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 mine Be where thou left’st them, or lie here with me. Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday, And thou shall 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 centre is, these walls thy sphere.

Old and foolish sun, why are you bothering us? Why do you call us through the windows and curtains? Do lovers have to follow your schedule? Rude, know-it-all sun, go bother schoolboys and apprentices. Tell the hunters that the king is going to ride, Call the ants to their harvest duties. Love is the same everywhere, it doesn't follow seasons or climates, It doesn't care about hours, days, or months, which are just parts of time. Your rays are so respected and strong, Why do you think you're so important? I could block them with a wink, But I don't want to miss seeing her for that long. If her eyes haven't blinded you, Look and tell me tomorrow, If the riches of the East are still where you left them, or if they're here with me. Ask about the kings you saw yesterday, And you'll hear that they're all here in bed with us. She is all countries, and I am all rulers; Nothing else matters; Rulers just imitate us; compared to this, All honor is fake, all wealth is just an illusion. You, Sun, are only half as happy as we are, Because the world is smaller for us; You're old and need rest, and since your job is To warm the world, you've done it by warming us. Shine on us, and you're shining everywhere; This bed is your center, these walls are your universe.