John Fletcher (1579–1625)

CARE-CHARMING Sleep, thou easer of all woes,

Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose

On this afflicted prince; fall like a cloud

In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud

Or painful to his slumbers; easy, light,

And as a purling stream, thou son of Night

Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain

Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain;

In to this prince gently, O gently, slide,

And kiss him into slumbers like a bride.