Sleepe slumbringe eyes, give rest vnto my cares,
My cares, the Infants of my troubled braine,
My cares surprisde, surprisde with Black dispaire
Doth the assertion of my hopes restraine.
Sleepe then my eyes ô sleep & take your Reste
To banishe sorrow from a free borne Breste.
My freborn brest born Free to sorrowes Smarte
Brought in subiection by my wandringe Eye
Whose traytrus sighte conceivd that to my harte,
For which I waile, I sob, I sighe, I Dye.
Sleepe then my eyes, disturbed of quiet reste,
To banishe sorrow From my captive breste.
My captive brest, stounge by these glistringe starres:
These glistringe starres: the bewty of the skye:
That bright blacke skye which doth the soon beames barre:
From Her sweete comforte on my harts sad eye:
Wake then my eyes trewe partners of vnreste:
For Sorrow still must harboure in my breste.