Now, Morpheus, rouse thee from thy sable den, Charm all his senses with a slumb'ring trance; Whilst old Sylvanus send[s] a lovely train Of satyrs, dryades, and water nymphs Out of their bowers to tune their silver strings, And with sweet-sounding music sing Some pleasing madrigals and roundelays, To comfort Sophos in his deep distress.

Her he selected for his peerless lady, and dubbed her with the sweet-sounding name of Dulcinea del Toboso.

Here in the drawing-room he set himself down to a spinet which bore the date of 1770, and he struck a few exceedingly sweet-sounding, if slightly tinkling, chords from it.