Haste, close the window, bar the doors,
Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend.
In nature’s aid let art supply
With light and heat my little sphere;
Rouze, rouze the fire, and pile it high,
Light up a constellation here.
Let musick sound the voice of joy!
Or mirth repeat the jocund tale;
Let love his wanton wiles employ,
And o’er the season wine prevail.