It Is An Active Flame That Fliesfirst

To The Virgins, To Make Much Of Time Gather Ye Rose-buds While Ye May, Old Time Is Still A-flying; And This Same Flower That Smiles Today, Tomorrow Will Be Dying. The Glorious Lamp Of Heaven, The Sun, The Higher He’s A-getting, The Sooner Will His Race Be Run, And Nearer He Is To Setting. That Age Is Best Which Is The First, When Youth And Blood Are Warmer; But Being Spent, The Worse, And Worst Times Still Succeed The Former. Then Be Not Coy, But Use Your Time, And While You May, Go Marry; For Having Lost But Once Your Prime, You May For Ever Tarry.

In Things A Moderation Keep; Kings Ought To Shear, Not Skin, Their Sheep.

Twixt Kings And Tyrants There's This Difference Known; Kings Seek Their Subjects' Good: Tyrants Their Own.

Some Asked Me Where The Rubies Grew, And Nothing I Did Say; But With My Finger Pointed To The Lips Of Julia.

It Is The End That Crowns Us, Not The Fight.