KING: How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this
hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft
nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt
weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in
forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky
cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee And hushed
with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the
perfumed chambers of the great, Under the canopies of
costly state, And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile In
loathsome beds and leavest the kingly couch A watch-case
or a common 'larum bell? Wilt thou upon the high and
giddy mast Seal up the shipboy's eyes, and rock his
brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge And in the
visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by
the top, Curling their monstrous heads and hanging them
With deafening clamor in the slippery clouds That with
the hurly death itself awakes? Canst thou, O partial
sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so
rude, And, in the calmest and most stillest night, With
all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king?
Then, happy low, lie down. Uneasy lies the head that
wears a crown.

Henry IV Part II, Act 3, Scene 1, 4-27