[Ed. Note: A clepsydra is a water clock which uses drops of water to measure the passage of time. --Nelson]

WHY, let is run! who bids it stay?

  Let us the while be merry;

Time there in water creeps away,

  With us it posts in sherry.

Time not employ'd's empty sound,

  Nor did kind Heaven lend it,

But that the glass should quick go round,

  And men in pleasure spend it.

Then set thy foot, brave boy, to mine,

  Ply quick to cure our thinking;

An hour-glass in an hour of wine

  Would be but lazy drinking.

The man that snores the hour-glass out

  Is truly a time-waster,

But we, who troll this glass about,

  Make him to post it faster.

Yet though he flies so fast, some think,

  'Tis well known to the sages,

He'll not refuse to stay and drink,

  And yet perform his stages.

Time waits us whilst we crown the hearth,

  And dotes on ruby faces,

And knows that this carrier of mirth

  Will help to mend our paces:

He stays with him that loves good time,

  And never does refuse it,

And only runs away from him

  That knows not how to use it.

He only steals by without noise

  From those in grief that waste it,

But lives with the mad roaring boys

  That husband it, and taste it.

The moralist perhaps may prate

  Of virtue from his reading,

'Tis all but stale and foisted chat

  To men of better breeding.

Time, to define it, is the space

  That men enjoy their being;

'Tis not the hour, but drinking glass,

  Makes time and life agreeing.

He wisely does oblige his fate

  Does cheerfully obey it,

And is of fops the greatest that

  By temp'rance thinks to stay it.

Come, ply the glass then quick about,

  To titillate the gullet,

Sobriety's no charm, I doubt,

  Against a cannon-bullet.

Charles Cotton

The Morning Quatrains

[Ed. Notes: In stanza 3, "In feathers found" means "in bed"; in stanza 6, Xanthus and Aethon are the horses who pulled the sun's chariot; in stanza 10, "Mull" is a cow who is unmilked and thus "straddles" her bag; in stanza 11, "Imprime" is a hunting call intended to arouse quarry; in stanza 14, "purlews" are tracts of land on the fringe of a forest; in stanza 17, "riddance" means to make forward progress; in stanza 18, "snies" means "to swarm." --Nelson]

THE cock has crow'd an hour ago,

'Tis time we now dull sleep forego;

Tir'd Nature is by sleep redress'd,

And Labour's overcome by rest.

We have out-done the work of Night,

'Tis time we rise t'attend the Light,

And e'er he shall his beams display,

To plot new bus'ness for the Day.

None but the slothful, or unsound,

Are by the Sun in feathers found,

Nor, without rising with the Sun,

Can the world's bus'ness e'er be done.

Hark! Hark! the watchful Chanticler

Tells us the Day's bright harbinger

Peeps o'er the eastern hills, to awe

And warm night's sov'reign to withdraw.

The morning curtains now are drawn,

And now appears the blushing dawn;

Aurora has her roses shed,

To strew the way Sol's steeds must tread.

Xanthus and Aethon harness'd are,

To roll away the burning car,

And, snorting flame, impatient bear

The dressing of the charioteer.

The sable cheeks of sullen Night

Are streak'd with rosy streams of light,

Whilst she retires away in fear,

To shade the other hemisphere.

The merry lark now takes her wings,

And long'd-for Day's loud welcome sings,

Mounting her body out of sight,

As if she meant to meet the Light.

Now doors and windows are unbarr'd,

Each-where are cheerful voices heard,

And round about "Good-morrows" fly,

As if Day taught Humanity.

The chimnies now to smoke begin,

And the old wife sits down to spin,

Whilst Kate, taking her pail, does trip

Mull's swoll'n and straddl'ing paps to strip.

Vulcan now makes his anvil ring,

Dick whistles loud, and Maud doth sing,

And Silvio with his bugle horn

Winds an Imprime unto the Morn.

Now through the morning doors behold

Phoebus array'd in burning gold,

Lashing his fiery steeds, displays

His warm and all-enlight'ning rays.

Now each one to his work prepares,

All that have hands are labourers,

And manufactures of each trade

By op'ning shops are open laid.

Hob yokes his oxen to the team,

The angler goes unto the stream,

The woodman to the purlews hies,

And lab'ring bees to load their thighs.

Fair Amarillis drives her flocks,

All night safe-folded from the fox,

To flow'ry downs, where Colin stays,

To court her with his roundelays.

The traveller now leaves his inn

A new day's journey to begin,

As he would post it with the day,

And early rising makes good way.

The slick-fac'd school-boy satchel takes,

And with slow pace small riddance makes;

For why, the haste we make, you know

To Knowledge and to Virtue's slow.

The fore-horse jingles on the road,

The wagoner lugs on his load,

The field with busy people snies,

And city rings with various cries.

The World is now a busy swarm,

All doing good, or doing harm;

But let's take heed our acts be true,

For Heaven's eye sees all we do.

None can that piercing sight evade,

It penetrates the darkest shade,

And sin, though it could 'scape the eye,

Would be discover'd by the cry.

Charles Cotton

The Noon Quatrains

THE Day grows hot, and darts his rays

From such a sure and killing place,

That half this World are fain to fly

The danger of his burning eye.

His early glories were benign,

Warm to be felt, bright to be seen,

And all was comfort, but who can

Endure him when Meridian?

Of him we as of kings complain,

Who mildly do begin to reign,

But to the Zenith got of pow'r,

Those whom they should protect devour.

Has not another Phaeton

Mounted the chariot of the Sun,

And, wanting art to guide his horse,

Is hurri'd from the Sun's due course.

If this hold on, our fertile lands

Will soon be turn'd to parched sands,

And not an onion that will grow

Without a Nile to overflow.

The grazing herds now droop and pant,

E'en without labour fit to faint,

And willingly forsook their meat*          [food]

To seek out cover from the heat.

The lagging ox is no unbound,

From larding* the new turn'd up ground,            [pressing down]

Whilst Hobbinal alike o'er-laid*,          [burdened]

Takes his coarse dinner to the shade.

Cellars and grottos now are best

To eat and drink in, or to rest,

And not a soul above is found

Can find a refuge under ground.

When pagan tyranny grew hot,

Thus persecuted Christians got

Into the dark but friendly womb

Of unknown subterranean Rome*.          [the Roman catacombs]

And as that heat did cool at last,

So a few scorching hours o'er-pass'd,

In a more mild and temp'rate ray

We may again enjoy the Day.

Charles Cotton

The Evening Quatrains

[Ed. Notes: Polyphemus was the giant Cyclops who imprisoned Odysseus and his crew in Homer's Odyssey, Book IX; in stanza 7, clothes were generally draped over hedges in order to dry after being washed. --Nelson]

THE Day's grown old, the fainting Sun

Has but a little way to run,

And yet his steeds, with all his skill,

Scarce lug the chariot down the hill.

With labour spent, and thirst opprest,

Whilst they strain hard to gain the West,

From fetlocks hot drops melted light,

Which turn to meteors in the Night.

The shadows now so long do grow,

That brambles like tall cedars show,

Mole-hills seem mountains, and the ant

Appears a monstrous elephant.

A very little little flock

Shades thrice the ground that it would stock;

Whilst the small stripling following them

Appears a mighty Polypheme.

These being brought into the fold,

And by the thrifty master told*,          [counted]

He thinks his wages are well paid,

Since none are either lost or stray'd.

Now lowing herds are each-where heard,

Chains rattle in the villian's* yard,          [farmer]

The cart's on tail set down to rest,

Bearing on high the cuckold's crest.

The hedge is stripp'd, the clothes brought in,

Nought's left without should be within,

The bees are hiv'd, and hum their charm,

Whilst every house does seem a swarm.

The cock now to the roost is press'd:

For he must call up all the rest;

The sow's fast-pegg'd within the sty,

To still her squeaking progeny.

Each one has had his supping mess*,          [meal]

The cheese is put into the press,

The pans and bowls are scalded all,

Rear'd up against the milk-house wall.

And now on benches all are sat

In the cool air to sit and chat,

Till Phoebus, dipping in the West,

Shall lead the World the way to rest.

Charles Cotton

The Night Quatrains

[Ed. Notes: In stanza 9, "tire" means to form the metal rim of a wheel; in stanza 11, "Vulcans means "volcanos"; in stanza 12, Nyctimine (pronounced "nick-TIM-uh-nee") means the bat, and "ferret note" means "hunting call"; in stanza 14, "leaven" refers to a ball of dough from an earlier batch of bread dough used to create fermentation in a new batch of dough, and "bucking" means cloth which is being bleached in a mixture of water and wood-ash; in stanza 15, a "ban-dog" is a watchdog; in stanza 16,"Philomel" means "nightingale," the "bittern" is a heron-like marshbird noted for its booming call, Reynard means "fox," and the "Capitolian cry" is the sound of startled geese; in stanza 118, "cropala" means "hangover." --Nelson]

THE Sun is set, and gone to sleep

With the fair princess of the deep,

Whose bosom is his cool retreat,

When fainting with his proper heat;

His steeds their flaming nostrils cool

In spume of the cerulean pool;

Whilst the wheels dip their hissing naves*          [hubs]

Deep in Columbus's western waves.

From whence great rolls of smoke arise

To overshade the beauteous skies,

Who bid the World's bright eye adieu

In gelid tears of falling dew.

And now from the Iberian vales

Night's sable steeds her chariot hales,

Where double cypress curtains screen

The gloomy melancholic queen.

These, as they higher mount the sky,

Ravish all colour from the ey,

And leave it but an useless glass*,          [mirror]

Which few or no reflections grace.

The crystal arch o'er Pinduss crown

Is on a sudden dusky grown,

And all's with fun'ral black o'erspread,

As if the Day, which sleeps, were dead.

No ray of Light the heart to cheer,

But little twinkling stars appear,

Which like faint dying embers lie,

Fit not to work nor travel by.

Perhaps to him they torches are,

Who guide Night's sov'reign's drowsy car,

And him they may befriend so near,

But us they neither light nor cheer.

Or else those little sparks of Light

Are nails that tire the wheels of Night,

Which to new stations still are brought

As they roll o'er the gloomy vault,

Or nails that arm the horse's hoof

Which trampling o'er the marble roof

And striking fire in the air,

We mortals call a shooting star.

That's all the Light we now receive,

Unless what belching Vulcans give,

And those yield such a kind of Light

As adds more horror to the Night.

Nyctimine now freed from Day,

From sullen bush flies out to prey,

And does with ferret note proclaim

Th'arrival of th'usurping Dame.

The rail now cracks in fields and meads,

Toads now forsake the nettle-beds,

The tim'rous hare goes to relief,

And wary men bolt out the thief.

The fire's new rak'd, and hearth swept clean

By Madge, the dirty kitchen quean*,          [servant]

The safe is lock'd, the mouse-trap set,

The leaven laid, and bucking wet.

Now in false floors and roofs above,

The lustful cats make ill-tun'd love,

The ban-dog on the dunghill lies,

And watchful nurse sings lullabies.

Philomel chants it whilst she bleeds,

The bittern booms it in the reeds,

And Reynard ent'ring the back yard,

The Capitolian cry is heard.

The Goblin now the fool alarms,

Hags meet to mumble o'er their charms;

The Night Mare rides the dreaming ass,

And Fairies trip it on the grass.

The drunkard now supinely snores,

His load of ale sweats through his pores,

Yet when he wakes the swine shall find

A cropala remains behind.

The sober now and chaste are blest

With sweet, and with refreshing rest,

And to sound sleeps they've best pretence,

Have greatest share of Innocence.

We should so live then that we may

Fearless put off our clots and clay,

And travel through Death's shades to Light,

For every Day must have its Night.

Charles Cotton