| GOOD night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share: | |
| She bade good night that kept my rest away; | |
| And daff’d me to a cabin hang’d 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 supp’d with sorrow. | |
| Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, | |
| In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether: | |
| ’T may be, she joy’d 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 pack’d, I post unto my pretty; | |
| Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight; | |
| Sorrow chang’d to solace, solace mix’d with sorrow; | |
| For why, she sigh’d 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 |