Charm Me Asleep, And Melt Me So With Thy Delicious Numbers; That Being Ravish'D, Hence I Go Away In Easy Slumbers. Ease My Sick Head, And Make My Bed, Thou Power That Canst Sever From Me This Ill; And Quickly Still, Though Thou Not Kill My Fever. Thou Sweetly Canst Convert The Same From A Consuming Fire, Into A Gentle-Licking Flame, And Make It Thus Expire. Then Make Me Weep My Pains Asleep, And Give Me Such Reposes, That I, Poor I, May Think, Thereby, I Live And Die 'Mongst Roses. Fall On Me Like A Silent Dew, Or Like Those Maiden Showers, Which, By The Peep Of Day, Do Strew A Baptism O'Er The Flowers. Melt, Melt My Pains With Thy Soft Strains; That Having Ease Me Given, With Full Delight, I Leave This Light, And Take My Flight For Heaven.