Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, while we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
