O weary night, O long and tedious night, Abate thy hours! Shine comforts from the east, That I may back to Athens by daylight, From these that my poor company detest: And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company. Lies down and sleeps.

Yet but three? Come one more; Two of both kinds makes up four. Here she comes, curst and sad: Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad.

Never so weary, never so in woe, Bedabbled with the dew and torn with briers, I can no further crawl, no further go; My legs can keep no pace with my desires. Here will I rest me till the break of day. Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray! Lies down and sleeps.