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A poem,

 c. 285 BC

Girl, why so miserly
With your virginity?
None will make love to you
In Hades down below.

Aphrodite’s joys
Are for live girls and boys.
We all as ash and bone
Lie down in Acheron.

Robert Herrick

“To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time,”


Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is sill a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may go marry;
For having lost but once your prime
You may forever tarry.

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