GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
- Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today
- 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.
