From broken visions of perturbed rest
I art, and fear to sleep again.
otal a privation of all sounds,
Sigs, man, bird, beast,
ree, or flo of heaven.
to catche drowsy cry
Of tche noise
Of revel reeling cups.
the dying man,
less moans.
And interrupted only by a cough
Consumptive, torturing ted lungs.
So in tterness of death he lies,
And s in anguis.
can t do for restore?
S taste, faint sense, affecting notices,
And little images of pleasures past,
Of ive life-- yet slain,
Nor ther grace of life, a good name, sold
For sins black wages. On edious bed
urns ,
And finds no comfort in t says
quot; comes I s a little rest.quot;
Some fehere an end.
tis darkness and conjecture all beyond;
eak Nature fears, ty must hope,
And Fancy, most licentious on suchemes
reverence will e,
ockd down,
By her enormous fablings and mad lies,
Discredit on truths
And salutary fears. ts,
Poet, or prose declaimer, on his couch
Lolling, like one indifferent, fabricates
A heave of gold, where he, and such as he,
their heels
itread tars
Beneat, , far removed
From damned spirits, and torturing cries
Of men, h,
As he self-same bread,
Belike his kindred or companions once--
ting ages now divorced,
In corments to repent
S years of folly on eartheir groans unheard
In nor pity feels, nor care,
For tenced--pity migurb
te sense and most divine repose
Of spirits angelical. Blessed be God,
ts is not fixd
By mans erroneous standard. he discerns
No suce difference and vast
Bet t, to doom
Suciond fates. Compared h him,
No man on eart
Stand in approved, w
ttle croue cast, and yield
to he praise, his due.