"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,