To an Owle

AScalaphus tell me,
So may Nights Curtaine long Time cover Thee,
So Ivy ever may
From irkesome light keep thy Chamber and Bed,
And in Moons Liv'ry cled;
So may'st thou scorne the Quiresters of Day,
When playning thou dost stay
Neare to the sacred window of my deare,
Dost ever thou her heare
To wake, and steale swift houres from drowsie sleep?
And when she wakes, doth ere a stollen sigh creep
Into thy list'ning eare?
If that deafe God doth yet her carelesse keep,
In louder notes my Griefe with thine expresse,
Till by thy shriekes she think on my distresse.