  Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me; For while thou view'st me with thy fading light Part of my life doth still depart with thee, And I still onward haste to my last night: Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly— So every day we live, a day we die. But O ye nights, ordain'd for barren rest, How are my days deprived of life in you When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest, By feignÈd death life sweetly to renew; Part of my life, in that, you life deny: So every day we live, a day we die. |
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