[Verse]
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 sorrows, sigh, swollen cries
Come and posses my tired thoughts, worn soul
That living dies, that living dies, that living dies
'Til thou on me be stoule
Come and posses my tired thoughts, worn soul
That living dies, that living dies, that living dies
'Til thou on me be stoule
Come shape of rest, and shadow of my end
Allied to death, child to his black-faced, his black-faced night
Come thou and charm these rebels in my breast
Whose waking fancies doe my mind a fright
Oh, come, sweet sleep, come, or I die for ever
Come here my last comes, come here, my last sleep comes, or come, or come never