Some Asked Me Where The Rubies Grew,

Rise And Put On Your Foliage, And Be Seen To Come Forth, Like The Springtime, Fresh And Green

Happy Is The Bride That The Sun Shines On.

Praise They That Will Times Past, I Joy To See My Selfe Now Live: This Age Best Pleaseth Mee.

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.

Who With A Little Cannot Be Content, Endures An Everlasting Punishment.