Why So Slowly Do You Move To The Centre Of Your Love? On Your Niceness Though We Wait, Yet The Hours Say 'Tis Late: Coyness Takes Us, To A Measure; But O'Eracted Deads The Pleasure. Go To Bed, And Care Not When Cheerful Day Shall Spring Again. One Brave Captain Did Command, By His Word, The Sun To Stand: One Short Charm, If You But Say, Will Enforce The Moon To Stay, Till You Warn Her Hence, Away, T' Have Your Blushes Seen By Day.