My dearest dust could not thy hasty day
Afford thy drowsy patience leave to stay
One hour longer: so that we might either
Sit up or go to bed together?
But since thy finished labour hath possessed
Thy weary limbs with early rest,
Enjoy it sweetly; and thy widow bride
Shall soon repose her by thy slumbering side;
Whose business, now, is only to prepare
My nightly dress and call to prayer:
Mine eyes wax heavy and the day grows old.
The dew falls thick, my blood grows cold;
Draw, draw the closed curtains: and make room;
My dear, my dearest dust; I come, I come.
fain affectionate