John Dryden (1631–1700)

YOU twice ten hundred deities,

To whom we daily sacrifice;

You powers that dwell with fate below,

And see what men are doomed to do,

Where elements in discord dwell;

Thou god of sleep, arise and tell

Great Zempoalla what strange fate

Must on her dismal vision wait!

By the croaking of the toad,

In their caves that make abode;

Earthly, dun, that pants for breath,

With her swelled sides full of death;

By the crested adders’ pride,

That along the clifts do glide;

By thy visage fierce and black;

By the death’s head on thy back;

By the twisted serpents placed

For a girdle round thy waist;

By the hearts of gold that deck

Thy breast, thy shoulders, and thy neck:

From thy sleepy mansion rise,

And open thy unwilling eyes,

While bubbling springs their music keep,

That use to lull thee in thy sleep.