And bowing like a stringed bow vpon the cloudie sphere,
Immediately descended to the drowzye house of Sleepe,
Whose court the cloudes continually do closely ouerdreepe.
Among the darke Cimmerians is a holow mountaine found
And in the hill a Caue that farre doth run within the ground,
The C[h]amber and the dwelling place where slouthfull sleepe doth couch.
The light of Phœbus golden beames this place can never touch....
No boughs are stird with blasts of winde, no noise of tatling toong
Of man or woman euer yet within that bower roong.
Dumbe quiet dwelleth there. Yet from the rockes foote doth go