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 hue
Sits on thy skin like m dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At 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 devour
Than languish in his sloed power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thh the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we ake our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
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 hue
Sits on thy skin like m dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At 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 devour
Than languish in his sloed power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thh the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we ake our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.