Classic Poem

Dear Dean, since you in sleepy wise
Have oped your mouth and closed your eyes,
Like ghost I glide along your floor,
And softly shut the parlor door;
For should I break your sweet repose,
Who knows what money you might lose,
Since oftentimes it has been found
A dream has giv'n ten thousand pound.
Then sleep, my friend, dear Dean, sleep on,
And all you get shall be your own;
Provided you to this agree,
That all you lose belongs to me.