| Come, heavy Sleep, the image of true Death
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| And close up these my weary weeping eyes
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| Whose spring of tears doth stop my vital breath
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| And tears my heart with Sorrow’s sigh-swoll'n cries
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| Come and possess my tired through-worn soul
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| That living dies till thou on me be stole
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| Come, shape of rest, and shadow of my end
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| Allied to Death, child to his joyless black-fac'd Night
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| Come thou and charm these rebels in my breast
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| Whose waking fancies doth my mind affright
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| O come, sweet Sleep, or I die forever;
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| Come ere my last sleep comes, or come thou never |