The Tempest

Be not affeared;
The isle is full of noises
Sounds and sweet airs,
That give delight and hurt not
Sometimes a thousand twangling
Instruments will hum about mine ears
And sometimes voices that,
If I then had waked, after long sleep
Will make me sleep again;
And then, in dreaming,
The clouds, methought,
Would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me,
That when I waked
I cried to dream again