Belongs, as yet, thou knowst not unto whom.

The present-houres are thine, and, onely those,

Of which thou hast Commission to dispose;

And, they from thee, doe flye away so fast,

That, they are scarcely knowne, till they are past.

Lord, give mee grace, to minde, and use Time so,

That, I may doe thy worke, before I goe.


Repent, or God will breake the thread,
By which, thy doome hangs o're thy head.