Time Was Upon The Wing, To Fly Away; And I Call'D On Him But Awhile To Stay; But he'd Be Gone, For Aught That I Could Say. He Held Out Then A Writing, As He Went, And Ask'D Me, When False Man Would Be Content To Pay Again What God And Nature Lent. An Hour-Glass, In Which Were Sands But Few, As He Did Pass, He Shew'D, And Told Me Too Mine End Near Was; And So Away He Flew.