No harbor for his wreck half so inviting
As to lie still, far from all sights and sounds,
And so, in bed, do nothing on God’s earth
But try and give his senses a new birth.
“Bed—bed’s the thing, by Heaven!” thus would he swear.
“Bed is your only work, your only duty.
Bed is one’s gown, one’s slippers, one’s armchair,
Old coat; you’re not afraid to spoil its beauty.
Large you may have it, long, wide, brown, or fair,
Down-bed or mattress, just as it may suit ye.