Invokes Death

COME, Terrour of the Wise, and Valiant, Come,
And with a Sigh let my griev'd Soul have room,
Amongst the Shades; then shall my Cares be gone;
All there drink Waters of Oblivion.

So went the Heroes of the World, and so
Or soon, or late, all that are born must go;
Thou Death to me art welcome as a Friend,
For thou with Life putt'st to my Griefs an End.

Of this Poor Earth, and Blast of Breath ally'd,
How easily by thee, the Knot's unty'd:
This Spring of Tears which trickles from mine Eyes
Is Natural, and when I dye, it dryes.

Matter for Sighs, I drew with my first Breath,
And now a Sigh ushers my Soul to Death;
So Cares, and Griefs determine by Consent,
This Favour owe I to my Monument.