The Child In The Story Goes To Bed

I prythee, Nurse, come smooth my hair,         And prythee, Nurse, unloose my shoe,      And trimly turn my silken sheet         Upon my quilt of gentle blue.      My pillow sweet of lavender         Smooth with an amiable hand,      And may the dark pass peacefully by         As in the hour-glass droops the sand.      Prepare my cornered manchet sweet,         And in my little crystal cup      Pour out the blithe and flowering mead         That forthwith I may sup.      Withdraw my curtains from the night,         And let the crispd crescent shine      Upon my eyelids while I sleep,         And soothe me with her beams benign.      From far-away there streams the singing         Of the mellifluent nightingale, -      Surely if goblins hear her lay,         They shall not o'er my peace prevail.      Now quench my silver lamp, prythee,         And bid the harpers harp that tune      Fairies which haunt the meadowlands         Sing clearly to the stars of June.      And bid them play, though I in dreams         No longer heed their pining strains,      For I would not to silence wake         When slumber o'er my senses wanes.      You Angels bright who me defend,         Enshadow me with curvd wing,      And keep me in the darksome night         Till dawn another day do bring.