THOMAS HEYWOOD

Go, pretty birds, and tell her so, See that your notes strain not too low, For still methinks I see her frown ; Ye pretty wantons, warble.

Go tune your voices' harmony

And sing, I am her lover ; Strain loud and sweet, that every note

With sweet content may move her : And she that hath the sweetest voice, Tell her I will not change my choice : Yet still methinks I see her frown .' Ye pretty wantons, warble.

O fly ! make haste ! see, see, she falls

Into a pretty slumber ! Sing round about her rosy bed

That waking she may wonder : Say to her, 'tis her lover true That sendeth love to you, to you ! And when you hear her kind reply, Return with pleasant warblings.

��JOHN FLETCHER

207. Sleep

ME, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving Lock me in delight awhile ; Let some pleasing dreams beguile All my fancies ; that from thence I may feel an influence All my powers of care bereaving !

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