Bid Me To Love, And I Will

Fight Thou With Shafts Of Silver, And O'ercome When No Force Else Can Get The Masterdom

When Words We Want, Love Teacheth To Indite; And What We Blush To Speak, She Bids Us Write.

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.

Bid Me To Love, And I Will Give A Loving Heart To Thee.

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