THE Day's grown old, the fainting Sun
Has but a little way to run,
And yet his steeds, with all his skill,
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 Sun is set, and gone to sleep
With the fair princess of the deep,
Whose bosom is his cool retreat,
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.