The Sun Rising
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- 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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