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 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 black-fac'd 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, Come ere my last sleep comes, or come, or come thou never.