Busy old fool, unruly sun,Busy old fool, unruly sun
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 tomorrow late, tell me,
Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou leftst 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 honor'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.
Busy old fool, unruly sun,
Why do you act this way,
Calling us through windows and curtains?
Do lovers' seasons have to follow your movements?
Saucy, arrogant fool, go scold
Late schoolboys and grumpy apprentices,
Go tell the royal hunters that the King will ride,
Call the country ants to gather their work,
Love knows no season or place,
Nor hours, days, or months, which are just scraps of time.
Your rays, so respected and strong,
Why do you think that way?
I could block and cover them with a glance,
But I wouldn’t want to lose her sight for so long;
If her eyes haven’t blinded yours,
Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,
Whether both the spice lands and mine
Are where you left them, or lying here with me.
Ask for those kings you saw yesterday,
And you will hear, "All here lie in one bed."
She is all countries and all princes;
Nothing else matters.
Princes only play with us; compared to this,
All honor is imitation, all wealth is illusion.
You, sun, are only half as happy as we are,
Since the world has shrunk this way.
Your age seeks comfort, and since your job is
To warm the world, that’s done by warming us.
Shine here for us, and you are everywhere;
This bed is your center, these walls are your sphere.