The Lover's Dream:  
Who sleeping, thought he did embrace his Love,  
Which when he waked, did no such matter prove;  
Yet afterwards her Love he did enjoy,  
By sending a Letter by a trusty young Boy.  
To the tune of, I laid me down to sleep.  

 
 

AS I was walking all alone,  
and musing in my mind,  
With many a sigh and groan,  
I studied how to find,  
Some dainty pleasant Theme,  
to write unto my Love,  
And I fell in a dream,  
and mark how it did prove.   

I laid me down to sleep,  
thinking my Love lay by,  
But when I did awake,  
my dream it proved a lie:  
I sweat, and I am cold,  
I freeze, and am a fire;  
I see, and cannot behold  
the thing that I most desire.   

Thus dreaming as I lay,  
me thought she smiled on me,  
Which did increase my joy,  
such happiness to see:  
I spoke unto my Love,  
and she did answer make:  
But so it did not prove,  
when as I did awake.   

Me thought I saw my Love,  
and with her I did stray,  
Hard by a pleasant Grove,  
where we a while did stay.  
But time that swift doth go,  
did run too suddenly:  
O time why didst thou so?  
thou mad'st my Love to cry:   

But when I saw her eyes,  
bedewed with brinish tears,  
Then I did soon surmise  
her heart was struck with fears.  
And I did soon require  
some reason for to know:  
Her answer did admire  
my heart with joy and woe.   

Quoth she, I love thee dear,  
yet so I dare not say,  
Because I live in fear  
of my true Love's decay:  
My Father he is rich,  
and I his only Heir,  
And he at me will grudge,  
to wed on's poor and bare.   

Me thought I answer made,  
that I was young and fair,  
And having Art and Trade,  
I bade her not take care.  
With that me thought she smiled,  
and to me she did say;  
My Love be reconciled,  
and I'll be thine for aye.   

My mind was thus employed,  
and yet I nothing do;  
I thought I'd got a Bride,  
but yet it was not so:  
Me thought I had my will,  
according to my mind,  
But I do want it still,  
my Love proves not so kind;    

The second Part,  
To the same Tune.  
 

THus sleeping still I lay,  
betwixt hope and despair;  
But at the break of day,  
O then began my care:  
When as I did awake,  
and found it nothing so,  
Then for my true Love's sake,  
I did lament with woe.   

I cannot come my Love,  
to the place where thou art;  
But I will write to thee,  
if thou wilt take my part,  
The complaint of my poor heart,  
receive it as you will:  
My Love may ease my smart,  
or she my heart may kill.   

My heart is not mine own,  
nor I at liberty:  
All joys are from me gone,  
alack what remedy.  
I would I were in place,  
where my true Love doth rest,  
And then I would embrace,  
the joys that I like best.   

Would Jove would pleased be,  
for to transform my shape,  
That I unknown may see  
my Love, and so escape:  
And yet I would be seen  
of her, and none but she:  
And thus I would begin,  
Fair Lady, pity me.   

But some perchance may say,  
that I my Love would fright,  
To those I answer, Nay,  
she is my heart's delight:  
Although I wish to change,  
myself in some man's hue,  
Yet I would not seem strange,  
unto my Lover true.   

And if I find her coy,  
and grieved with vexation,  
Yet I with her will play,  
to gain my expectation.  
Then happily she will  
consider of my woe:  
Thus I will use my skill,  
and glad to please her so.   

I would I had some Page,  
that would to me be true,  
In haste to run a voyage,  
that my true Love may view  
This Letter of my grief,  
and send me some reply:  
If she yield no relief,  
alack, then must I die.   

Then strait a Page he sent  
unto her hastily:  
At whose return content  
was brought him speedily.  
When his true Love did view,  
his writing in such kind:  
Quoth she I will be true,  
and so my Love shall find.   

O haste, thou little Page,  
make haste unto my Love,  
That death may cease his rage,  
and joys may sorrows move:  
And I myself will come,  
before the break of day,  
When darkness is begun,  
then I'll steal hence away.   

My Father must not know,  
what you about do come:  
For if he should be so,  
my Love were quite undone.  
Therefore make haste again,  
and save my true Love's life:  
I will release his pain,  
and prove his loving wife.    
FINIS.   

Printed at London for I. W. dwelling in Gilt-spur street.