Classic Poem

I dream'd, the nymph that ore my fancie raignes,
Came to a part whereas I paus'd alone;
Then said, " What needs you in such sort to mone?
Haue I not power to recompense your paines?
Lo, I coniure you by that loyall loue,
Which you professe, to cast those griefes apart,
It's long, deare loue, since that you had my hart,
Yet I was coy your constancie to proue,
But hauing had a proofe, I'le now be free:
I am the eccho that your sighes resounds,
Your woes are mine, I suffer in your wounds,
Your passions all they sympathize in me: "
Thus whilst for kindnesse both began to weepe,
My happinesse euanish'd with the sleepe.