The Dream
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ear love, for nothing less than theeWould I have broke this happy dream;It was a themeFor reason, much too strong for phantasy:Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yetMy dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it.Thou art so truth that thoughts of thee sufficeTo make dreams truths, and fables histories.Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it bestNot to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.As lightning or a taper's light,Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me;Yet I thought thee(For thou lov'st truth) an angel at first sight;But when I saw thou saw'st my heart,And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an angels art,When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st whenExcess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,I must confess it could not choose but beProphane to think thee anything but thee. Comming and staying showed thee thee,But rising makes me doubt, that nowThou art not thou.That Love is weak, where fear's as strong as he;'Tis not all spirit pure and braveIf mixture it of Fear, Shame, Honour, have.Perchance as torches, which must ready be,Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me,Thou cam'st to kindle, go'st to come; Then IWill dream that hope again, but else would die.
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