Fear of change perplexes monarchs.
O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.
Govern well thy appetite, lest Sin surprise thee, and her black attendant Death.
But oh! as to embrace me she inclin'd, I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.