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 prease 
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 to noise and blind of light, 
A rosy garland and a weary head; 
And if these things, as being thine by right, 
Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, 
Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.