THE APOLOGY OF SLEEP, FOR NOT APPROACHING THE LADY WHO CAN DO ANYTHING BUT SLEEP WHEN SHE PLEASES.
Reading edition
My charge it is those breaches to repair Which Nature takes from sorrow, toil, and care; Rest to the limbs, and quiet I confer On troubled minds; but nought can add to her Whom Heaven, and her transcendent thoughts have placed Above those ills which wretched mortals taste.
Bright as the deathless gods, and happy, she From all that may infringe delight is free; Love at her royal feet his quiver lays, And not his mother with more haste obeys. 10 Such real pleasures, such true joys' suspense, What dream can I present to recompense?
Should I with lightning fill her awful hand, And make the clouds seem all at her command; Or place her in Olympus' top, a guest Among the immortals, who with nectar feast; That power would seem, that entertainment, short Of the true splendour of her present Court,
Where all the joys, and all the glories, are 19 Of three great kingdoms, sever'd from the care. I, that of fumes and humid vapours made, Ascending, do the seat of sense invade, No cloud in so serene a mansion find, To overcast her ever-shining mind,
Which holds resemblance with those spotless skies, Where flowing Nilus want of rain supplies; That crystal heaven, where Phoebus never shrouds His golden beams, nor wraps his face in clouds. But what so hard which numbers cannot force? So stoops the moon, and rivers change their course. 30
The bold Mæonian[1] made me dare to steep Jove's dreadful temples in the dew of sleep; And since the Muses do invoke my power, I shall no more decline that sacred bower Where Gloriana their great mistress lies; But, gently taming those victorious eyes,
Charm all her senses, till the joyful sun Without a rival half his course has run; Who, while my hand that fairer light confines, May boast himself the brightest thing that shines. 40
[1] 'Mæonian': Homer.