Come, heavy sleep, the image of true death
And close up these my weary weeping eyes
Whose spring of tears doth stop my vital breath
And tears my heart with Sorrow's sigh-swollen cries
Come and possess my tired thought-worn soul
That living dies, that living dies, that living dies
Till thou on me be stole
Come and possess my tired thought-worn soul
That living dies, that living dies, that living dies
Till thou on me be stole
Come, shape of rest, and shadow of my end
Allied to death, child to his blackfaced, his blackfaced night
Come, thou, and charm these rebels in my breast
Whose waking fancies do my mind affright
O come, sweet sleep, come, or I die forever
Come ere my last sleep comes
Come ere my last sleep comes
Or come, or come never
