" Be not afeard;
the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs,
that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears,
and sometime voices That,
if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me that,
when I waked, I cried to dream again."
