Of hair upon his forehead while his head is bald Except the lock upon his forehead and called time Times very quick and therefore he has wings When past times gone for ever so he has a lock Of hair upon his forehead and the proverb is
Take time by his forelock he mows down every thing And so he has a scythe time is so quick That might a year be called a day Day now I think of it ʼtis newyearsday
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And now I must return to time Is time only a figure no he is not What is he then what is he I dont know Heʼs not a quality of that Iʼm sure Oh I remember now he is a god
Entitled Saturn heʼs a heathen god And well he might be called one none but they Could go so quick or jump from tween our hands As time does,
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time Iʼm quite away from him Away from him no surely Iʼm not so
For Iʼm at heathen gods and heʼs a god So though I may be from him Iʼm not far From him and now I must go to him quite Tis but an hour to merry Newyearsday
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For though it is a‐day a‐dayʼs an hour
And whatʼs an hour ʼtis only a wee minute Made so by the quick course of time So mr time as Iʼve said all about you All Iʼve to say I must take leave of you