Old Time, thou'rt a sluggard;
how long dost thou stay;
Say, where are the wings, with which poets adorn thee?
Sure ‘twas some happy being, who ne'er was away
From the friend he most loved, and who wished to have shorn thee,
First drew thee with pinions; for had he e'er known
A long separation, so slow dost thou move,
He'd have pictured thee lame, and with fetters bound down;
So tedious is absence to friendship and love.
I am sure thou'rt a cheat,
for I often have wooed thee
To tarry, when blest with the friend of my heart:
But you vanished with speed, tho' I eager pursued thee,
Entreating thee not in such haste to depart.
Then, wretch, thou wast deaf, nor wouldst hear my petition,
But borrowed the wings of a sparrow or dove;
And now, when I wish thee to take thy dismission
Till those hours shall return, thou refusest to move.