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 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.

Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.

When a daffadill I see, Hanging down his head towards me, Guess I may, what I must be: First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead: Lastly, safely buryed.

Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.

What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.

Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse; Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.

My soul I'll pour into thee.