Pin'd I am and like to die,
And all for lacke of that which I
    Doe eu'ry day refuse.
If I musing sit or stand,
Some puts it daily in my hand,
    To interrupt my muse :
The same thing I seeke and flie,
And want that which none would denie.

In my bed, when I should rest,
It breeds such trouble in my brest
    That scarce mine eyes will close ;
If I sleepe it seemes to be
Oft playing in the bed with me,
    But, wak't, away it goes.
' Tis some spirit sure, I weene,
And yet it may be felt and seene.

Would I had the heart and wit
To make it stand, and coniure it,
    That haunts me thus with feare. 
Doubtlesse tis some harmlesse spright,
For it by day as well as night
    Is ready to appeare.
Be it friend, or be it foe,
Ere long Ile trie what it will doe.