How can I return in happy plight that I'm debarred the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eased by night, but day by night and night by day oppressed, and each, though enemies to either's reign, do inconsent shake hands to talk to me, the one by toil, the other to complain, how far I toil, still farther off from thee. I tell the day to please him, though upright, and dust in grace when clouds do block the heaven, so flatter I the sword-conflictant night, when sparkling stars twine on to thou guilt the even. The day death daily draw my sorrow's longer, and night death nightly make grief's length seem stronger.