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Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still aflying, And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.

Give me a kisse, and to that kisse a score; Then to that twenty, adde a hundred more; A thousand to that hundred; so kisse on, To make that thousand up a million; Treble that million, and when that is done, Let's kisse afresh, as when we first begun.

Give, if thou can, an alms; if not, a sweet and gentle word.

If a little labour, little are our gains. Man's fortunes are according to his pains.

In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, without the sweet concurrence of the heart.

In vain our labours are, whatsoe'er they be, unless God gives the Benediction.




You say to me-ward's your affection's strong; Pray love me little, so you love me long.

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