Thou driftest gently down the tides of sleep.
While the bee with honied thigh,
That at her flowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring
With such a consort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feather'd sleep.
| author = Milton
| work = Il Penseroso. L. 142.
The timely dew of sleep
Now falling with soft slumb'rous weight inclines
Our eyelids".
| author = Milton
| work = Paradise Lost.
| place = Bk. IV. L. 615.
For his sleep
Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.
Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time,
Why should I strive to set the crooked straight?
Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme
Beat with light wing against the ivory gate,
Telling a tale not too importunate
To those who in the sleepy region stay,
Lulled by the singer of an empty day.
William Morris—Apology to The Earthly
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Bbsant, Dryden)
O, we're a' Doddin', nid, nid, noddin';
O we're a' noddin' at our house at name.
Lady Nairnb—We're a' Noddin'.
Stulte, quid est somnus, gelidae nisi mortis imago?
Longa quiescendi tempora fata dabunt.
Fool, what is sleep but the likeness of icy
death? The fates shall give us a long period
of rest.
Ovid—Amorum. Bk. II. 10. 40.
| seealso = (See also Browne)
| topic = Sleep
| page = 719
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Alliciunt somnos tempus motusque merumque.
Time, motion and wine cause sleep.
Ovid—Fasti. VI. 681.
Somne, quies rerum, placidissime, somne, Deorum,
Pax animi, quern cura fugit, qui corda diurnis
Fessa ministeriis mulces, reparasque labori!
Sleep, rest of nature, O sleep, most gentle of the divinities, peace of the soul, thou at whose presence care disappears, who soothest hearts wearied with daily employments, and makest them strong again for labour!
Ovid—Metamorphoses. XI. 624.
Balow, my babe, lye still and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.
Percy—Rellques. Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament.
li Sleep, baby, sleep
Thy father's watching the sheep,
Thy mother's shaking the dreamland tree,
And down drops a little dream for thee.
Elizabeth Prentiss—Sleep, Baby, Sleep.
Drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags.
Proverbs. XXIII. 21.
I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep:
for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.
Psalms. IV. 8.
He giveth his beloved sleep.
Psalms. CXXVTI. 2.
I will not give sleep to mine eyes, or slumber
to mine eyelids.
Psalms. CXXXII. 4.; Proverbs. VI. 4.
Je ne dors jamais bien a mon aise sinon quand
je suis au sermon, ou quand je prie Dieu.
I never sleep comfortably except when I am
at sermon or when I pray to God.
Rabelais—Gargantua. Bk. I. Ch. XLI.
Elle s'endormit du sommeil des justes.
She slept the sleep of the just.
Racine—Abrigi de I'histoire de Port Royal.
Vol. IV. 517. Mesnard's ed.
When the Sleepy Man comes with the dust on
his eyes
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
He shuts up the earth, and he opens the skies.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
C. G. D. Roberts—Sleepy Man.
Heavy Sleep, the Cousin of Death.
Sackville—Sleep.
| seealso = (See also Browne)
| topic = Sleep
| page = 719
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Yes; bless the man who first invented sleep
(I really can't avoid the iteration) :
But blast the man with curses loud and deep,
Whate'er the rascal's name or age or station.
Who first invented, and went round advertising,
That artificial cut-off—Early Rising.
J. G. Saxe—Early Rising.
"God bless the man who first invented sleep!"
So Sancho Panza said and so say I;
And bless him, also, that he didn't keep
His great discovery to himself, nor try
To make it,—as the lucky fellow might—
A close monopoly by patent-right.
J. G. Saxe—Early Rising.
| seealso = (See also Cervantes)
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Scott—Lady of the Lake. Canto I. St. 31.
To all, to each, a fair good-Dight,
And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.
Scott—Marmion. L'Envoy. To the Reader.
O sleep, thou ape of death, Me dull upon her
And be her sense but as a monument.
Cymbeline. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 31.
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Browne)
He that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache. •
Cymbeline. Act V. Sc. 4. L. 177.
To sleep! perchance to dream ; ay, there's the rub ;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.
Hamlet. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 65.
