TO HIS SWEET SAVIOUR

Night hath no wings, to him that cannot sleep;
And Time seems then, not for to flie, but creep;
Slowly her chariot drives, as if that she
Had broke her wheele, or crackt her axeltree.
Just so it is with me, who list'ning, pray
The winds, to blow the tedious night away;
That I might see the cheerfull peeping day. S
ick is my heart; 0 Saviour! do Thou please
To make my bed soft in my sicknesses:
Lighten my candle, so that I beneath
Sleep not for ever in the vaults of death:
Let me Thy voice betimes i' th morning heare;
Call, and Ile come; say Thou, the when, and where
Draw me, but first, and after Thee Ile run,
And make no one stop, till my race be done.

DIVINATION BY A DAFFODIL
When a Daffodil I see,
I hinging down his head t'wards me;
Guesse I may, what I must be:
First, I shall decline my head;
Secondly, I shall be dead;    
Lastly, safely buryed.