The cypress curtain of the night is spread,
And over all a silent dew is cast.
The weaker cares by sleep are conquered.
But I alone with hideous grief aghast,
In spite of Morpheus' charms a watch do keep
Over mine eyes to banish careless sleep.

Yet oft my ttrembling eyes through faintness close;
And then the map of Hell before me stands,
Which ghosts do see and I am one of those
Ordaines to pine in sorrow's endless bands,
Since from my wretched soul all hopes are reft,
And now no cause of life to me is left.

Grief, sieze my soul for that will still endure
When my crazed body is consumed and gone;
Bear it to thy black den, there keep it sure,
Where thou ten thousand souls dost tire upon:
Yet all do not afford such food to thee
All this poor one, the worser part of me.