Drop golden showers

Drop golden showers, gentle sleep,

And all the angels of the night

Which do us in protection keep

Make this Queen dream of delight.

Morpheus, be kind a while and be

Death's now true image, for 'twill prove

To her that sleeps here thou art he.

Her grave is made in the bed of love.

Now when she looks her lord should come,

She's dreaming sent to Elysium.

Her marriage night she well may call

No wedding but a funeral.