XXVII.

This savoured of this world; but his hand shook: He shut his door, and after having read A paragraph, I think about Horne Tooke, Undressed, and rather slowly went to bed. There, couched all snugly on his pillow's nook, With what he had seen his phantasy he fed; And though it was no opiate, slumber crept Upon him by degrees, and so he slept.