To the Virgins, To Make much of TimeGather 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.

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,Old Time is still a-flying;And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.

If little labour, little are our gains:Man's fortunes are according to his pains.

Tumble me down, and I will sitUpon my ruines (smiling yet:)Teare me to tatters; yet I'le bePatient in my necessitie.Laugh at my scraps of cloathes, and shunMe, as a fear'd infection:Yet scarre-crow-like I'le walk as one,Neglecting thy derision.

Tears are the noble language of eyes, and when true love of words is destitute. The eye by tears speak, while the tongue is mute.

In vain our labours are whatsoe'er they be unless God gives the Benediction.

In vain our labours are whatsoe'er they be unless God gives the Benediction.

Whenas in silks my Julia goes Then then methinks how sweetly flows The liquefaction of her clothes!

But ne'er the rose without the thorn.

Who covets more is evermore a slave.

Give if thou can an alms if not a sweet and gentle word.

Give me a kisse and to that kisse a score Then to that twenty adde a hundred more A thousand to that hundred so kisse on To make that thousand up a million Treble that million and when that is done Let's kisse afresh as when we first begun.

Like will to like each creature loves his kind.

You say to me-ward's your affection's strong Pray love me little so you love me long.

In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part without the sweet concurrence of the heart.

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may Old Time is still aflying And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying.

If a little labour little are our gains. Man's fortunes are according to his pains.