Gather Ye Rosebuds, While Ye

Some Asked Me Where The Rubies Grew, And Nothing I Did Say; But With My Finger Pointed To The Lips Of Julia.

When The Tempter Me Pursueth With The Sins Of All My Youth, And Half Damns Me With Untruth, Sweet Spirit, Comfort Me!

Next, When I Cast Mine Eyes And See That Brave Vibration Each Way Free, O How That Glittering Taketh Me!

To The Virgins, To Make Much Of Time Gather Ye Rose-buds While Ye May, Old Time Is Still A-flying; And This Same Flower That Smiles Today, Tomorrow 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 Is 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 You May, Go Marry; For Having Lost But Once Your Prime, You May For Ever Tarry.

Let Wealth Come In By Comely Thrift, And Not By Any Sordid Shift; 't Is Haste Makes Waste; Extremes Have Still Their Fault. Who Gripes Too Hard The Dry And Slipp'ry Sand, Holds None At All, Or Little, In His Hand.