They tread the ayre, and fal not where they rose.
190Though six houres since, the Sunne to bed did part,
The masks and banquets will not yet impart
A sunset to these weary eyes, A Center to this heart.
IX.
The Brides going to bed.
What mean'st thou Bride, this companie to keep?
To sit up, till thou faine wouldst sleep?
195Thou maist not, when thou art laid, doe so.
Thy selfe must to him a new banquet grow,