Old time is still a-flying;
GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
And the same flower that smiles today
The higher he's a-getting,
Tomorrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven the sun,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
And, while ye may, go marry;
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
For, having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.