But leaning on this reed, ev'n whilst I spoke
It peirc'd my hand, and into peices broke.
Still, some new object, or new int'rest came
And loos'd the bonds, and quite disolv'd the claim.
These failing, I invok'd a Muse,
And Poetry wou'd often use, 30
To guard me from thy Tyrant pow'r;
And to oppose thee ev'ry hour
New troops of fancy's, did I chuse.
Alas! in vain, for all agree
To yeild me Captive up to thee,
And heav'n, alone, can sett me free.
Thou, through my life, wilt with me goe,
And make ye passage, sad, and slow.
All, that cou'd ere thy ill gott rule, invade,
Their uselesse arms, before thy feet have laid ; 40
The Fort is thine, now ruin'd, all within,
Whilst by decays without, thy Conquest too, is seen.
AN INVOCATION TO SLEEP
How shall I wooe thee gentle rest,
To a sad Mind, with cares opress'd?
By what soft means, shall I invite
Thy Pow'rs into my Soul to night?
Yett, Gentle sleep, if thou wilt come,
Such darknesse shall prepare the Room,
As thy own Pallace ouerspreads,
(Thy Pallace, stor'd with peacefull Beds)
And Silence too, shall on thee waite
Deep, as in the Turkish State; 10
Whilst, still as Death, I will be found,
My arms, by one another bound;
And my dull lidds, so clos'd shall be
