Here you will find the Poem To a Lady who sent me a copy of verses at my going to bed of poet Henry King
Lady your art or wit could nere devise To shame me more then in this nights surprise. Why I am quite unready, and my eye Now winking like my candle, doth deny To guide my hand, if it had ought to write; Nor can I make my drowsie sense indite Which by your verses musick (as a spell Sent from the Sybellean Oracle) Is charm'd and bound in wonder and delight, Faster then all the leaden chains of night. What pity is it then you should so ill Employ the bounty of your flowing quill, As to expend on him your bedward thought, Who can acknowledge that large love in nought But this lean wish; that fate soon send you those Who may requite your rhimes with midnight prose? Mean time, may all delights and pleasing Theams Like Masquers revell in your Maiden dreams, Whil'st dull to write, and to do more unmeet, I, as the night invites me, fall asleep.
