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Sun Rising, TheSun Rising, The
BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?
Must to thy motions lovers` seasons run ?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and sour 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, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Thy beams so reverend, and strong
Why shouldst thou 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` Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou left`st 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 ; compared to this,
All honour`s mimic, all wealth alchemy.
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 warm the world, that`s done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.
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