Now he thinks he'll go to sleep!
I can see the shadow creep
Over his eyes, in soft eclipse,
Over his brow, and over his lips,
Out to his little finger-tips!
Softly sinking, down he goes!
Down he goes! Down he goes!

[_Rising and carefully retreating to her seat_.]

See! He is hushed in sweet repose!

_David_.
[_Yawning_.]

Behold a miracle! Music transformed
To morphine, and the drowsy god invoked
By the poor prattle of a maiden's tongue!
A moment more, and we should all have gone
Down into dreamland with the babe! Ah, well!
There is no end of wonders.

_Ruth_.
None, indeed!
When lazy poets who have gorged themselves,
And cannot keep awake, make the attempt
To shift the burden of their drowsiness,
And charge a girl with what they owe to greed.

_David_.