Charm me asleep and melt me so
    With thy delicious numbers,
That, being ravished, hence I go
    Away in easy slumbers.
        Ease my sick head
        And make my bed,
Thou power that canst sever
        From me this ill;
        And quickly still,
        Though thou not kill
               My fever.

Thou sweetly canst convert the same
    From a consuming fire
Into a gentle-licking flame,
    And make it thus expire.
        Then make me weep
        My pains asleep;
And give me such reposes
        That I, poor I,
        May think thereby
        I live and die
               'Mongst roses.

Fall on me like a silent dew,
    Or like those maiden showers
Which, by the peep of day, do strew
    A baptim o'er the flowers.
        Melt, melt my pains
        With thy soft strains;
That, having ease me given,
        With full delight
        I leave this light,
        And take my flight
               For heaven.