"Love from Time's Wings has stol'n the Feathers sure

He has, and put them to his own:

For Hours of late as long as Days endure,

And very Minutes Hours are grown."—Cowley.

Or of eight and six in the like manner; as,

"Then ask not Bodies doom'd to die,

To what Abode they go:

Since Knowledge is but Sorrow's Spy,

'Tis better not to know."—Davenant.

Or of seven; as,