The god, uneasy till he slept again, Resolved at once to rid himself of pain; And, though against his custom, call’d aloud, Exciting Morpheus from the sleepy crowd; Morpheus, of all his numerous train, express’d The shape of man, and imitated best; The walk, the words, the gesture, could supply, The habit mimic, and the mien bely; Plays well, but all his action is confined, Extending not beyond our humankind. Another, birds, and beasts, and dragons apes, And dreadful images, and monster shapes; This demon, Icelos, in heaven’s high hall, The gods have named, but men Phobetor call. A third is Phantasus, whose actions roll On meaner thoughts, and things devoid of soul; Earth, fruits, and flowers, he represents in dreams, And solid rocks unmoved, and running streams. These three to kings and chiefs their scenes display, The rest before the ignoble commons play. Of these the chosen Morpheus is despatch’d, Which done, the lazy monarch, overwatch’d, Down from his propping elbow drops his head, Dissolved in sleep, and shrinks within his bed.