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