To Music, To Becalm His Fever

Charm me asleep, and melt me so

With thy delicious numbers,

That, being ravish'd, 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 the 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,