Classic Poem

Mark that swift Arrow how it cuts the air,
How it out-runs thy hunting eye,
Use all persuasions now, and try
If thou canst call it backe, or stay it there.
That way it went, but thou shalt find
No tract of 't left behind.
Fool, 'tis thy life, and the fond Archer , thou,
Of all the time thou'st shot away
I'le bid thee fetch but yesterday,
And it shall be too hard a task to do.
Besides repentance, what canst find
That it hath left behind?
Our life is carried with too strong a tide,
A doubtful Cloud our substance beares,
And is the Horse of all our years
Each day doth on a winged whirl-wind ride
We and our Glass run out, and must
Both render up our dust.
But his past life who without grief can see,
Who never thinks his end too near,
But says to Fame , thou art mine Heir :
That man extends lifes natural brevity;
This is, this is the only way
T'out live Nestor in a day.