Beaufort; Lying on a Couch.
Why, do they lay me on a Couch of Thorns?
How should I rest!—They bid me close my Eyes:
But, through the Lids, I see a Thousand Forms;
Numberless Terrours!—I shut Both Ears: And yet,
I hear infernal Howlings!—Death, and Despair,
Have laid hold upon me.—O, miserable, that I am!—

Would I had died, as innocent, as Gloucester!—
Let me think no more.—Is there no Physician
Can cure the Mind?—Nothing, to kill Reflection?—
That I could drink Oblivion down!—O, when
Shall I have Rest!—

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