For Howd’yedoing ill are fit
The accents sadden’d by Goodby’ing,
Or to hail learning, verse, and wit,
Dull strains in broken measures dying.
Fancy, to youth’s delighted hand,
Her choicest flow’rs is still presenting,
Which time, in sovereign command,
Snatches with vigor unrelenting.
Thus time goes on, whilst time shall live,
Delay his weapons oft concealing,
And, when we’ve no more flow’rs to give,
At last, ourselves he thinks of stealing.
But round your circle as he flies
May time his ancient charter breaking,
In honor of the good and wise,
Be giving flow’rs instead of taking.