Gather ye rose-buds while ye may: br Old Time is still a-flying; br And this same flower that smiles to-day, br To-morrow will be dying. br br The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, br The higher he's a-getting, br The sooner will his race be run, br And nearer he's to setting. br br That age is best, which is the first, br When youth and blood are warmer; br But being spent, the worse, and worst br Times, still succeed the former. br br --Then be not coy, but use your time, br And while ye may, go marry; br For having lost but once your prime, br You may for ever tarry.