And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And 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.
Say, are thy medicines made to beHelps to all others but to me?I’ll leave thee, and to Pansies come:Comforts you’ll afford me some:You can ease my heart, and doWhat Love could ne’er be brought unto.
Than a Carol, for to singThe Birth of this our heavenly King?Awake the Voice! Awake the String!Heart, Ear, and Eye, and every thingAwake! the while the active FingerRuns division with the Singer.From the Flourish they came to the Song.Voice 1:Dark and dull night, fly hence away,And give the honor to this Day,That sees December turn’d…
This way, that way, that way, this,–Here and there a fresh Love is;That doth like me, this doth please;–Thus a thousand mistressesI have now: yet I alone,Having all, enjoy not one!
–From powders and perfumes keep free;Then we shall smell how sweet you be!
Rake the fire up, and getWater in, ere sun be set.Wash your pails and cleanse your dairies,Sluts are loathsome to the fairies;Sweep your house; Who doth not so,Mab will pinch her by the toe.
