Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, Anna, were no crime:

But, like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end. Then be not coy, but use our time, and while we may, let's marry: for having lost but once our prime, we may forever tarry. Let me not, for pity more, tell the long hours at your door, for quia amore langueo.

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