To Music, to Becalm His Fever
Charm me asleep, and melt me soWith thy delicious numbers;That being ravish'd, hence I goAway in easy slumbers.Ease my sick head,And make my bed,Thou Power that canst severFrom me this ill;--And quickly still,Though thou not killMy fever.
Thou sweetly canst convert the sameFrom a consuming fire,Into a gentle-licking flame,And make it thus expire.Then make me weepMy 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 strewA baptism o'er the flowers.Melt, melt my painsWith thy soft strains;That having ease me given,With full delight,I leave this light,And take my flightFor Heaven.
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