Classic Poem

Worke on, my Soule , while Sleepes Soule takes hir rest,
And, Sence held idle by hir heauy hand;
Acte in Dumbe-Showes , which idle Spirits detest,
That Wit , thy Will , thereby, may vnderstand;
Let Fancy offer to Intelligence
The Shade of Shapes , whose Substance thou dost loue.
So, Sence shall see, without the seeing Sence.
(When Reason is rest) how thou dost moue
Mount thee vppon thy Wings of Witt , and Will ,
Vnto the height of thy Wills true desires:
There worke thy pleasure, bee it good, or ill,
That (wakeing) Will may worke what Witt requires:
For, tis Witts worke in sleepe, Wills worke to spy,
That wakfull Witt may right what is awry.