Classic Poem

A straunge Dreame.
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 searcely stad.
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. ...
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 G OD :
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: tbis 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) fro 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 fro 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 the staied stil
the rest went straight away
Unto the place fro 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 the Hart
somtime, as we thinke meete,
With other Pastimes, many one:
sometime with pleasant talke
We passe the 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 fried, (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:
Whe they are speechles, often times,
this herbe doth lend the breth.
This driues Dispaire, fro 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 hads: 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 fro the ground: which don traight way
Well now, the roote, q d 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 the 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.
y e 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, & groud
I back againe will bring thee to the place
wher first thy self I foüd.
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 the 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 w t 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:
& noWhow 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 G OD to graunt me of
his grace to gouerne me,
To make me chuse that choice it 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 fro 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 woüded many a way
and plagde with many a sore,
Thou shalt haue ease of euery greef:
& the 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 heare 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 sudry 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 it 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 the streame, in a small boat
me thought there came a mä:
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
approaching neere to me:
And beeing nere 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 yoder 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 mout is cald the Hill of Hope
wher doth Dame Paticce 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 behold
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 friid, Dame Patiece 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 & the
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

T HE huge highe Mountaine fyrst of all?
and then the broke tree?
And then the Lady soddainly,
that did appeare to me?
The Napkin lying on the groud?
& 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 the 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 the laying down
the turfe, eve as she foud,
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 kueeling so,
and praying the of mine
To G OD , 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 it 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
ber 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 the sighe I heard?
then what the 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 the what ment this old mans ma
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 the olde Sire?
and the what should be ment
By him, that for to bring me to
the place of Rest was sent?
And then, what should be meant 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.