And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.
Ronsard, pleading with his mistress, strikes the same relentless note:—
Donc, si vous me croyez, Mignonne,
Tandis que vostre âge fleuronne
En sa plus vert nouveauté,