Perswasions to enjoy

IF the quick spirits in your eye Now languish, and anon must die; If every sweet, and every grace Must fly from that forsaken face; Then, Celia, let us reap our joys, Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys.

Or if that golden fleece must grow Forever, free from aged snow; If those bright suns must know no shade, Nor your fresh beauties ever fade; Then fear not, Celia, to bestow What, still being gathered, still must grow. Thus, either Time his sickle brings In vain, or else in vain his wings.