William Drummond of Hawthornden.

    VII.

    Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving
     Lock me in delight awhile;
     Let some pleasing dreams beguile
     All my fancies; that from thence
     I may feel an influence,
    All my powers of care bereaving!

    Though but a shadow, but a sliding
     Let me know some little joy! 
     We that suffer long annoy
     Are contented with a thought
     Through an idle fancy wrought;
    O let my joys have some abiding!

    John Fletcher.

    VIII.

    But still let Silence trew night-watches keepe,
    That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne,
    And tymely Sleep, when it is time to sleep,
    May pour his limbs forth on your pleasant playne;
    The whiles an hundred little winged loves
    Like divers-fethered doves,
    Shall fly and flutter round about your bed.

    Edmund Spenser.

    IX.

    Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
    Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose
    On this afflicted prince; fall like a cloud
    In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud
    Or painful to his slumbers,—­easy, sweet
    And as a purling stream, thou son of Night,
    Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain
    Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain,
    Into this prince gently, oh gently, slide
    And kiss him into slumbers like a bride.

John Fletcher.

X.

         God hath set
    Labor and rest, as day and night, to men
    Successive, and the timely dew of sleep
    Now falling with soft, slumberous weight inclines
    Our eyelids.

John Milton.

XI.

Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast’
Would I were sleep and peace so sweet to rest

William Shakespeare.

         The innocent sleep,
    Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care, t
    The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath,
    Balm of hurt minds, great Nature’s second course,
    Chief nourisher in life’s feast.

William Shakespeare.

    XII.

    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.

    Sir Philip Sidney.

    XIII.

    Close thine eyes, and sleep secure;
    Thy soul is safe, thy body sure. 
    He that guards thee, he that keeps,
    Never slumbers, never sleeps. 
    A quiet conscience in the breast
    Has only peace, has only rest. 
    The wisest and the mirth of kings
    Are out of tune unless she sings: 
    Then close thine eyes in peace and sleep secure,
    No sleep so sweet as thine, no rest so sure.