University of Virginia Library


175

A DREAME.

To the right worshipfull my good Lady the Lady Paulet, who was wife to the honorable sir Hugh Paulet Knight.

176

A dreame I had the straungest thing,
that euer man might meet:
Me thought I bore amid a King,
a faire familiar spreet.
A Lady like the Fairie Queene,
that men behold but seld:
Who daunceth round about the greene,
by Moonshine oft in field.
This King on little finger worne,
did mysteries vnfold
And made me walke from Eauen to Morne,
in secret where I would.
Among the Dames and Nymphes most chast,
when greatest glee they make:
And where sweet darlings are embrac'st,
and greatest pleasure take.
I came sometime where loues delight,
was drownd in deepe disdaine:
And fancie reapt but froward spight,
to counter-pace his paine.
Not sound a sleepe in slumber so,
this busie dreame I had:
That tossed senses to and fro,
with heauie motions sad.
That waits vpon a troubled mind,
that seldome taketh rest:
But wanders with each blast of wind,
and breath of panting brest,

177

And in this Dreame a world of toyes,
and trifles led me on:
Some of new cares, some present ioyes,
and some of pleasures gone.
And some of gladsome haps to come,
those were dumme sights and showes:
Not worth a philip of my thombe,
if I should all disclose.
But as those fancies past like shade,
that followe man full fast:
Or brightnes of a shining blade,
whose glaunce small while doth last.
I came me thought into a caue,
where all the Sibbils dwel:
A sumptuous pallace builded braue,
not like a little Cell.
Or Cottage poore of small account,
for at the outer gate:
There stood a stately mighty mount,
wheron a Lady sate.
All clothed in white, and wore a hoode
of red, round shapte indeed:
At sight of whom amazed I stood,
to see so strange a weed.
Why man quoth she, feare not a whit,
A woman sure I am:
That doo among my neighbours sit,
as milde and meeke as Lamb.

178

And spend the goods that God hath sent,
in worthy liberall sort:
With merrie meane and sad content,
that winnes a good report.
The poore I feed, the rich I feast,
and welcome hie and low:
And spent thus thirtie yeares at least,
more wealth than world doth know.
The weedes that body doth disguise,
vpon vaine earth a space:
At latter day when soule shall rise,
Shall giue me greater grace.
I woondred at the words she spake,
she did discend withall:
So by the hand she did me take.
and led me through the hall.
Unto a pretie parlour fine,
where I beheld and saw:
A trifling counterfeit of mine,
that Arnold Oens did draw.
There sat of guests a table full,
that auncient friends had beene:
For she held house for them that wull,
make of her house their Inne.
Not for to pay as trauelers do,
for euery thing they take:
But feed and find great welcome to,
full free for friendships sake.

179

Sometime the chiefe and greatest sort,
of Dames and noble peere:
Unto her table doth resort,
to tast of her good cheere.
Yea most of all the worthie men,
that beares good name and sway:
Comes freely thither now and then,
to passe the time away.
It were a world to shew and tell,
what worthie deeds she doth:
For world will skarce beleeue it well,
that I do know forsooth.
Let passe in silence that a while,
my Dreams breeds greater doubt,
For some there at may chance to smile,
[illeg.] is strangely out.
The rouing thoughts of idle braine,
and fancies in the head:
That feede the mind with humours vaine,
when body seemeth dead.
Are trustles toyes cleane voyd of truth,
which [illeg.] meat and drinke:
Or weake consaits of age and youth,
whereon the heart doth thinke.
Well be thy vizions good or bad,
or sweauons of the night:
Such idle freakes as fancy had,
now shall you heare aright.

180

Me thought a troupe of Dames I saw,
a thousand in a roe:
They would not tread vpon a strawe,
they minst the matter so.
All hand in hand they traced on,
a tricksie ancient round:
And soone as shadowes were they gone,
and might no more be found.
And in their place came fearefull bugges,
as blacke as any pitche:
With bellies big and swagging dugges,
more lothsome then a witch.
All these began to chide and charme,
as hellish hags they were:
And went about some secret harme,
as seemed plainely there.
For in a circle stoode they still,
and starde like Bull at stake:
They did no good but wisht much ill,
to them that sleepe or wake.
From these foule feends I thought to flye,
but I was quickly staide:
And in the twinckling of an eye,
was made full sore afraide.
For they with frownes and froward lookes,
did threaten my decay:
And said they had such counting bookes,
that should my sins bewray.

181

Thy filthy faults of youth quoth they,
shall now corrected be:
For plagues and scourges euery way,
there is prepar'd for thee.
First for thy soule offence to God,
in secret corners doone:
Thou shalt be whipt with many a rod,
of euery mothers Sonne.
Some shall thee wound with edged swoord,
and let out thy wilde blood:
And some shall shoot such bitter woords,
shall neuer doo thee good.
The Prince shall dayly speak thee faire,
but neuer thee preferre:
The people driue thee in dispaire,
and make thee open warre.
Thy freends with flattery thee deceaue,
thy foes about thee flocke:
And in great mischeefe shall thee lead,
beset with many a mocke.
And ech disease that life abhorres,
shall dayly on thee steale:
With botch and blaines and stinking sores,
that no sweet salue shall heale.
So marked man passe where thou wilt,
Gods wrath shall follow thee:
As guerdon for thy wretched guilt,
which God alone dooth see.

182

These words pronounc'st, these hags of hell,
inhast and horrour both:
From thence did take a quicke farewell,
and downe those hell-hounds goeth.
Where Pluto dwels and darkenes is,
a place of endles paine:
And where foule Feends full far from blisse,
in torments still remaine.
Now sat I sadly all amaz'd,
to thinke on follies past:
And vpward to the heauens gaz'd,
from whence comes helpe at last.
Whereat the Clouds a passage made,
to Angels as I weene:
That than discended downe in shade,
to come to world vnseene.
My ring disclos'd that secret straight,
and tolde me what they were:
Fye man (quoth they) vse no such sleight,
thou needst not now to feare.
We come to comfort feeble sence,
that all things takes awrie:
And not to punish mans offence,
that doth for vengeance cry.
God doth in mercy more delite,
than in his iustice still:
His anger is forgotten quite,
when men fore-thinke their ill.

183

The deuill driues men in dispaire,
by threatnings now and than:
And laies his snares in earth or aire,
to trap some silly man.
He is the Father of vntroth,
that hath great wits beguilde:
And still about great mischiefe goeth,
like roaring Lyon wilde.
Those bugges that late before thee stood,
are fancies of thy head:
Or on thy hart some heauy blood,
that haunts thee in thy bed.
This said, the Angels vanisht all,
for I saw them no more:
Then for the Lady gan I call,
of whom I spake before.
She came with crootch now lymping on,
in garments white as snowe:
For pleasure, pride, and pomp was gone,
from her full long agoe.
What meanest thou man to call me thus?
quoth she thou homely guest:
For I was halfe asleepe I wis,
my yeeres requires some rest.
O curteous dame, of fauour yet,
heare what I haue to say:
I seeke but councell at thy wit,
of things I shall bewray.

184

My life is tost and troubled long,
with sorrowes from my birth:
With many greefes and many a wrong,
and wretched cares on earth.
I droup and drop away like lincke,
whose light is soone burnt out:
And still the more of worlde I think,
the more I liue in doubt.
The more I wish, the lesse I haue,
and where I merite most:
There iust deserts doth dayly craue,
and there is labour lost.
Youth hath consumde his yeeres in waste,
and gathers nought but greefe:
Age is but scornde or cleane disgraste,
and starues without releefe.
O tell no more of this quoth she,
these fortunes many finde:
As heauy haps doo follow me,
if thou didst know my minde.
I meane as well as any wight,
that I by loue beare life:
And dare shew face for dooing right,
with widow, maid or wife.
Yet worlde deceiues me euery day,
my good turnes haue no proofe:
No faith nor promise any way,
falles out for my behoofe.

185

In world there is such falshood vs'd,
the iust can neuer thriue:
A Saint himselfe might be abus'd,
if heere he were aliue.
But earth and ashes, dung and stinke,
is all that heere we haue:
Men haue not one good thought to think,
from birth vnto their graue.
Uaine are the woords and deeds of all,
all is but scornes and lyes:
And all to dust and drosse shall fall,
thou seest before thine eyes.
She saide no more, but pausde and staide
to heare how I replyed:
When I her words full well had waied,
and time to speake I spied.
These things are true quoth I, good dreame,
I know the wrongs you feele:
And how mishap turnes, out of frame
falles Fortunes fickle wheele.
And how vile world shall make an end,
and what short season heere:
We haue before from world we wend,
all that see I full cleere.
A greater greefe stickes in my minde,
that none but God he knowes:
Which in my hart my freends shall finde,
when hence my body goes.

186

This shall I shrine in secret thought,
as it some tretcherie were:
Or might against great God be wrought,
to bring my soule in feare.
If my right hand knew that indeed,
I would cut of the same:
And bite my tung and make it bleed,
if tung those greefes would name.
No eare nor any liuing soule,
is fit to heare it thorow:
My head doth craue to stand on pole,
if I disclose it now.
The aire alone shall heare me sound.
the smart I beare in brest:
In hollow caues it shall rebound,
to breed me more vnrest.
Yea like a man bestraught of wit,
amid wilde woods and groues:
Where Howlets in dark nights doo sit,
and Hawkes for pray he houes.
There shall my hart his greefes vnfolde,
there will I cry and yell:
To starres and cloudes it shalbe tolde,
that now I dare not tell.
Fye man, be not so brute like beast,
to rage and run abroad:
From foes doo keepe, to freends at least,
thy conscience doo vnloade.

187

Some of those gripes that greeues thee so,
good councell maiest thou take:
Sweet plaisters God prouides I know,
for men that mone will make.
A freend deere dame, what words are those,
where dwels so true a wight?
No sooner secrets we disclose,
but then adue goodnight.
A stranger hath that he hath sought,
and newes is hard to keep:
When freends are maisters of thy thoughts,
they laugh when thou doost weep.
And quickly loe behinde thy backe,
thy secrets must be knowne:
Shall freends a burthen beare in pack,
when thou holdst not thine owne,
That close in brest was locked fast,
a blabbing tung beware:
Strange tales flies euery where like blasts,
that sure vncertain are.
Perchaunce I seeke some secret drift,
that none should know but I:
Or practise some dishonest shift,
wheron my life may lye.
Or loue some Lady of estate,
a toy past hope in age:
A fancy that may purchase hate,
if reason rule not rage.

188

Should these things be put out to nurse,
where Wolues and Tigers feede:
And where things growe from ill to worse,
and men catch harme indeed.
Nay, better swallow sorrows vp,
and dye in great distres:
Poyson drinke in spiced Cup,
then secrets so expres.
If matter of such weight you haue
goodman, doo what you please:
I doo no such great knowledge craue,
to finde out your disease.
And as for loue, both you and I
me think we should it leaue:
The moistnes of olde vaines wax dry,
if wit not me deceiue.
You may as well make madmen wise,
or clime beyond the Sun:
Or builde faire Castles in the Skies,
as such a course to run.
As follow loue that knowes you not,
when siluer haires doo shine:
And hath the pranckes of youth forgot,
and will no more be fine.
O toutch not me with no fond loue,
nor nothing therby ment:
For I did but your iudgement proue,
of secret sweet content.

189

Which I in silence carry still,
as my olde yeeres alowe
As much of hart, as of goodwill,
I troe I tolde you now.
Perchaunce I may doo this or that,
as fancies men beguile:
But sure I neuer tolde you what,
I meaned all the while.
For I had rather dye then tell,
what makes my sorrow great:
My greefes the wise doth know full well,
that knoweth colde from heate.
Colde fortune may torment me sore,
and so may shifts some time:
Not hatred troubles men much more,
then Uenus in her prime.
Loue lasts no longer as you say,
then whiles gaie flowers growe greene:
In age then all delights decay,
which few or none haue seene.
For age knowes what true loue is worth,
and hath in loue great stay:
Youth brings light loue like blossoms forth,
that fades as flower in May.
Loue is not lost if loue be set,
past reach of common men:
Though for great loue, small loue we get,
loue is not hated then.

190

Which shewes good loue wins fauour still,
if loue be placed right:
Loue gets great thanks, or gaines good will,
where euer loue doth light.
Some say that loue is oft disdainde,
that is where loue doth lack:
those folks are weake and feeble brainde,
that thinks loue but a knacke.
For through the world loue leads the Daunce,
where loue wants, growes no good:
But springs vp spite and foule mischaunce,
and mischeefe flowes like Flood.
Though loue I praise, this shewes no sparke,
of my close care and woes:
I hide my secrets in the darke,
that none but God it knowes.
Inough for me to suffer smart,
such lot doth destine giue:
And so with sorrowes breake the hart,
that hath no will to liue.
Good freend (quoth she) haste not thine end,
with passions of the minde:
Hope after hap, the world may mend,
thou maist good fortune finde.
No sure my glasse of life is runne,
Death drawes on me so fast:
I see my daies are almost done,
life may no longer last.

191

My haples yeares and aged bones,
desires no being heere:
To graue I go with sighs and grones,
I buy bad life too deere.
With losse of blood, of time and youth,
and all that precious is:
With loyall seruice toile and truth,
and hope of earthly blisse.
All in one ballance now goes downe,
since guerdon get I none:
Nor no account in Court nor towne,
now I may hap vpon.
Adue day light, shut close mine eies,
too long you stare for nought:
So farewell friends, and you be wise,
for me take you no thought.
By this our ships were wend about,
and Cannons gan to rore:
As they to Brytaine passed out,
with bounsing shot great store.
At noyse whereof I wakned straight,
and calling for my close:
And saw the Sunne on such a height,
that sodainly I rose.
And so put all my dreame in verse,
would God a dreame it were:
For many things I now rehearse,
wil prooue too true I feare.
FINIS.