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.