's Done By Me Hereafter Shall Smell Of The Lamp, Not Thee.

He Loves His Bonds Who, When The First Are Broke, Submits His Neck Into A Second Yoke.

You Say To Me-wards Your Affection's Strong; Pray Love Me Little, So You Love Me Long.

Then Be Not Coy, But Use Your Time; And While Ye May, Go Marry: For Having Lost But Once Your Prime, You May For Ever Tarry.