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Authors:

Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour. Than languish in his slow-chapt power. Let us roll all our strength and all. Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife. Thorough the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun. Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Andrew Marvell