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.