The Dreame
Deare love, for nothing lesse then thee
Would I have broke this happy dreame,
It was a theame
For reason, much too strong for phantasie,
Therefore thou wakdst me wisely; yet
My Dreame thou brokst not, but continuedst it,
Thou art so true, that thoughts of thee suffice,
To make dreames truths; and fables histories;
Enter these armes, for since thou thoughtst it best,
Not to dreame all my dreame, lets act the rest.
As lightning, or a Tapers light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise wakd mee;
Yet I thought thee
(For thou lovest truth) an Angell, at first sight,
But when I saw thou sawest my heart,
And knewst my thoughts, beyond an Angels art,
When thou knewst what I dreamt, when thou knewst when
Excesse of joy would wake me, and camst then,
I must confesse, it could not chuse but bee
Prophane, to thinke thee any thing but thee.
Comming and staying showd thee, thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now,
Thou art not thou.
That love is weake, where feares as strong as hee;
Tis not all spirit, pure, and brave,
If mixture it ofFeare, Shame, Honor, have;
Perchance as torches which must ready bee,
Men light and put out, so thou dealst with mee,
Thou camst to kindle, goest to come; Thus I
Will dreame that hope againe, but else would die.
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