Come Heavy Sleep
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-swoll'n 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 shadow of my end, and shape of rest,
Allied to Death,child to his black-faced,black-faced Night:
Come now and charm these rebels in my breast,
Whose waking fancies do my mind affright.
O come sweet Sleep;come or I die for ever:
Come ere my last sleep comes,
Come ere my last sleep comes,
Come ere my last sleep comes,
Or come never.
(By John Dowland 1563-1626)
