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 minе
Be where thou lеft'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