164
COWLEY'S POEMS.
With thine old year its voyage take,
Borne down that stream of Time which no return can make!
Borne down that stream of Time which no return can make!
Alas! what need I thus to pray?
Th' old avaricious year,
Whether I would or no, will bear
At least a part of me away:
His well-hors'd troops, the months, and days, and hours,
Though never any-where they stay,
Make in their passage all their prey;
The months, days, hours, that march i' th' rear, can find
Nought of value left behind.
All the good wine of life our drunken youth devours;
Sourness and lees, which to the bottom sink,
Remain for latter years to drink;
Until, some one offended with the taste,
The vessel breaks, and out the wretched relicks run at last.
Th' old avaricious year,
Whether I would or no, will bear
At least a part of me away:
His well-hors'd troops, the months, and days, and hours,
Though never any-where they stay,
Make in their passage all their prey;
The months, days, hours, that march i' th' rear, can find
Nought of value left behind.
All the good wine of life our drunken youth devours;
Sourness and lees, which to the bottom sink,
Remain for latter years to drink;
Until, some one offended with the taste,
The vessel breaks, and out the wretched relicks run at last.
If then, young Year! thou needst must come
(For in Time's fruitful womb
The birth beyond its time can never tarry,
Nor ever can miscarry);
Choose thy attendants well; for ’tis not thee
We fear, but ’tis thy company:
Let neither Loss of Friends, or Fame, or Liberty,
Nor pining Sickness, nor tormenting Pain,
Nor Sadness, nor uncleanly Poverty,
Be seen among thy train:
(For in Time's fruitful womb
The birth beyond its time can never tarry,
Nor ever can miscarry);
Choose thy attendants well; for ’tis not thee
We fear, but ’tis thy company:
Let neither Loss of Friends, or Fame, or Liberty,
Nor pining Sickness, nor tormenting Pain,
Nor Sadness, nor uncleanly Poverty,
Be seen among thy train:
