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

Come sleepe the image of true death;
And close up these my weary eyes:
spring of tears doth stop my vitall breath,
And tears my hart with sigh swoln cries:
Come and my tired thoughts worn soul,
That living dies, thou on me be stoule.

Come shadow of my end, and of rest,
Allied to death, child to his night:
thou and charme these rebels in my breast,
Whose fancies doe my mind affright.
O come sweet sleepe; come, or I die for
Come ere my sleepe comes, or come never.