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many thousands of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O gentle Sleep,

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,

That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,

And steep my senses in forgetfulness !
Why rather, Sleep, ly’st thou in smoaky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hush’d with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber ;

Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,

Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?

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UOT mihi regnatos jam nunc complectitur alma,


Quot miseros, requie Somnus! vis mellea Somni,

Quæ res grata foves ! quonam depulfa timore,

Ponderibus defefla tuis non lumina condis,

Nec mihi permulces Lcthæo flumine sensus?

Heu! quid pauperibus gaudes concumbere lecto

Stramineo, fusus circum quo fumeus humor,

Stridula vel faciles irritat musca fopores?

Heu ! quid tecta citis pedibus regalia vitas,
Magnificosque toros ; qùo thurea te vocat aura,

Te vocat incassùm dulciffima tibia cantu?

Qur; O thou dull god, why ly'st thou with t'i vilo

In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch,

A watch-case to a common larum bell?

Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the ship’s-boy's eyes, and rock his brains,
In cradle of the rude imperious surge ;

And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deafʼning clamours in the flipp’ry shrouds ;
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes :

Canst thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose

To the wet sea boy, in an hour so rude,

And, in the calmest, and the stillest night,

With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king? then happy, lowly clown!

Uneafy lies the head that wears a crown.


Quz, malefane, tuum fuadent faftidia numert

Dormitare cafà, thalamos et linquere regum,

Queis tonat afliduâ tanquam cuftodia voce?

Nautæ, quando agitur pinus, ludibria ponti,

Amplexo malum, fundisne oblivia curæ ?

Dumque etiam venti discordia Alamina miscent

Altùm incurvantes monstrosa cacumina, funes

Et dum stridentes inter fragor intonat ingens,


quo fomnis mors exilit ipsa tumultu :

O levis, ut placuit tibi, diro turbine cæli,
Æquoribus nautæ tabentia membra levare ?
Et quanquam fileant ædes, atque omnia circum


Jam filcant, adfintque irritamenta foporis,

Desiderata negas savus tua gaudia regi?

O fortunati nimiùm, fua fi bona nôrint

Agricolæ ! nobis est irrequieta corona :
O caput infelix, quod tu premis, aurea cura !





Wol. L'Arewell, a long farewell to all my greatnefs!


This is the state of mán: to day he puts forth

The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms,

And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ;

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his shoot;

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur’d,

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Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders,
These many summers in a sea of glory ;
But far beyond my depth : my high blown pride
At length broke under me ; and now has left mè,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye !

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