" 208
The whilst I speake, my soule is fleeting hence,
And life forsakes his fleshie residence.
Staie, staie sweete ioye, and leaue me not forlorne
Why shouldst thou fade that art but newelie borne? 212
"Staie but an houre, an houre is not so much:
But half an houre; if that thy haste is such,
Naie, but a quarter--I will aske no more--
That thy departure (which torments me sore), 216
Maie be alightned with a little pause,
And take awaie this passions sudden cause."
He heare's me not; hard-harted as he is,
He is the sonne of Time, and hates my blisse. 220
Time nere looke's backe, the riuers nere returne;
A second springe must help me or I burne.
No, no, the well is drye that should refresh me,
The glasse is runne of all my destinie: 224
Nature of winter learneth nigardize
Who, as he ouer-beares the streame with ice
That man nor beaste maie of their pleasance taste,
So shutts she up hir conduit all in haste, 228
And will not let hir Nectar ouer-flowe,
Least mortall man immortall ioyes should knowe.
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