Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

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.

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 to 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.