home | index | concordance | composite list of variants | help |
The Sun Rising.
Busie old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains look on us?
Must to thy motions Lovers seasons run?
Sawcy pedantique wretch, goe chide
Late School-boyes, or sowre prentices,
Go tell Court-huntsmen, that the King will ride,
Call Country Ants to harvest offices;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, dayes, months, which are the rags of time.
Thy beams so reverend, and strong
Dost thou not think
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long?
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and to morrow late, tell me,
Whether both th'India's of space and Myne
Be where thou left them, or lie here with me,
Ask for those Kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.
She's all States, and all Princes, I,
Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compar'd to this,
All honour's mimique; All wealth Alchymy;
Thou Sun art half as happy'as we,
In that the world's contracted thus.
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warme the world, that's done in warming us,

[CW: Shine]