Good Night

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

tomorrow.'

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 conster whether.

'T may be she joy'd to jest at my exile,

'T may be again, to make me wander thither:

"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,

Not daring trust the office of mine eyes.

While Philomela sits and sings, sit and

mark,

And wish her lays were tuned like the lark.

For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,

And drives away dark dreaming night.....