Sleepe, angry beauty

Sleepe, angry beauty, sleep, and feare not me.

For who a sleeping Lyon dares prouoke?

It shall suffice me here to sit and see

Those lips shut vp that neuer kindely spoke.

What sight can more content a louer's minde

Then beauty seeming harmlesse, if not kinde?

My words haue charm'd her, for secure shee sleepes;

Though guilty much of wrong done to my loue;

And in her slumber, see, shee close-ey'd weepes:

Dreames often more then waking passions moue.

Pleade, sleepe, my cause, and make her soft like thee,

That shee in peace may wake and pitty mee.