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Come heavy sleep the image of true death;
And close up these my weary weeping eyes:
Whose spring of tears doth stop my vital breadth,
And tears my heart with Sorrow's sigh-swoll'n cries
Come and posses my tired thoughts worn soul,
That living dies, till thou on me be stole.

Come shadow of my end, and shape of rest,
Allied to Death, child to his black-fac'd Night
Come thou and charm these rebels in my breast,
Whose waking fancies doe my mind affright.
O come sweet sleepe; come, or I die for ever:
Come ere my last sleep comes, or come thou never.

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