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

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

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