Oh sacred Time! how soon thou'rt gone!
How swift thy circling Minutes run!
Oh Time! our chiefest worldly Good,
If we employ Thee as we shou'd!
And yet how few thy Value know,
But think thee troublsome and slow!
(Motion and Rest fill up our Time,
And little, Oh my Soul, is thine!)
We eat, we drink, we sleep, and then
We rise — — to do the same again:
And thus like Fairies daily tread,
The same dull Round our Predecessors led,

Young Lydia prudent was and fair,
Was all that virtuous Women are;
And yet how soon her Glass was run,
How short her fatal Thread was spun!
How know we our appointed Fate,
Whether ordain'd us soon or late?
Health is uncertain, Death is more;
And much we have to do before.

Ah then, my Friend, let us be wise;
No more the precious Gift despise;
But use it for the End 'twas giv'n,
And prove we're Candidates of Heav'n.
Let others to the Play repair,
Be courted and reputed fair:
Whole Winter-Nights at Ombre play
To pass the Drug of Time away.
While we our better Parts employ,
And placidly our Souls enjoy:
Praising that Pow'r did us create;
But more the Love redeem'd our Fate.
Then with th' illustrious Dead converse,
And sometimes with a Friend in Verse.
Thus in the Culture of the Mind,
Improve those Hours by Fate assign'd:
So shall we from superfluous Time be free:
'Tis Want of Sense makes Superfluity.