The opening lines of this poem seem to be adapted from remembrance of the Friar's in _Romeo and Juliet_: 'The grey-eyed Morn smiles on the frowning Night ... And flecked Darkness like a drunkard reels From forth Day's path and Titan's burning wheels.' (ii. 3.) Line 4, in HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18 reads, as I have adopted, 'thy' for 'the.' Line 5, ib. 'on yond faire.' " 7, ib. 'Unfold thy front and then....' " 9, instile is = instill, used in Latinate sense of drop into or upon: HARLEIAN MS., as before, is 'enstile.' Line 14, HARLEIAN MS., as before, 'thy' for 'her.' " 16, ib. 'these.' " 17-18, ib. ... 'and disclose ... the new-born rose.' See our Essay for critical remarks. G. TO THE MORNING: SATISFACTION FOR SLEEPE.[77] What succour can I hope my Muse shall send 1 Whose drowsinesse hath wrong'd the Muses' friend? What hope, Aurora, to propitiate thee, Vnlesse the Muse sing my apologie? O in that morning of my shame! when I 5 Lay folded up in Sleepe's captivity, How at the sight did'st thou draw back thine eyes, Into thy modest veyle? how didst thou rise Twice dy'd in thine owne blushes! and did'st run To draw the curtaines, and awake the sun! 10 Who, rowzing his illustrious tresses, came, And seeing the loath'd object, hid for shame His head in thy faire bosome, and still hides Mee from his patronage; I pray, he chides: And pointing to dull Morpheus, bids me take 15 My owne Apollo, try if I can make His Lethe be my Helicon: and see If Morpheus have a Muse to wait on mee. Hence 'tis, my humble fancie finds no wings, No nimble rapture starts to Heaven, and brings 20 Enthusiasticke flames, such as can give Marrow to my plumpe genius, make it live Drest in the glorious madnesse of a Muse, Whose feet can walke the milky way, and chuse Her starry throne; whose holy heats can warme 25 The grave, and hold up an exalted arme To lift me from my lazy vrne, to climbe Vpon the stoopèd shoulders of old Time, And trace Eternity--But all is dead, All these delicious hopes are buried 30 In the deepe wrinckles of his angry brow, Where Mercy cannot find them: but O thou Bright lady of the Morne! pitty doth lye So warme in thy soft brest, it cannot dye. Have mercy then, and when he next shall rise 35 O meet the angry God, invade his eyes, And stroake his radiant cheekes; one timely kisse Will kill his anger, and revive my blisse. So to the treasure of thy pearly deaw, Thrice will I pay three teares, to show how true 40 My griefe is; so my wakefull lay shall knocke At th' orientall gates, and duly mocke The early larkes' shrill orizons, to be An anthem at the Daye's nativitie.