The Delaying Bride.

Why so slowly do you move To the centre of your love? On your niceness though we wait, Yet the hours say 'tis late: Coyness takes us, to a measure; But o'eracted deads the pleasure. Go to bed, and care not when Cheerful day shall spring again. One brave captain did command, By his word, the sun to stand: One short charm, if you but say, Will enforce the moon to stay, Till you warn her hence, away, T' have your blushes seen by day.