University of Virginia Library

Who so he be on earth,
that wisely can deuine
Vpon a Dreame: come shewe his skyll
vpon a Dreame of mine:
Which, if that well he marke,
sure he shall finde therein
Great misteries, I gage my life:
which Dreame did thus begin.

Me thought I walked too and fro,
vpon a hillie land,
So long, till euen with wearinesse,
I could wel scarcely stād.
And weery so (me thought) I went
to leane against an Oke:
Where leaning but a while, me thought,
the tree in peeces broke.
From which, me thought, to saue my life
I lightly skipt away:
And at the first, the sight thereof
my senses did dismay:
But when I stayed so a while,
and looked rounde about,
And sawe no other dreadfull sight,
I knew not what to doubt.
But to some house (me thought) alas,
I wisht my selfe full faine:
But when I lookte, I could not see
one house vpon the plaine:
Good Lord (thought I) where am I now?
what desart place is this?
How came I heere? what shall I doo?
my heart full fearefull is.
And therewithall (me thought) I fell
flat downe vpon my knee,
And humble praiers made to God
on high, to comfort me [OMITTED]
Holding a Citterne in her hand,
wherewith to mee she came:
And gaue it me, desiring mee
to play vpon the same.
More halfe afeard to see this sight,
O Lady fayre! quoth I,
My skyll too simple is, God wot,
to sound such harmony.
Yet playe, quoth shee, the best thou canst,
it shall suffice, I say;
Doo thy good will, I craue no more,
therefore, [I] (praye thee) play.
With that, mee thought, I tooke the same,
and sounded, by and by,
(Not knowing what I did myselfe,)
a Heauenly harmony.
Unto which tune, the Lady then
so sweete a song did sing:
As, if I could remember it,
it were a Heauenly thing.
Of all which song, one onely steppe
I still doo beare in minde,
And that was this—There is no ioye
vnto content of minde:
No plague, to pride: no woe, to want:
no greefe, to lucklesse loue:
No foe to fortune, friend to God:
no trueth, tyll tryall prooue.
No Serpent, to sclaunderous tongue:
no corsey, vnto care:
No losse, to want of libertie:
no griefes, to Cupids snare.
No foole, to fickle fantasie,
that turnes with euery winde:
No torment, vnto Jelosy,
that still disturbes the minde.
Lo, this was all I bare in minde,
the rest I haue forgot:
Vnto my griefe, O God, he knowes:
but since I haue it not,
Well, let it passe: this Lady fayre
when she had sung her song,
She layde me downe a Napkin faire
vpon the ground along,
As white as Snowe: which when I saw,
I muzed what she ment:
But then (mee thought) frō thence againe,
a little space she went,
And calde mee thus: Hoe, maides, I say!
when will you come away?
Tis time that dinner ready were,
tis very neere midday.
Wher with, mee thought, from out no house,
but frō a bushy bancke,
Came out eight Damsels, all in white:
two and two in a ranck,
In order right, and euery one
a fine Dish in her hand,
Of sundry meates: some this, some that,
and down vpon the land
They laide me downe their Delycates,
wheras this Napkin lay:
Which done, fowre of thē staied stil,
the rest went straight away
Unto the place frō whence they came,
the Bushy Banke (I meane)
And sodenly, I wot not howe,
they all were vanisht cleane.
But, to goe onwardes with my dreame
in order briefe I will,
To make discourse of these fowre Dames
behind that staied still.
First, one of them fell downe on knee,
and solempnely sayd Grace:
Another, she with Pleasant Herbes
bestrowed all the place:
The thirde, she with a Bason fayre
of water sweete did stand:
The fourth, demurely stoode, and bare
a Towell in her hand.
I standing still, as one amaz'd,
to see so straunge a sight,
Yet seeing nothing but might serue
my minde for to delight;
The Lady (Mistris) of them all,
that kept her Royall seate,
Rose vp, and comming towards me
did greatly me entreate
To come vnto her stately boorde:
seeing me still yet to stand
Amazed so, she came herselfe,
and tooke me by the hand:
Come on, and sitte thee downe, quoth she,
be not afraide, I say:
And eate, quoth she, for well I know
thou hast not dinde to daye.
Faire Dame, quoth I, I cannot eate,
my stomack serues me not:
Therefore, I pardon craue. Quoth she,
thou art afraide, I wot,
To see this seruice heere so straunge:
indeede, tis straunge to thee:
For men but fewe or none do come
our seruice heere to see.
And happy thou maist thinke thy self,
that thou camst heere this day,
For very fewe vnto this hill
can hap to hit the way.
We liue within these desart woods,
like Ladyes, all alone:
With Musick, passing forth the day,
and Fellows we haue none:
We are not like the wretches of
the world, in many a place,
That many liues, for feare or shame,
dare scarsly shew their face.
We spend the day in fine disport,
somtime with Musicke sweete,
Somtime with Hunting of ye Hart,
somtime, as we thinke meete,
With other Pastimes, many one:
sometime with pleasant talke
We passe ye time, somtime for sporte,
about the Fields we walke,
With Bowe and Arrowes (Archer-like)
to kill the stately Deere:
Which, being slaine, we roste & bake,
& make our selues good cheere:
Our meate we roste againe the Sunne,
we haue none other fire:
Sweete water Springs do yeelde vs drinke,
as good as we desire.
For herbe and roots, we haue great store,
here growing in the wood,
Wherwith we many dainties make,
as we our selues think good.
In Sommer time, our Houses here,
are Arbers, made of Trees:
about the which, in sommer time,
do swarme such Hiues of Bees,
As leaves vs then, of hony sweete,
such store as well dooth serue
Insteede of Sugre, all the yeare,
our fruites for to preserue.
Besides, they yelde vs store of waxe,
which from the Hiues we take:
And for our lights, in winter nights,
we many Torches make.
For then our houses all are Caues,
as well thy selfe shalt see,
When thou hast dinde: for I my self
will go, and shew them thee:
Therefore, be bolde, and feare no more,
for thou shalt go with me:
From perils all, within this place,
I will safeconduct thee:
And taste of one of these same herbes,
which thou thy selfe likst best:
The fayrest flower, trust me, oft times
is not the holsommest.
But as for these same herbes, or flowers,
that stand vpon my boord:
There is not one but is right good,
beleeue me, on my word.
Take wher thou list, I giue thee leaue:
but first, my friēd, (quoth she)
Pul of thy gloue, & wash thy hands.—
Wherwith, a maid brought me
A bason faire, of water cleare,
which gaue a sent so sweete,
That, credit me, me thinkes almost,
that I doo smell it yet.
Wherein I softly dipt my hands,
and straight, to wipe the same,
Vpon her arme, a towell brought,
an other gallant dame:
Of whom, I could none other doo,
but take in courteous sorte,
With humble thanks for seruice such:
and so, for to be short,
With reuerence done vnto the Dame,
who kept her stately seate,
I sat me downe: and hongerly,
(me thought) I fell to eate.
First of a Salet, that, me thought,
hard by my trencher stoode:
Whereof, at first, me thought the tast
was reasonable good:
But being downe, it left (alas)
a bitter tang behinde:
Then that I left, and thought to taste
some herbes of other kind.
And therewithall, I gan of her,
in humble sort to craue,
The roote that I had tasted so,
what name the same might haue:
It is Repentance roote, quoth she,
whose taste though bitter be,
Yet in the Spring time holsome tis,
and very rare to see.
But in the ende of all the yeare,
when it is nothing worth,
In euery foolish fielde it growes,
to shewe the braunches forth:
But if the taste thou likest not,
then set away the same,
And taste of somewhat else, (quoth she)
& straight (at hand) a Dame
Stoode reedy by, at her commaund
to take the Dish away:
Which done, then of an other herbe,
I gan to take a say,
Which better farre did please my taste,
whereof I fedde on well.
Good Lady, quoth I, of this herbe
vouchsafe to me to tell
The proper name? This holsome herbe,
is called Hope (quoth she)
And happy he, who of this herbe,
can get a peece, of me.
This herbe preserues the life of man,
euen at poincte of death:
Whē they are speechles, often times,
this herbe doth lend thē breth.
This driues Dispaire, frō brainsick heds,
this salueth many a sore,
This is reliefe, to euery griefe:
what vertue can be more?
Feede well thereon, quoth she, and thou
shalt finde such ease of mind,
As by no meanes, but onely that,
is possible to finde.
O Lady faire, quoth I,
I humble thankes doo yeelde,
For this thy friendly fauour great:
but now, if to the fyelde
Wheras this herbe so rare doth grow,
if you wil deigne (faire dame)
Me to conducte: and shewe me eke,
the true roote of the same:
Twise happy shall I thinke my selfe,
that thus, by chaunce, I found
So courteous a noble Dame,
and such a fertil ground.
The roote (quoth she) yes, thou shalt see,
when thou hast dinde anon,
Both roote and herbe & eke the ground
which it doth grow vpon.—
Dine Lady, quoth I, I haue dinde:
this herbe hath fyld me so,
That when you will, I ready am
vnto that ground to goe.
Which ground and roote for to behould
I haue so great desire,
That till I see the same, me thinkes,
my hart is still on fyre.
Well then, quoth shee, since after it
I see thou longest so,
I will my dinner shorter make,
and with thee I will goe:
And bring thee to the place, where thou
both roote and herb shalt see,
And gather eke a peece therof,
and beare away with thee.
And therwith, from the boorde she rose,
and tooke me by the hand,
And led me ouerthwart, me thought,
a peece of new digd land:
And so from thence into a wood,
in midst wherof, me thought,
She brought me to a great wilde Maze:
which sure was neuer wrought
By Gardeners hāds: but of itself,
I rather gesse it grew:
The order of it was so straunge:
of troth, I tell you true.
Well, in into this Maze we went:
in midst whereof we founde,
In comely order, well cut out,
a prety peece of grownde.
The portrayture whereof, was like
the body of a man:
Which, viewing well, foorthwith,
me thought, this Lady gan
To kneele her downe, vpon the ground,
hard by the body, loe:
And there she shewed me the herbe,
that I desired soe:
And eke the order howe it grew:
which viewing well, at last
She brake a peece, and gaue it mee
to take thereof a taste,
Fresh frō ye ground: which don, traight way,
Well now, ye roote, qd she,
Thou lookest for: but stay a while,
and thou it straight shalt see.
The roote is like an other roote,
but onely that in name:
In difference from all other rootes:
and, to declare the same,
When thou hast seene it, thou shalt knowe
(& therwithall, quoth she,)
Come heere, beholde the roote, which thou
desirest so to see:
And therwith, digging up a Turfe,
she shewde me very plaine
The fashion of it, how it grewe:
and downe she laide againe
The Turfe in place whereas it was:
O Lady fayre, quoth I,
If one should seeme to cut the roote,
what? would ye herb then die?
No, no, quoth she, vntill the roote
be plucked quite away,
The roote it selfe, be sure of this,
will neuer quite decay.
Then would I craue a peece thereof,
(quoth I) O noble Dame,
That I may know it, if againe
I chaunce to taste the same.
The taste, quoth she, vnpleasaunt is,
I tell thee that before:
But where the roote, dooth rancor breed,
ye herbe wil salue the sore.
But yet to make thee for to knowe
the taste thereof, quoth she:
She raisde the Turfe, and of the roote
she brake a peece for me.
And downe she layde the same againe,
in order as she found:
That scarsely well it could be seene,
that she had raisde ye ground.
Well, I had my desire therein:
but tasting of the same,
It was so bitter in my mouth,
that to allaye the same,
I was full glad to take the herbe
which, as the Dame did say,
The bitter taste of that vile roote,
did quickly driue away.
And then, in humble sort, quoth I,
O fayre and courteous Dame,
Since that this roote (as you doo say)
dooth differ much in name
From other rootes, O let me know
what his true name may be?
His name, quoth she, Necessitie
is, truely credit me.
And of these Rootes, some lesse then some:
but bigger that they be,
The more doth Hope spred forth his leaues:
& som do go with me.
Now I haue showne thee thy desire,
this hearb, this roote, & groūd,
I back againe will bring thee, to ye place
wher first thy self I foūd.
So, to be short, we backe returnde
vnto the place againe,
From whence we went: where, sitting still,
attendant did remaine
These fowre faire Dames, whom ther we left:
but al ye dishes they,
And what else on the Boorde was left,
they all had borne away.
Well, beeing come vnto the place,
vp rose they all at once:
And to this Lady reuerence did,
and likely, for the nonce.
They knew their Mistresse minde right well,
her vse belike it was:
Of water cleere vpon the ground,
they full had set a Glasse.
Hard by the Glasse a Towell faire,
and by the Towell, Flowers:
Loe, Youth, quoth she, how likst thou now
this seruice heer of ours?
Couldst thou thus like to liue in woods,
& make thy cheefe repaste
On hearbs and rootes, as we do heere?
or else the life thou haste?
Troubled, tormented, euery howre,
and that with endlesse griefe:
In hope of helpe, and now againe
despayring in reliefe?
Still to reserue? We heere thou seest
doo lyve in quietnesse:
We passe the time without all care,
in myrth and ioyfulnesse:
We feare no foe, we feele no woe,
we dread no daungers great:
We quake not here with too much cold,
nor burn wt extreme heate:
We wish not for great heapes of gold,
such trash we do despise:
We pray for health & not for wealth:
and thus, in pleasant wise,
We spende the day full ioyfully:
we craue no ritch attire,
This thinne white weede is euen asmuch
as we do here desire.
We haue our Musique sweete, besides,
to sollace, now and than,
Our weerie minds with other sports:
& now, how saist thou, man?
If thou maist haue thy choyce,
which wouldst thou rather do?
Leade heere thy lyfe, lyke one of vs,
or els returne vnto
The loathsome lyfe, that now thou leadst?
pause on this that I say:
If th' one thou chuse, here tary styll:
if th' other, hence away
Thou must returne from whence thou comst,
I put it to thy choyce:
If th' one thou chuse, of thy good happe
thou euer mayst reioyce:
But if thou choose amisse, poore wretch,
then thank thy self therfore:
Consider well vpon my words,
as yet I saye no more.
With that, more halfe amazde hereat,
still standing in a muze,
Not knowing what were best to doe,
to take or to refuze
The proffer made me by this Dame,
I humbly fell on knee:
Beseeching God to graunt me of
his grace to gouerne me,
To make me chuse that choice yt best
mought please his holy will:
And sitting so, in humble wise,
on knee thus praying still:
The Dame, expecting earnestly
some annswer at my hand,
So long, quoth she, vpon this choice,
why doo you studying stand?
Some aunswer briefely let me haue,
what euer so it be:
What? wilt thou back returne againe?
or wilt thou bide with me?
One way, faire Dame, quoth I,
I gladly here would stay,
And leade my life here still with you:
but now another way
Reason perswades me to returne:
thus in a doubt twixt bothe,
I one way loue the life I led,
another way I lothe.
So that remaining thus in doubt,
a certaine aunswer for to giue,
Whether back againe for to returne,
or in these woods to liue
I most desire, I cannot sure:
therefore, I pardon craue,
And for an aunswer flat, I may
some longer respit haue?
O no, quoth she, I cannot graunt
thee longer time, not nowe
To pause vpon these words of mine:
and therefore, since that thou
Wylt backe returne, loe, here behold,
this narrow foote path heere:
Go, follow this, vntill thou comst
vnto a Temple neere:
Then leaue this pathe, and presently
crosse ouer to the same:
And there, for further help frō thence,
your praiers humbly frame
Unto Dame Pittie, and her tell
that straight from me you came,
And she will help you, for my sake:
Dame Patience is my name:
And for a token true, that you
were sent to her by me:
Say, Patience will Pittie mooue,
and she will credit thee:
And so, farewell, when thou hast been
a yeere or more away,
If thou wilt hither make returne,
and be content to stay:
Though thou beest woūded many a way,
and plagde with many a sore,
Thou shalt haue ease of euery greef:
& thē what wouldst haue more?
And so, my Youth, quoth she, adue,
I may no longer stay:
Haue good regard to this foote path,
for feare thou goe astray:
And for a farewell, eare thou goest,
to me, thy courteous friend,
In song come beare a part with me:
which, being at an ende,
Then fare thou well: and therewithall
an Instrument she tooke,
And bad one of her Maides with speede,
go fetch her forth a booke,
Which termed was, The trackt of time:
which by & by, me thought,
Ere one could well say, thus it was:
in humble wise she brought,
With such an humble reuerence,
doune to this noble Dame:
That sure it would haue done one good,
for to haue seen the same.
Well, opening the Booke of Songs,
and looking well therein:
At last she staide, and on she plaide:
which Song did thus begin.
Who seeketh far, in time shall finde
great choice of sūdry change:
In time a man shall passe the Pikes
of peryls wonderous strange.
But he that trauaileth long Time,
to seeke content of minde:
And in the end, in trackt of Time
his owne desire shall finde:
And beeing well, is not content
to keepe him where he is:
His time is lost, vnworthy he
to finde the place of blisse.
One Time a fault may be forgiuen,
but if thou once obtaine
The place of rest: marke well the way
vnto the same againe.
For if thou once doo misse the way,
or hast the same forgot:
Thou wander maist, a tedious Time,
& neare the neere, God wot.
Therefore, in Time I warne thee well
to haue a great regarde:
The way thou goest for to returne:
for trust me, it is hard.
And so, for want of longer Time,
I needes must make an ende:
Take time enough, marke wel thy way,
and so, farewell, my friend,
Till Time I see thee heere againe:
which Time let me not see,
Till Time thou canst content thy self,
to spend thy Time with me.
And so take time, while time will serue,
else Time will slip away:
So once againe, adew, quoth she,
I can no longer stay.
With yt, me thought, this heauenly Dame,
with all her maides, was gon:
And I, poore soule, vpon the hill,
was left so all alone:
Where taking heede vnto the path,
which she had shewde me so:
Crosse overthwart the hill,
(me thought) I gan to goe.
At foote whereof, harde by the path,
me thought a Riuer ran,
And down ye streame, in a small boat,
me thought there came a mā:
And by and by he cald to me,
to aske me if I would
Come take a boat to crosse the streame?
and if I would, I should:
Now crosse the riuer straight (me thought)
I sawe a beaten way
Likely to lead vnto some Towne:
whereat I gan to stay:
But nought I said: and therewithall
(me thought) I plaine did see
The Dame who late had lefte me quite,
approching neere to me:
And beeing neere come to me,
me thought she stoutly saide,
Why do you lose your labour so?
what cause hath heere you staide?
Keepe on your way, and lose no Time,
and happy sure art thou,
Thou tookst not boate or ere I came:
but, quite past danger now:
My selfe will bring thee thither, where
The Temple thou shalt see
Whereto I gave thee charge to go:
and so, (me thought) quoth she,
Come follow me: and by and by
no great way we had gon,
But straight she brought me to the hill,
this Temple stood vpon.
And ther (me thought) these words she said:
Go, knock at yōder dore,
And say thou art a seely wight,
cast vp on sorrowes shore;
Brought in the Barke of wearie bale,
cast vp by waues of woe:
The Barke is burst, thou sav'de aliue,
dost wander too and froe,
To seeke some place of quiet rest:
and wandring so about
The hil of Hope, where Patience dwels,
by chance thou foundest out:
From whom thou presently doost come,
a message to declare:
Beare this in minde, thou shalt get in,
well warrant thee I dare.
And when thou comst into the Church,
mark wel on the right hand,
Within the Quire, all cladde in white,
dooth Lady Pittie stand:
To whom, with humble reuerence,
saye this for thy behoue:
I doo beleeue that Patience
in time will Pittie moue.
And thus this lesson I thee leaue:
which if thou beare in minde,
Assure thy selfe straight, at her hands,
some fauor for to finde.
And thus, quoth she, againe farewell,
though me no more thou see,
Till backe thou doost returne againe,
yet I will be with thee:
And guide thee so, where so thou goest,
that thou thy selfe shalt see,
In many Melancolike moodes,
thou shalt be helpt by me.
And therewithall, I know not how,
she vanished away:
And I vnto the Temple straight
began to take my way.
And to the doore, as I
had charge, me thought I came:
And tooke the ring [with] in my hand,
and knocked at the same:
Who knocketh at the doore, quoth one?
A silly wight, quoth I,
Cast vp of late, on sorrowes shore,
by tempests soddenly:
Brought in the Barke of weary bale,
cast vp by waues of woe:
Since when, to seeke some place of rest
I wandred too and froe.
And wandring so, I knew not how,
vnto a Mount I came,
Whereas I found in comely sort,
a noble courteous Dame.
The moūt is cald the Hill of Hope,
wher doth Dame Patiēce dwel:
From whom I come: Welcome, quoth he,
I know the Lady wel.
With that the doore, was opened,
and in, (me thought) I went:
Wherewith, me thought I hard a voyce
a sobbing sigh that sent.
Wherewith somewhat amazd at first,
though greatly not afraide,
Still staring round about (a while)
this stately Church, I staide.
And as before Dame Patience,
to me at parting tolde,
Within the Quier, on the right hand,
(me thought) I did behold
A gallant Dame, all clad in white,
to whom, for my behoue,
These words I sayd, Dame Patience,
I hope, will Pittie mooue.
With that (me thought) this Lady sayd,
I know thy deepe distresse:
And for thy friēd, Dame Patiēce sake,
thou shalt haue som redresse.
And therwithall, me thought, she saide
vnto an aged Sire,
Which in the Temple hard by sate:
Father, I thee desire
To shew this Youth, the perfect path
vnto the place of rest,
Who long hath wandred vp & down,
with torments sore opprest.
Dame Patience hath stoode his friend,
and sent him vnto me,
To lend him helpe vnto this place,
where he desires to be.
Lady, quoth he, I cannot go
my selfe abroade to day,
But I will send my seruant here,
to shew him the right way:
Whose company if he will keepe,
beleeue me, he shall finde
In little time, a place that may
right well content his minde.
Which if he do not, yet let him
with him returne to me,
And then my selfe will go with him.
It shall suffice, quoth she:
Go, sirra, quoth she, follow well
[t]his man, where so he goes:
And take good heede, that in no wise
his company you loose:
For if you lose his company,
you lose your labour quite:
But follow him, your gaine perhaps
your trauaile, shall requite:
His name, quoth she, True Reason is,
my Father Wisdoms man:
Whom, if you follow, to the place
of rest, conduct you can.
So, sirra, quoth she, go your wayes,
be rulde by him, I say:
And though he leade you now & thē
through some vnplesant way,
Yet follow him where so he goes:
doo as I bid you doe,
And he, in time, the perfect place
of rest, can bring thee too:
And so, farewell, Lady, quoth I,
I humble thankes do giue
To you, and eke this good olde man:
and sure, while I doo liue,
You two, I vowe, and eke besides
the noble curteous Dame
That sent me hither vnto you,
Dame Patience by name,
In hart I euer honour will:
and honest Reason loe,
For taking paines, vnto the place
of rest with me to goe.
To recompence his paines, I vowe
to stand his faithfull friend,
To follow him, and to be rulde
by him vnto mine ende.
And if I seeke to slippe from him,
I willing aye will be,
That, as he list, he shall doo due
correction vpon me:
So Lady, I my leaue doo take:
and therewithall, me thought,
The good olde man, fast by the hande
vnto the doore me brought:
And at the doore (me thought) did part,
this good olde man and I:
And Reason, he came stepping forth,
to beare me company:
Or else to leade me to the place
whereas we then should goe:
But as in euery merry moode,
dooth happe some sodaine woe:
So in this Dreame, as we (me thought)
were going on our waye,
I know not well at what (alas)
we suddainly gan staye:
And staying so, a Phesant Cocke
hard by me I gan see,
Which, flying by me, crew so lowde,
as that he waked me.
And thus my Dreame was at an end:
which, when that I awoake,
I tooke my penne, and as you see
I put it in my booke:
Which, for the straungenesse of the same,
surely perswadeth mee,
It dooth some straunge effect pretend,
what euer so it be.

The huge highe Mountaine, fyrst of all?
and then the brokē tree?
And then the Lady, soddainly,
that did appeare to me?
The Napkin lying on the groūd?
& then the Dames that came
In order so, with Dishes all,
vnto this noble Dame?
And wherefore, onely fowre of them
went backe againe away:
And other fowre attendaunt still
vpon this Dame did staye?
And what should meane the giuing
of the Citterne, vnto me
To playe vpon? and that my selfe,
should sound such Harmonie,
Which neuer playde on like before?
and then the Song that she
Vnto the tune that I so playde,
dyd sweetley sing to me?
Then what should meane the order, that
the Maidens did obserue,
As they vpon this stately Dame,
attendaunt still did serue?
The Bason, Towel, & the Flowres,
wher with she strawd ye place?
And one alone among the rest,
so humbly saying Grace?
What ment her stately keeping of
her royall Princely seate?
And what she ment, by bidding me,
to wash before I eate?
And when, as one amazed, so
she did behold me stande:
What she should meane to rise her selfe
& take me by the hand?
Then what should meane the bytter roote
that first I fed vpon:
And tasting of the herbe of Hope,
the bitter taste was gon?
Then what should meane my great desyre
to see that herb to grow:
And how the Lady ledde me straight,
whereas she me did show?
The herbe, the roote, the ground, & all,
and why I then did craue
Of that same roote, or ere I went,
a little taste to haue?
Then what should meane the cutting vp
the Turfe, to let me see
The roote? and then the breaking of
a peece thereof for me?
Then what should meane ye laying down,
the turfe, evē as she foūd,
So closely as could scarse be seene,
that she had styrde the ground?
And then what ment the great wilde Maze,
the Image of a man
Whereas it grew? and after that
our backe returning than?
What ment the Glasse of water, that
at our returne we found:
The towel, and the flowers besides,
downe lying on the ground?
Then what Dame Patience should meane,
for to demaund of me,
Howe I did like her seruice there,
and whither I could be
Content to liue with her or not,
or backe returne to chuse?
And that she put it to my choice,
to take or to refuse?
And backe returnde to my olde life,
then what she ment to say:
If well I chose, I mought reioyce,
for to haue seene that day?
If contrary, why then I mought
but thanke my selfe therefore?
And bad me pause vpon her words,
and then would say no more?
Then what should meane my kneeling so,
and praying thē of mine
To God, for grace to take and chuse,
to please his will diuine?
Then what the Lady ment in hast,
as I was kneeling so,
To aske to that she did demaund
an aunswer, yea, or no?
Then what my doubtfull aunswer ment,
and pardon I did craue,
That for an aunswer flat, I might
some longer respit haue?
And why she should no respit giue?
then what the path way ment?
And what she ment, in that she me
vnto the Temple sent?
The Lesson that she gaue me then,
and then Dame Pitty too?
And what besides, at the Church door,
she further bad me doo?
Then, at our parting, the sweete song
which ran of Time so much?
What yt shold mean, & what should mean
our choice of musick such?
Her song once done, what then should meane
the vanishing away,
Wherewith my selfe at first a while
amazed so did stay?
But going onwards on my way,
what ment the Riuer then
That ran so neer the path? and then
the Boate? and then the man?
And then what should be ment, in that
he called so to me,
To take a Boate to crosse the streame?
the way that I did see,
Likely to leade vnto some towne?
what too was ment by that
Whereto I made no aunswer, but,
I stayed looking at?
And then againe, what ment the Dame
who vanished away,
To come vnto me there againe,
and what she ment to saye?
I happy was I had not tane
a Boate or ere she came:
And how from thence with me, vnto
the Temple neere she came?
Then, what should meane the lesson, that
she gaue me for to say
At the Church doore? and then againe,
her vanyshing away?
Then what should meane the stately Church?
and, as I sayd before,
The lesson that I did rehearse
when I came to the doore?
Then what should meane ye sighe I heard?
then what ye Lady ment,
Apparrelled in white, to whom
Dame Patience had me sent?
Then what my kneeling ment to her,
and then my words I sayde?
And that at my first entring in
I was so much afraide?
And what should meane the aunswer then
the Lady gaue to me?
And how that from Dame Patience
I came, she did well see?
Then what should meane her saying, that
she knew right well my grief:
And for Dame Patience sake, I shold
be sure to find relief?
Then what should meane the aged man,
of whom she did request
To take the paines to bring me to
the place of quiet rest?
Then what the old man ment to say,
he could not go that day,
But he would send his servaunt then,
to bring me on the way?
Then what the Lady ment to say
that should as then suffice:
And charging me his company
to keepe in any wise?
And then what ment the Lady then,
to bydde me farewell soe?
And thē what ment this old mans mā,
that forth with me did go?
And then my thanks vnto the Dame,
and to the good olde man?
And to Dame Patience, my friend,
and eke our parting than
At the Church doore, with ye olde Sire?
and thē what should be ment
By him, that for to bring me to
the place of Rest was sent?
And then, what should be ment by this,
in going of our way,
I know not how, but soddainly
we both at once gan staye?
And last, of that accursed Cocke:
what should the meaning be,
That in his flying crew so lowde,
as that he waked me?
Which Cocke, I am perswaded sure,
if that he had not beene:
Some wondrous sight, in trauailing,
I, doubtles, should haue seen:
And that which grieues me most of all,
the place of quiet rest
That man would sure haue brought me too:
where now, with grief opprest,
I must perforce liue as I do,
and only haue this ease,—
To pray unto Dame Patience
my sorrowes to appease:
Who promisde me, at parting last,
that though I her not see
Long time againe in open sight,
yet she would be with me:
And guide me so from place to place,
where euer so I goe,
That I by her shall finde great ease
Of many a deadly woe.
In hope whereof, thus, as you see,
my wearie life I spende,
Till I the place of Rest attaine:
and so I make an ende.
This Dreame is strainge: and sure, I thinke
it dooth Pronosticate
Some straunge effect, what so it is:
but since I know not what
It dooth pretend: I still will praye
to God, me to defend
In daungers all, bothe daye and night,
vnto my lyues end.
And when this loathsome life I end,
with torments so opprest,
In Heauen I may, at latter daye,
enioye a place of rest.