Oh girl of mine, where do you roam?
 O, stay and hear; your true love's come,
   That can sing both high and low.
 Go on no more, my fresh-faced sweet;
 For trips do end when true loves meet,
   As each wise man's son doth know.

 What is love? 'tis not what lasts;
 The mirth of now is but now's laughs;
   What's to come is still not sure:
 To pass on things, there's not a lot;
 Then come and kiss me, sweet I've caught,
   Youth's a stuff 'twill stay no more.

                                -- Will the Bard
                                   from TWELFTH NIGHT