 | Philosophicall fancies |  |
91
A Farewell to the MUSES.
Farewell my Muse, thou gentle harmlesse Spirit,That us'd to haunt me in the dead of Night.
And on my Pillow, where my head I laid,
Thou sit'st close by, and with my Fancies play'd:
Sometimes upon my Eyes you dancing skip,
Making a vision of some fine Land-skip.
Thus with your sportings, kept me oft awake,
Not with your noise, for nere a word you spake:
But with your Faiery dancing, circling winde,
Upon a hill of thoughts within my minde.
92
Then I did rest, and sleep out all the night.
| Philosophicall fancies | |