Profane the temple of delight,

And purchase endless penitence

With the stol’n pleasure of one night.

Time’s ever ours, while we despise

The sensual idol of our clay, 10

For though the suns do set and rise,

We joy one everlasting day;

Whose light no jealous clouds obscure,

While each of us shine innocent;

The troubled stream is still impure; 15