The Lovers Dreame:
Who sleeping, thought he did imbrace his Love,
Which when he wak'd, did no such matter prove;
Yet afterwards her Love he did enjoy,
By sending a Letter by a trusty young Boy.
To the tune of, I laid me downe to sleepe.
AS I was walking all alone,
and musing in my minde,
With many a sigh and grone,
I studied how to find,
Some dainty pleasant Theame,
to write unto my Love,
And I fell in a dreame,
and marke how it did prove.
I laid me downe to sléepe,
thinking my Love lay by,
But when I did awake,
my dreame it prou'd a lye:
I sweat, and I am cold,
I fréeze, and am a fire;
I see, and cannot behold
the thing that I most desire.
Thus dreaming as I lay,
me thought she smil'd on me,
Which did increase my joy,
such happinesse to sée:
I spake unto my Love,
and she did answer make:
But so it did not prove,
when as I did awake.
Me thought I saw my Love,
and with her I did stray,
hard by a pleasant Grove,
where we a while did stay.
But time that swift doth goe,
did run too suddenly:
O time why didst thou so?
thou mad'st my Love to cry:
But when I saw her eyes,
bedew'd with brinish teares,
Then I did soone surmise
her heart was struck with feares.
And I did soone require
some reason for to know:
Her answer did admire
my heart with joy and woe.
Quoth she, I love thee deare,
yet so I dare not say,
Because I live in feare
of my true Loves decay:
My Father he is rich,
and I his onely Heire,
And he at me will grutch,
to wed on's poore and bare.
Me thought I answer made,
that I was yong and faire,
And having Art and Trade,
I bade her not take care.
With that me thought she smil'd,
and to me she did say;
My Love be reconcil'd,
and Ile be thine for aye.
My mind was thus imploy'd,
and yet I nothing do;
I thought I'd got a Bride,
but yet it was not so:
Me thought I had my will,
according to my mind,
But I do want it still,
my Love proves not so kind▪
The second Part,
To the same Tune.
THus sléeping still I lay,
betwixt hope and despaire;
But at the breake of day,
O then began my care:
When as I did awake,
and found it nothing so,
Then for my true Loves sake,
I did lament with woe.
I cannot come my Love,
to the place where thou art;
But I will write to thée,
if thou wilt take my part,
The complaint of my poore heart,
receive it as you will:
My Love may ease my smart,
or she my heart may kill.
My heart is not mine owne,
nor I at liberty:
All joyes are from me gone,
alacke what remedy.
I would I were in place,
where my true Love doth rest,
And then I would imbrace,
the joyes that I like best.
Would
Jove would pleased be,
for to transforme my shape,
That I unknowne may see
my Love, and so escape:
And yet I would be seene
of her, and none but she:
And thus I would begin,
Faire Lady, pitie me.
But some perchance may say,
that I my Love would fright,
To those I answer, Nay,
she is my hearts delight:
Although I wish to change,
my selfe in some mans hue,
Yet I would not seeme strange,
unto my Lover true.
And if I find her coy,
and grieved with vexation,
Yet I with her will play,
to gaine my expectation.
Then happily she will
consider of my woe:
Thus I will use my skill,
and glad to please her so.
I would I had some Page,
that would to me be true,
In haste to run a voyage,
that my true Love may view
This Letter of my griefe,
and send me some reply:
If she yeeld no reliefe,
alacke, then must I die.
Then straight a Page he sent
unto her hastily:
At whose returne content
was brought him speedily.
When his true Love did view,
his writing in such kind:
Quoth she I will be true,
and so my Loue shall find.
O haste, thou little Page,
make haste unto my Love,
That death may cease his rage,
and joyes may sorrowes move:
And I my selfe will come,
before the breake of day,
When darknesse is begun,
then Ile steale hence away.
My Father must not know,
what you about do come:
For if he should be so,
my Love were quite undone.
Therefore make haste againe,
and save my true Loves life:
I will release his paine,
and prove his loving wife.
FINIS.
Printed at London for I. W. dwelling in Gilt-spur street.