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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,
Th' indifferent judge between the
high and low;
With shield of proof shield me from out
the press
Of 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 me,
Livelier
than elsewhere, Stella's image see.
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