Oostre (pron: Ooo...stray!)

I'll sail upon the Dog Star,
And then pursue the morning,
I'll chase the moon 'till it be noon,
But I'll make her leave her horning.

I'll climb the frosty mountain,
And there I'll coin the weather;
I'll tear the rainbow from the sky,
And tie both ends together.

The starts pluck from their orbs, too,
And crowd them in my budget!
And whether I'm a roaring boy,
Let all the nations judge it.