Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599)

FRESH Spring, the herald of love’s mighty king,

In whose coat-armor richly are displayed

All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring,

In goodly colors gloriously arrayed,

Go to my Love, where she is careless laid

Yet in her winter’s bower, not well awake:

Tell her the joyous time will not be stayed,

Unless she do him by the forelock take;

Bid her therefòre herself soon ready make,

To wait on Love amongst his lovely crew;

Where every one that misseth then her make,

Shall be by him amerced with penance due.

Make haste therefòre, sweet love, whilst it is prime;

For none can call again the passéd time.