Who, in their nightly watchful spheres,
Lead in swift round the months and years.
* * * * * *
What hath night to do with sleep?
Night hath better sweets to prove;
Venus now wakes, and wakens love.
Come, let us our rites begin;
'Tis only day-light that makes sin,
Which these dim shades will ne'er report.
Come, knot hands, and beat the ground