Haste, haste, sweet stranger! from the peasant’s cot,
The shipboy’s hammock, or the soldier’s straw,
Whence sorrow never chased thee; with thee bring,
Not hideous visions, as of late; but draughts
Delicious of well-tasted, cordial, rest;
Man’s rich restorative; his balmy bath,
That supples, lubricates, and keeps in play
The various movements of this nice machine,
Which asks such frequent periods of repair.
When tired with vain rotations of the day, 2190