On the couch of anguish

I've been ill this week so haven't done much except read and sleep and listen to podcasts. One's marriage vows come in handy when one is languishing on a couch of illness and can't muster the wherewithall to make oneself a cup of tea. Moved though I would have been to have this sung song over me, I think (if I were Chloris) I'd rather Robbie had rallied round with the teapot than composed affecting poems on my parlous state. Nice to know he cared, I suppose.

Long, long the night,
Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight
Is on her bed of sorrow.

Can I cease to care,
Can I cease to languish,
While my darling Fair
Is on the couch of anguish.

Long, long the night,
Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight
Is on her bed of sorrow.

Every hope is fled;
Every fear is terror;
Slumber even I dread,
Every dream is horror.

Long, long the night,
Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight
Is on her bed of sorrow.

Hear me, Powers Divine!
Oh, in pity, hear me!
Take aught else of mine,
But my Chloris spare me!

Long, long the night,
Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight
Is on her bed of sorrow.