Luyện nghe bài hát Come, heavy sleep - First Booke of Songes, 1597, no20

Come heavy the image of true death;
And close up these my weary eyes:
Whose spring of tears doth stop my breath,
And tears my hart sorrows sigh swoln cries:
Come and posses my tired worn soul,
That living dies, till on me be stoule.

shadow of my end, and shape of rest,
Allied to death, to his blackfac'd night:
Come thou and these rebels in my breast,
waking fancies doe my mind affright.
O sweet sleepe; come, or I die for ever:
Come ere my last comes, or come never.