Gather ye rosebuds 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'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 forever tarry.