A line from "
The Waste Land", by
T.S. Eliot.
Recurs later in the poem with "Time, Gentlemen": literally, the last call in English pubs.
Eliot was au fait with Friedrich Nietzsche's idea of Eternal Recurrence: knowing that everything that has, is, and will, happen, will just go on and on and on and on, over and over again.
"Hurry up please, it's time" could very well be an admonishment to people sitting on their hairy bums on padded velveteen pub seats to actually do something with themselves before they die, because they - just like you and I - will.
Hurry up please - it's time who is your enemy.