Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 21 — Ad Luciferum

Phospher, appear; why dost our joys delay
When Caesar's coming only waits for Day?
Rome begs thy haste; on slow Boots's Carr
Do'st thou not ride, thou mov'st so slowly, Star?
Swift-footed Cyllarus, thou might'st have took,
Castor his saddle now would have forsook.
Why do'st thou longer stop the longing Sun?
Xanthus, and Aethon beat, and snort to run:
And Memnon's Mother watches till you come.
Nor will the Stars give place to greater Light,
But stay with th' Moon expecting Caesars sight.
Now, Caesar, come by Night, we shall have Ray:
The People cannot, where thou art, want Day.