Edmund Spenser - Whilst it is prime lyrics

FRESH Spring, the herald of loves mighty king, In whose cote-armour richly are displayd All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring, In goodly colours gloriously arrayd-- Goe to my love, where she is carelesse layd, Yet in her winters bowre not well awake; Tell her the joyous time wil not be staid, Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take; Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make, To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew; Where every one, that misseth then her make, Shall be by him amearst with penance dew. Make hast, therefore, sweet love, whilest it is prime; For none can call againe the pa**ed time.