Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:

She bade good night that kept my rest away;

And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care,

To descant on the doubts of my decay.

 Farewell, quoth she, and come again tomorrow:

 Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow;

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,

In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:

'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,

'T may be, again to make me wander thither:

  'Wander,' a word for shadows like myself,

  As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.