Why so slowly do you move To the centre of your love? On your niceness though we wait, Yet the houres say 'tis late: Coynesse takes us to a measure; But o'racted deads the pleasure. Go to Bed, and care not when Cheerfull day shall spring agen. One Brave Captain did command, (By his word) the Sun to stand: One short charme if you but say Will enforce the Moon to stay, Till you warn her hence (away) T'ave your blushes seen by day. |