I dream'd I saw my self lye dead,
And that my Bed my Coffin grew;
Silence and Sleep this strange sight bred,
But wak'd, I found I liv'd anew.
Looking next Morn on your bright face,
Mine Eyes bequeath'd mine Heart fresh pain;
A Dart rush'd in with every Grace,
And so I kill'd my self again:
O Eyes, what shall distressed Lovers do,
If open you can kill, if shut you view.