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Sleep-book

XI.

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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.

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