The lazy hours move slow,
The minutes stay;
Old time with leaden feet doth goe,
And his light wings hath cast away;

The slow pac'd spheres above
Have sure releas'd
Their guardians, and without help move,
Whilest that the weary Angels rest;

The numbred sands that slide
Through this small glass,
And into moments time divide,
Too slow each other do displace;

The tedious wheels of light
No faster climbe
Then that dull shade which waits on night,
For expectation out-runs time:

How long Lord must I stay?
How long dwel here?
Oh free me from this loathed clay;
Let me no more these fetters ware;

With how much joy shall I
Resign my breath;
For to my grieved soul not to die
Is every minute a new death.