dy， you deserve this state，Nor would I love at lower rate。But at my back I always hearTime’s wingèd chariot hurrying near；And yonder all before us lieDeserts of vast eternity。Thy beauty shall no more be found，Nor， in thy marble vault， shall soundMy echoing song： then worms shall tryThat long preserved virginity，And your quaint honour turn to dust，And into ashes all my lust：The grave’s a fine and private place，But none， I think， do there embrace。Now therefore， while the youthful hueSits on thy skin like morning dew，And while thy willing soul transpiresAt every pore with instant fires，Now let us sport us while we may，And now， like amorous birds of prey，Rather at once our time devourThan languish in his slow-chapt powerLet us roll all our strength and allOur sweetness up into one ball，And tea
