GOOD night, good rest.
Ah! neither be my share: |
|
She bade good night that kept my rest away; |
|
And daffd me to a cabin hangd
with care, |
|
To descant on the doubts of my decay. |
|
Farewell, quoth she,
and come again to-morrow: |
5 |
Fare well I could not, for I
suppd with sorrow. |
|
|
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, |
|
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether: |
|
T may be, she joyd to jest at
my exile, |
|
T may be, again to make me wander thither: |
10 |
Wander, a word for
shadows like myself, |
|
As take the pain, but cannot
pluck the pelf. |
|
|
Lord! how mine eyes throw gazes to the east; |
|
My heart doth charge the watch; the morning
rise |
|
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. |
15 |
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes, |
|
While Philomela sits and sings,
I sit and mark, |
|
And wish her lays were tuned
like the lark; |
|
|
For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty, |
|
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night: |
20 |
The night so packd, I post unto my
pretty; |
|
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished
sight; |
|
Sorrow changd to solace,
solace mixd with sorrow; |
|
For why, she sighd and
bade me come to-morrow. |
|
|
Were I with her, the night would post too
soon; |
25 |
But now are minutes added to the hours; |
|
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon; |
|
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers! |
|
Pack night, peep day; good day,
of night now borrow: |
|
Short, night, to-night, and length
thyself to-morrow. |
30 |