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.