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

Come heavy sleepe the image of death;
And close up my weary weeping eyes:
Whose spring of tears stop my vitall breath,
And tears my hart with sorrows sigh swoln
Come and my tired thoughts worn soul,
That living dies, till on me be stoule.

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