At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?
At the hour of nine.
I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Let me stand here till thou remember it.
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Remembering how I love thy company.
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.
'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:
And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
I would I were thy bird.
Sweet, so would I:
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! parting is such
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
Shall we meet in the morrow?
At which hour the tune plays.
I will appear there: until then!
I cannot wait, then, my love.
Allow me to remain, for you shall not forget it
I shall not forget, to have thee remain as memory
Reminder of thy company.
And I'll still remain, if but as a ghost in thy garden
Forget me not, dear, forget me not.
'Tis almost morning; I fear you will be called:
and yet, you still remain;
Who allows you to stay, my love?
Who loosens thy chains that bind you to thy door?
How can I know you will be safe upon your next return?
I have Tragedy before me, behind me, and above,
fear not, he watches for me as I for you.
Perfection, and I do for you all:
Yet I would miss thee with much cherishing,
so I must say good night, parting with such
sorrow, but knowing you'll be here in the morrow.
Sleep, forward unto slumber, rest thy green eyes,
I know now you enter peace,
and as I welcome slumber myself,
for here comes Tragedy as well,
and with his help I will return,
to kiss your lips once more soon.