Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapped power.

My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow.

But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.

Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns

So much one man can do that does both act and know.

Art indeed is long, but life is short.

Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.