Sleep, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince, whose approach peace to all mortals brings, Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings, Sole comforter of minds with grief opprest; Lo, by thy charming rod all breathing things Lie slumb'ring, with forgetfulness possest, And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings Thou spares, alas! who cannot be thy guest. Since I am thine, O come, but with that face To inward light which thou art wont to show, With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe; Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace, Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath, I long to kiss the image of my d**h.