Persuasions to Enjoy

If the quick spirits in your eye  Now languish and anon must die;  If every sweet and every grace  Must fly from that forsaken face;
Then,

Celia, let us reap our joys
Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys.
Or if that golden fleece must grow  For ever free from agèd snow;  If those bright suns must know no shade,  Nor your fresh beauties ever fade;
Then fear not,

Celia, to bestow
What, still being gather'd, still must grow.
Thus either Time his sickle brings  In vain, or else in vain his wings.