’Tis I who measure vital Space,
And deal out Years to human Race.
Tho' little priz'd and seldom sought,
Without me Love and Gold are nought; By me all useful Arts are gain'd,
Wealth, Learning, Wisdom is attain'd;
So subtle and so swift I fly,
Loves not more fugitive than I.
How heedless then are Mortals grown;
How little is their Int'rest known;
In ev'ry View they ought to mind me;
For when once lost they never find me.
