But this coniecture cheefly I embrace, (30) Euen as the sea enraged with the winde, After the storme alaid will mooue a space, The selfe same reason may be well assignde, Vnto the nightly labors of the minde: Who works in sleepe, our actions at a stay, (35) Vpon th’occasions of the passed day.
Vpon a dreame I had, I this prefer, The which the sequell shall deliuer straite: That Loue that first did make my reason erre, Straitly one day commanded me to waite, (40) On paine to pine, and perish in conceite; Vpon my soueraigne, vnto whom I went, As dutie wild, and Loues commandement.
Mine eies, the first intreating messengers, By signes of sorrow openly did speake, (45) After my toong the humble suite prefers Of my poore hart, with torments like to breake: But little of my suffrings doth she reake: Sooner the rocks their hardnes will forgo, Than she acknowledge that which she doth know.
(50) In fine, vnto my chamber I retire, A thousand fancies hamring on my wits, Despaire, griefe, anguish, furie, and desire, Doe exercise in turne their Bedlem fits, Whereof to speake, or heare, best them befits, (55) That now enioyeng, heretofore haue tride, The hell, and bitternes of Loue denide.
By this the night doth through the skie display Hir sable robe, spangled with golden stars, And voicelesse silence gan to chace away (60) Noyses and sounds, with their molesting iars: And so the place to needfull sleepe prepars;