Sonnet 39 Come Sleep

Come Sleep;

O Sleep! the certain knot of peace,

The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,

The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,

Th' indifferent judge between the high and low;

With shield of proof shield me from out the

Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw:

O make in me those civil wars to cease;

I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.

Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,

A chamber deaf to noise and blind of light,

A rosy garland and a weary head;

And if these things, as being thine by right,  Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me,  Livelier than elsewhere,

Stella's image see.