A lethargy of sleep, Most like to death, so calm, so deep. - John Conington

So vast the labor to create
The fabric of the Roman state!

Blest pair! if aught my verse avail, No day shall make your memory fail From off the heart of time.

At Orcus' portals hold their lair
Wild Sorrow and avenging Care;
And pale Diseases cluster there,
And pleasureless Decay
Foul Penury, and Fears that kill,
And Hunger, counsellor of ill,
A ghastly presence they:
Suffering and Death the threshold keep,
And with them Death's blood-brother, Sleep.