Chapter III

And more to lulle him in his slumber soft,
A trickling stream from high rock tumbling down
And ever-drizzling raine upon the loft,
Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne
Of swarming Bees, did cast him in a swowne.
No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes,
As still are wont t'annoy the walled towne,
Might there be heard; but carelesse Quiet lyes
Wrapt in eternal! silence farre from enimyes.

_Edmund Spenser_.