John Donne: Busy Old Foole

Lyrics
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 minе Be where thou lеft'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." 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 center is, these walls thy sphere
Rate this song
0/5.0 - 0 Ratings
Loading comments...
Credits
- Writers
- John Donne