John Dowland: Come, Heavy Sleep

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, 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 do my mind affright.
 O come sweet Sleep; come or I die for ever:
 Come ere my last sleep comes, or come never.