But then his lab'ring soul with Dreams was prest,And found the greatest wearyness in Rest;His dreadful Rival in his sleep appears,And in his Dreams again, he fights, and fears:Shrinks at the stroaks of t'others Mighty Head,Feels every wound, and dreams how fast he fled.At this he wakes, and with his fearful eyes,Salutes the Light, that Fleet the Eastern Skies.Still half amaz'd, looks round, and held by fear,Scarce can Believe, no Enemy was neer.But when he saw his heedless fears were brought,Not by a Substance, but a drowzy Thought,His ample sides he shakes, from whence the DewIn scatter'd showers, like driven Tempests flew.At which, through all his Breast new boldness spread,And with his Courage, rais'd his Mighty Head.Then by his Love inspir'd, resolves to tryThe Combat now, and overcome, or die.Every weak Passion sometimes is aboveThe fear of Death, much more the Noblest Love.By Hope 'tis scorn'd, and by dispair 'tis sought,Persu'd by Honour, and by sorrow brought.0