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