In soft repose: On him the balmy dews 390
Of sleep with double nutriment descend.
But would you sweetly waste the blank of night
In deep oblivion; or on fancy’s wings
Visit the paradise of happy dreams,
And waken chearful as the lively morn; 395
Oppress not nature sinking down to rest
With feasts too late, too solid, or too full.
But be the first concoction half-matur’d,
Ere you to mighty indolence resign