Sleep
COME, Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release,The indifferent judge between the high and low;With shield of proof shield me from out the preaseOf those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw:O make in me those civil wars to cease;I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,A chamber deaf of noise and blind of light,A rosy garland and a weary head:And if these things, as being thine in right,Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in meLivelier than elsewhere Stella’s image see.