Now let us sport us while we may; / And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour, / Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all / Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife / Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun / Stand still, yet we will make him run.