And though he fears no prince’s frown,
Flies from the circle of a crown.
Come, I say, thou powerful god,
And thy leaden charming-rod,
Dipt in the Lethean lake,
O’er his wakeful temples shake,
Lest he should sleep and never wake.
Nature, alas! why art thou so
Obligèd to thy greatest foe?
Sleep that is thy great repast,