|
| The Sun Rising. |
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| 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. |
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| 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] |