"Macbeth does murder , the innocent , that knits up the ravel'd sleave of care.

Imprimis, her faire haire; no silken sleave Can be so soft the gentle worm does weave.

'Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care!'

Macbeth does murder sleep,' the innocent sleep; Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast.