Take Time, while Time is:
Being an Exhortation to all sorts or Sexes, of what Degree
soever, from the Highest to the Lowest, Old or Young,
Rich or Poore. To the Tune of,
The Ladies Daughter of Paris.
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OH stay a while you lusty Lads,
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that seeme to skip and mount,
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From me your aged Patron,
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although you make no count
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Of Father, Mother, kith or kin,
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what ever they doe say,
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You snuffe and snort when they correct,
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you flie and will not stay.
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Oh stay, I say, and learne of me
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a Lesson by the way:You are unfit for any use,
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seeing youl not obey.
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Behold, I say, the Picture now
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that here doth stand above,
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And be you warnd by what I say,
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if that your selves you love.
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To you he offers now himselfe,
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untill your thred be spun;
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But as he offers, steales away
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untill your thred be done.
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Lay hold on him therefore, I say,
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and say, I warnd anew,
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Lest that he steale away from you,
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and bid you so adiew.
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For Time doth stay here for no man,
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beet King, beet Prince, beet Peere;
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He leaves them to what life they will,
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beet joy, beet love, beet feare:Beet life or death, I say, or ought
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that blind Fate doth ordaine,
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As some in bed asleepe we see,
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and some in field are slaine.
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His Glasse that in his hand he holds
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doth cut off all delay,
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His Wings that on his backe do sticke,
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do shew he cannot stay
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For any that comes after him,
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be he swarthy or faire;
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But he must come and stand before,
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and take hold of his haire:
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And when that you have hold of it,
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in no case let it goe;
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For having once forsooke him quite,
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your footsteps are too slow
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For to lay hold on him againe,
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when once that he is past:
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So Fortunes favours, you must thinke,
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with youl not alwaies last.
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The second Part, To the same tune.
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THe Dyall fixt upon his Head,
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most evident doth shew,
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How fleeting is this mortall life,
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and Time doth alwayes goe,
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Although wee not perceive it moove,
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old age doth come at last,
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And brings diseases on us all,
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our lives are but a blast.
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His Sythe within the other hand,
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doth shew how he cuts downe
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The lives of all, from great to small,
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from Cottage to the Crowne:
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We are like grasse which soone doth fade,
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and withereth in an hower,
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When Time is past, grim Death doth come,
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and seazeth with his power.
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The Flowers like to Youthfulnesse,
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is fragrant, sweet, and fayre,
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But soone is pluckt, and vanished,
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as is the smoke in ayre;
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The swift wingd Swallow shewes us plaine
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how Time doth fleet away,
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We Summer have, and Winter eke,
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and Time for none will stay.
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What though thy Father he be rich,
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and thou be yong in yeares,
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Thinkst thou that God hath no meanes left
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to blast thy Fathers eares
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Of Corne, or Cattell, or what else
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that doth maintaine his fame?Yea, God hath meanes enough in store
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for to confound the same.
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But oh, the mighty number now,
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that in this Land there be,
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That doe goe up to brave London,
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out of their owne Countrey.
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And there to sport, and play their fill,
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they make it all their joy:Their carefull Parents counsels all,
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they make of them a toy.
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But if thou followst on this life,
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and meanst therein to lie,
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Thou shalt be barred from Gods blisse,
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and damnd eternally.
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But be thou ruled by thy friends
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when Counsell they thee give,
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And God shall prosper all thy waies,
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that thou long daies maist live.
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Make much of Time therefore, I say,
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before that thou beest old,
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Lest that he tell thee to thy teeth,
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that thou art too too bold,
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To trust unto this winged man
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that flieth on so fast:For if thou carst not what I say,
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Repentance comes at last.
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But now to make an end with you,
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hoping you know my mind,
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Concerning this same Picture here,
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that I have so defind:If that you marke it well, I say,
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and what therein is meant,
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I hope youl turne your bias round,
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and of the same repent.
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And let us pray unto our God,
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to blesse our soveraigne King,
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Under whose happy government,
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we injoy every thing
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That God evn of his mercie gives,
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and downe upon us sends:
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He grant we may be thankfull still,
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and send us blessed ends.
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