Charles Morris, Time's Favourites
, in Lyra Urbanica; or, The Social Effusions of the Celebrated Captain Charles Morris of the Late Life-Guards
, vol. II (London: Richard Bentley, 1840), pp. 127-128:
Since Time with his scythe can cut down at his pleasure,
And our lives by the sands of his glass he can measure,
To merit his grace, with good cheer let's expect him,
And show Time, while coming, we scorn to neglect him.
Then he'll say, "Here it's fit I should lengthen Life's cable,
For Time's duly prized and well used at this table."
Then he'll turn round his scythe to the sullen and sour,
Those dull dogged mortals who growl through their hour:
To these is old Time still a guest so unpleasant,
That to kill him's the object, whenever he's present;
And Time, a revenge for such murder still keeping,
Holds his scythe ever ready to give them a sweeping.
These foul human plants, whose sharp juice ever sours,
Who are scatter'd like poisonous weeds among flowers;
Who rise against man's social joys, as life-haters,
And mix in Mirth's cup the black gall of their natures;
These weeds let us hope Time will ever be mowing,
And thin them, at least, where our goblets are flowing.
Time sometimes has wings, and he sometimes has crutches,
He moves in all forms, and all regions he touches;
But he's kindest to those who in mirth still receive him,
And keeps off his scythe, still the longer to leave 'em.
Thus we, round our bowls, are so fond to detain him,
He's pleased to stay with us, and help us to drain 'em.
Then on Time let's rely; we deserve all his favour—
To charm him with mirth is our constant endeavour;
To welcome with smiles every step of his way too,
To cheer him with cordials by night and by day too;
And so sweet pass his days and his nights in all weather,
That Time still delights to long leave us together.