Downy Sleep, Death's Counterfeit.

He Wears The Rose Of Youth Upon Him.

Tis Beauty Truly Blent, Whose Red And White Nature's Own Sweet And Cunning Hand Laid On.

Vaulting Ambition, Which O'erleaps Itself And Falls On The Other Side

Striving To Better, Oft We Mar What’s Well.

O Sleep, O Gentle Sleep, Nature's Soft Nurse, How Have I Frightened Thee, 1710. That Thou No More Will Weigh My Eyelids Down, And Steep My Senses In Forgetfulness?