Zemp.  Ho, Ismeron, Ismeron! 
He stirs not; ha, in such a dismal cell
Can gentle sleep with his soft blessings dwell? 
Must I feel tortures in a human breast,
While beasts and monsters can enjoy their rest? 
What quiet they possess in sleep’s calm bliss! 
The lions cease to roar, the snakes to hiss,
While I am kept awake,
Only to entertain my miseries. 
Or if a slumber steal upon my eyes,
Some horrid dream my labouring soul benumbs
And brings fate to me sooner than it comes. 
Fears most oppress when sleep has seized upon
The outward parts, and left the soul alone. 
What envied blessings these cursed things enjoy! 
Next to possess, ’tis pleasure to destroy. 
Ismeron! ho, Ismeron, Ismeron! [Stamps.

Ism.  Who’s that, that with so loud and fierce a call Disturbs my rest?

Zemp.  She, that has none at all,
Nor ever must, unless thy powerful art
Can charm the passions of a troubled heart.

Ism.  How can you have a discontented mind, To whom the gods have lately been so kind?

Zemp.  Their envious kindness how can I enjoy, When they give blessings, and the use destroy?

Ism.  Dread empress, tell the cause of all your grief; If art can help, be sure of quick relief.

Zemp.  I dreamed, before the altar that I led
A mighty lion in a twisted thread;
I shook to hold him in so slight a tie,
Yet had not power to seek a remedy: 
When, in the midst of all my fears, a clove,
With hovering wings, descended from above,
Flew to the lion, and embraces spread,
With wings, like clasping arms, about his head,
Making that murmuring noise that cooing doves
Use, in the soft expression of their loves;
While I, fixed by my wonder, gazed to see
So mild a creature with so fierce agree: 
At last the gentle dove turned from his head,
And, pecking, tried to break the slender thread,
Which instantly she severed, and released
From that small bond the fierce and mighty beast,
Who presently turned all his rage on me,
And, with his freedom, brought my destiny.

Ism.  Dread empress, this strange vision you relate
Is big with wonder, and too full of fate,
Without the god’s assistance, to expound. 
In those low regions, where sad night hangs round
The drowsy vaults, and where moist vapours steep
The god’s dull brows, that sways the realm of sleep;
There all the informing elements repair,
Swift messengers of water, fire, and air,
To give account of actions, whence they came,
And how they govern every mortal frame;
How, from their various mixture, or their strife,
Are known the calms and tempests of our life: 
Thence souls, when sleep their bodies overcome,
Have some imperfect knowledge of their doom. 
From those dark caves those powers shall strait appear;
Be not afraid, whatever shapes they wear.