AWAY to the brook,
All your tackle out look,
Here's a day that is worth a year's wishing;
See that all things be right,
WHEN, Coelia, must my old day set,
And my young morning rise
In beams of joy so bright as yet
Ne'er bless'd a lover's eyes?
WHY, let is run! who bids it stay?
Let us the while be merry;
Time there in water creeps away,
With us it posts in sherry.
THE Day grows hot, and darts his rays
From such a sure and killing place,
That half this World are fain to fly
The danger of his burning eye.