The Song of Night

In wet and cloudy mists I slowly rise,
As with mine own dull weight opprest,
To close with sleep the jealous lover's eyes,
And give forsaken virgins rest.

Th' advent'rous merchant and the mariner,
Whom storms all day vex in the deep,
Begin to trust the winds when I appear,
And lose their dangers in their sleep.

The studious that consume their brains and sight
In search where doubtful knowledge lies,
Grow weary of their fruitless use of light,
And wish my shades to ease their eyes.

Th' ambitious toiling statesman that prepares
Great mischiefs ere the day begins,
Not measures day by hours, but by his cares;
And night must intermit his sins.

Then why, when my slow chariot used to climb,
Did old mistaking sages weep?
As if my empire did usurp their time,
And hours were lost when spent in sleep?

I come to ease their labours and prevent
That weariness which would destroy;
The profit of their toils are still misspent
Till rest enables to enjoy.