Come Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving,
Look me in de-light a-while.
Let some pleasing dreams beguile,
all my fancies, that from thence,
There may steal an in-fluence.
Oh, all my pow’rs of care bereaving.
Though but a shadow, but a sliding,
Let me know some little joy!
We that suffer long annoy
Are contented with a thought!
Through an idle fancy wrought.
O let my joys, have some a-biding.
(Extro)