In Bed.
Early One Summer Morning, To A Fly.
Away, thou torment ! leave alone—1
’Twere best—a man now savage grown,2
Half-maddened by thy whizzing wing,3
Thy tickling foot, thy vicious sting,4
Thy buz of triumph sounded near,5
Across my face, and at my ear.6
Away, thou puny tyrant !
know,7
He whom thou teasest, torturest so,8
Can vengeance deal ;— yea, he will crush,9
As soon as ever thou shalt come10
Between his finger and his thumb,11
Thy bones and body all to mush.12
O weary me ! Oh when, oh when,13
Will sleep revisit me again ?14
I long for sleep, for one short doze15
Of quiet undisturbed repose.16
Again thou’rt there ! O cruel fly,17
Have mercy ! Hear a suppliant’s cry.18
If thou, becoming a kind creature,19
Wilt mortify thy muscal nature,20
And curb that lust to revel in21
The pleasant juices of my skin ;22
If thou from hence at once wilt go,23
Nor longer here thy trumpet blow,24
But cease thy circlings round my head,25
And quit the region of my bed,26
And let me now my slumber take,27
I’ll give thee—respite till I wake.28