How many thousands of my poorest subjects 
Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep, 
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee,
That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, 
And steep my senses in forgetfulness? 
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, 
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, 
Under the canopies of costly state, 
And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody? 
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile 
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell? 
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
In cradle of the rude imperious surge, 
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 
With deafing clamour in the slippery clouds, 
That with the hurly death itself awakes? 
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; 
And in the calmest and most stillest night, 
With all appliances and means to boot, 
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down! 
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.