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Page 66 - The nearer he's to setting. 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, And while ye may, go marry : For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.
Page 273 - That soils my land, And giv'st me, for my bushel sown, Twice ten for one ; Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay Her egg each day; Besides, my healthful ewes to bear Me twins each year ; The while the conduits of my kine Run cream, for wine...
Page 137 - TO BLOSSOMS FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast ? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile, To blush and gently smile, And go at last. What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night?
Page 55 - Come, let us go while we are in our prime; And take the harmless folly of the time. We shall grow old apace, and die Before we know our liberty. Our life is short, and our days run As fast away as does the sun; And, as a vapour or a drop of rain, Once lost, can ne'er be found again, So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade, All love, all liking, all delight Lies drowned with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, Come, my Corinna, come, let's go...
Page 225 - AH, Ben ! Say how or when Shall we, thy guests, Meet at those lyric feasts Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun ; Where we such clusters had As made us nobly wild, not mad ? And yet each verse of thine Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
Page 67 - I'll give o'er, And bid the world good-night.. "Pis but a flying minute That I must stay, Or linger in it ; And then I must away. O time that cut'st down all ! And scarce leav'st here Memorial Of any men that were. How many lie forgot In vaults beneath ? And piecemeal rot Without a fame in death ? Behold this living stone I rear for me, Ne'er to be thrown Down, envious Time, by thee. Pillars let some set up, If so they please : Here is my hope And my Pyramides.
Page 28 - About the sweet bag of a bee Two cupids fell at odds ; And whose the pretty prize should be, They vowed to ask the gods. Which, Venus hearing, thither came, And for their boldness stript them ; And taking thence from each his flame, With rods of myrtle whipt them. Which done, to still their wanton cries When quiet grown she'd seen them, She kissed and wiped their dove-like eyes, And gave the bag between them.
Page 168 - Since ghost there is none to affright thee. Let not the dark thee cumber ; What though the moon does slumber? The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear without number.