The flower of love fades before love fades;
The nectar of friendship anon turns sour.
Therefore, my soul, fail not to seize the days,
And deny me not, when thou'rt in flower.
Time that this way comes is a wickéd thing
And he devours still our loving leisure;
So let thee now thy coyness away fling,
Or senescence will rob thee of thy pleasure.
Had we forty thousand years to embrace,
They would not, with all their love's quantity,
Make up the sum of this evanescent space,
The fineness of which lies in quality.
My love, I cuddle thee closely all the more
For I know thy beauty isn't mine e'ermore.
Fair cruelty, thinkest thou thy beauty
Be so eternal as thy innocent soul?
Not so, I must say, for mortality
Any fair of what validity renderth foul.
Thy soul also shall no God's honour win.
An denied, I shan't in this world linger;
Therefore, fair maid, thou must definitely sin
Of either fornication or murder.
Even thou'rt predestined, my love, to death
And cannot with thy Lord attain union,
Still we can blend our sweetest panting breath.
If so, shall we sport and play on and on?
An thou conceiv'st, thou shall not damnéd be;
Thy endless fairness in pictures of thee.