The Sun Rising

• 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 schoolboys 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.
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• 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, tomorrow 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’.
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• She is 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 centre is, these walls thy sphere.