And it is marvel he outdwells his hour
And it is marvel he outdwells his hour,
For lovers ever run before the clock.
O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
To seal love's bonds new-made than they are wont
To keep obligèd faith unforfeited.
That ever holds. Who riseth from a feast
With that keen appetite that he sits down?
Where is the horse that doth untread again
His tedious measures with the unbated fire
That he did pace them first? All things that are,
Are with more spirit chasèd than enjoyed.
How like a younger or a prodigal
The scarfèd bark puts from her native bay,
Hugged and embracèd by the strumpet wind;
How like the prodigal doth she return
With overweathered ribs and raggèd sails,
Lean, rent, and beggared by the strumpet wind!