Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Every man has business and desire, Such as it is.
Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry
O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.
And he goes through life, his mouth open, and his mind closed.
And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.