Is but as dross; but thus to have them come,
Might from their airy beds the angels draw
To taste the joys of this our mortal earth.
Throughout the camp now all is hush’d in silence,
And Morpheus, with his leaden wings outspread,
Hath on each eyelid laid the weight of slumber.
[Exit.
Aur. Then, as the general, the task is mine
To thank that mighty God, whose name alone
Doth carry awe, and strikes the soul with fear.