Ideas

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, g0

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.

Thy beams

so reverend and strong

Why

shouldst thou think?

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 the Lands of spice and mine

Be where thou leftst them or lie here with me.

Ask for those kings whom thou sawst yesterday

And thou shalt hear: All here in one bed lay,

She is all states, and all princes 1:

Nothing else is.

Princes do but play us; compared to this

All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy,

Thou Sun arl 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.