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(35) Whence from my window loe, this sad prospect I haue, A piece of ground wheron to gaze, would bring one to his graue: Lo thus the welcome spring, that others lends delight, Doth make me die, to thinke I lie, thus drowned in despight,
That vp I cannot rise, and come abrode to thee, (40) My fellow sweet, with whom God knowes, how oft I wish to bee: And thus in haste adieu, my hart is growne so sore, And care so crookes my fingers ends, that I can write no more.
An excellent Dreame of Ladies and
their Riddles: by N. B. Gent. +
I N Orchard grounds, where store of fruit trees grew, Me thought a Saint was walking all alone, Of euerie tree, she seemd to take hir view, But in the end, she plucked but of one: (5) This fruit quoth she, doth like my fancie best: Sweetings are fruit, but let that apple rest.
Such fruit (quoth I) shall fancie chiefly feede: Indeede tis faire, God grant it prooue as good, But take good heede, least all to late it breede (10) Ill humors such as may infect your blood: Yet take and taste, but looke you know the tree: Peace foole quoth she, and so awaked mee.
What was this ground, wherein this dame did walke? And what was she, that romed to and fro? (15) And what ment I, to vse such kinde of talke? And what ment she, to checke and snib me so? But what meane I? alas, I was asleepe: Awake I sweare, I will more silence keepe.