Drowsy sun, why dost thou stay?
Drive thy lazy team away. 
Thetis. mounted on a billow.
To catch a rising cloud is gone; 
Which she will stuff into a pillow
To rest thy golden locks upon. 
  Then vex'd with delay,
Away she flung and, lisping, said:
Prithee, prithee, let's go to bed.

Take away thy hated light. 
And give way to welcome night.
Venus, although herself be fair, 
Loves thee still, and 'tis the same 
That Cupid, though a torch he bears,
All light doth vanish from his flame.
  Then vex'd with delay . . .

Why should then the envious day
Our impatient pleasure stay? 
Drive then, oh drive, thou great Apollo,
Drive quick away, and be afraid 
To tempt the vengeance that doth follow
The curses of a longing maid. 
  Then vex'd with delay . . .