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 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.
Tell her, that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her graces spy'd,
That had'st thou sprung
In deserts where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended dy'd.
Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retir'd:
Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desir'd,
And not blush so to be admir'd.
Then die! that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee:
How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
GO, HAPPY ROSE!
Go, happy rose! and, interwove
With other flowers, bind my love!
Tell her, too, she must not be
Longer flowing, longer free,
That so oft hath fettered me.
Say, if she's fretful, I have bands
Of pearl and gold to bind her hands;
Tell her, if she struggles still,
I have myrtle rods at will,
For to tame, though not to kill.
Take then my blessing thus, and go,
And tell her this, but do not so!
Lest a handsome anger fly,
Like a lightning from her eye,
And burn thee up, as well as I.
Oн, what a plague is love!
I cannot bear it;
She will unconstant prove,
I greatly fear it:
It so torments my mind
That my heart faileth;
She wavers with the wind
As a ship saileth.
Please her the best I may,
She loves still to gainsay:
Alack, and well-a-day!
Phillida flouts me.
At the fair, t'other day,
As she passed by me,
She looked another way,
And would not spy me.
I wooed her for to dine,
But could not get her;
Dick had her to The Vine
He might entreat her;
With Daniel she did dance,
On me she would not glance:
Oh, thrice unhappy chance!
Phillida flouts me.
Fair maid, be not so coy-
Do not disdain me;
I am my mother's joy,-
Sweet, entertain me!
I shall have, when she dies,
All things that's fitting,-
Her poultry and her bees,
And her goose sitting;
A pair of mattress beds,
A barrelful of shreds;
And yet, for all these gauds,
Phillida flouts me!
I often heard her say
That she loved posies:
In the last month of May
I gave her roses;
Cowslips and gillyflowers,
And the sweet lily,
I got to deck the bowers
Of my dear Philly:
She did them all disdain,
And threw them back again:
Therefore 'tis flat and plain,
Phillida flouts me.
Thou shalt eat curds and cream
All the year lasting,
And drink the crystal stream,
Pleasant in tasting;
Swig whey until thou burst,
Eat bramble-berries,
Pye-lid and pastry crust,
Pears, plums, and cherries;
Thy garments shall be thin,
Made of a wether's skin:
Yet, all's not worth a pin,-
Phillida flouts me!
Which way soe'er I go,
She still torments me;
And whatsoe'er I do,
Nothing contents me.
I fade and pine away,
With griefs and sorrow;
I fall quite to decay,
Like any shadow :
I shall be dead, I fear,
Within a thousand year;
And all because my dear
Phillida flouts me.
Fair maiden, have a care!
And in time take me;
I can have those as fair,
If you forsake me :
There's Doll, the dairy-maid,
Smiled on me lately;
And wanton Winifred
Favors me greatly :
She throws milk on my clothes, Th'other plays with my nose: What pretty toys are those! Phillida flouts me!
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