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| Ad Solem. To the Sunne |
| Song |
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| Buisy old foole, vnruly Sunn [260] |
| Why dost thou thus |
| Through windowes and through curtaynes call on vs? |
| Must to thy motion Lovers seasons runn? |
| Sawcy Pedantique wretch goe chide |
| Late Schooleboyes, and fowre-prentises |
| Goe tell Court huntsmen that the king will ride |
| Call Country Ants to haruest offices |
| Loue, all alike, no season knowes nor clime |
| Nor howres, dayes, months, wch ar the raggs of time |
|
| Thy beames so reverend and strong |
| Dost thou not thinke |
| I could eclipse and clowd them with a winke |
| But that I would not loose her sight so long? |
| If her eyes haue not blinded thine |
| Looke, and to morrow late tell mee |
| Whether both Indyas of Spice and Mine |
| Bee where thou leftst them, or lye here with mee |
| Aske for those kings w.ch thou sawst yesterday |
| And thou shalt heare All heere in one bedd lay |
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| Shee is all States, and all Princes I |
| Nothing else is |
| Princes do but play vs, compard with this |
| All Honour's mimick, all wealth Alchimy |
| Thou Sunne art halfe as happy as wee |
| In that the world's contracted thus |
| Thine Age askes ease, and since thy dutyes bee |
| To warme the world, Thats donne in warming vs |
| Shine heere to vs, and thou art every where |
| This bedd thy Center is, these walls thy Spheare
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[CW: When I] |