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 And moons to wane But they fill up their ebbs again; But vanish'd man, Like to a lily lost, ne'er can, Ne'er can repullulate, or bring His days to see a second spring.

But on we must, and thither tend, Where Anchus and rich Tullus blend Their sacred seed: Thus has infernal Jove decreed; We must be made, Ere long a song, ere long a shade. Why then, since life to us is short, Let's make it full up by our sport.

Crown we our heads with roses then, And 'noint with Tyrian balm; for when We two are dead, The world with us is buried. Then live we free As is the air, and let us be Our own fair wind, and mark each one Day with the white and lucky stone.

We are not poor, although we have No roofs of cedar, nor our brave