How gladly would I meet

Mortality my sentence, and be earth

Insensible! how glad would lay me down

As in my mother's lap!

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book x. Line 775.

So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop

Into thy mother's lap.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book xi. Line 535.

Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul

And lap it in Elysium.

John Milton (1608-1674): Comus. Line 256.

Gashed with honourable scars,

Low in Glory's lap they lie;

Though they fell, they fell like stars,

Streaming splendour through the sky.

James Montgomery (1771-1854): The Battle of Alexandria.

Yes, social friend, I love thee well,

In learned doctors' spite;

Thy clouds all other clouds dispel,

And lap me in delight.

Charles Sprague (1791-1875): To my Cigar.

And ever against eating cares

Lap me in soft Lydian airs,

Married to immortal verse,

Such as the meeting soul may pierce,

In notes with many a winding bout

Of linked sweetness long drawn out.

John Milton (1608-1674): L'Allegro. Line 135.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,

A youth to fortune and to fame unknown:

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,

And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): The Epitaph.

Asleep in lap of legends old.

John Keats (1795-1821): The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 15.

But winter lingering chills the lap of May.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Traveller. Line 172.

The sun had long since in the lap

Of Thetis taken out his nap,

And, like a lobster boil'd, the morn

From black to red began to turn.

Samuel Butler (1600-1680): Hudibras. Part ii. Canto ii. Line 29.