Stay, Phoebus!

1 Stay, Phoebus! stay; The world to which you fly so fast, Conveying day From us to them, can pay your haste With no such object, nor salute your rise, With no such wonder as De Mornay's eyes.

2 Well does this prove The error of those antique books, Which made you move About the world; her charming looks Would fix your beams, and make it ever day, Did not the rolling earth snatch her away.