Shutting its doors to misery and pain,
Closing the senses ’gainst all foes without,
Turning the hard couch unto airy down,
Dissolving time in melting harmonies.
O I could list forever to its sound,
But it, or something stronger, masters me.
[Sleeps.
King Henry. Poor, changeful-hearted man that wast a king,
Led captive by each wayward quick caprice,
Unhappy fate call’d thee unto a throne