To Sleep

Oh , Sleep! the balm of labour and of care,
At whose command the bitter passions flee!
Close every eye that Argus opens there,
My joy suspending, and averse to thee!

Were I a King, the Herald should proclaim,
" That jealous Care all night should be at home,
That Love and Youth should unmolested roam,
Nor old nor wise the fugitives reclaim. "
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