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,...
|
Where, like a pillow on a bed, Our hands were firmly cemented |
Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you |
As virtuous men pass mildly away, So let us melt, and make no noise, |
Sweetest love, I do not go, Yesternight the sun went hence, |
Come live with me, and be my love, There will the river whisp'ring run |