Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 39

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, 
The indifferent judge between the high and low; 
     With shield of proof shield me from out the press 
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 to 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.