 | Poems |  |
The Dream.
To
set my jealous Soul at strife
All things maliciously agree,
Though sleep of Death the Image be,
Dreams are the Portraiture of Life.
All things maliciously agree,
Though sleep of Death the Image be,
Dreams are the Portraiture of Life.
43
I saw, when last I clos'd my Eyes,
Celinda stoop t'anothers Will;
If specious Apprehension kill,
What would the truth without disguise?
Celinda stoop t'anothers Will;
If specious Apprehension kill,
What would the truth without disguise?
The joyes which I should call mine own
Me thought this Rival did possesse:
Like Dreams is all my happinesse;
Yet Dreams themselves allow me none.
Me thought this Rival did possesse:
Like Dreams is all my happinesse;
Yet Dreams themselves allow me none.
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