4.
Sweet love, lay thy hand on my heart, and tell
If thou hearest the knocks in that narrow cell?
There dwells there a carpenter, cunning is he,
And slily he’s hewing a coffin for me.
He hammers and knocks by day and by night,
My slumber already has banish’d outright;
Oh, Master Carpenter, prythee make haste,
That I some slumber at length may taste.