Time was upon
The wing, to fly away;
And I call’d on
Him but awhile to stay;
But he’d be gone,
For aught that I could say.
He held out then
A writing, as he went,
And ask’d me, when
False man would be content
To pay again
What God and Nature lent.
An hour-glass,
In which were sands but few,
As he did pass,
He shew’d,–and told me too
Mine end near was;–
And so away he flew.
(Robert Herrick)
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