Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet’s pace,
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is our gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb’d,
And last of all thy greedy self consum’d,
Then long eternity shall greet our bliss