Classic Poem

She whome I holde so deare
too cruell thoughe She bee
Did in my sleepe appeare
this other night to me
Sweet were the lookes shee lente
and with such cheare Shee spake
As who shoulde say shee ment
remorce on me to take
I pressed with my payne
sayd unto her withall
Faire one doo not disdaine
the harte that is your thrall
And with a vapored Eye
this onely dyd I crave
That I the death might dye
yf grace I might nott have
Wherwith shee dyd disclose
those faire sweet Coralls twaine
And sayde receave repose
doo thow noe more Complaine
Nor from thy wastede Eyes
drawe not such dropps of griefe
From whence thy woes dyd ryse
from thence receave releeffe
Oh sweet Elusion straunge
o marvell of delighte
But oh how sone did chaunge
the pleasure off this nighte
For loe this soddayne Joye
so strake me to the harte
As that to myn annoye
out of this sleepe I starte
And yett dyd doubtfull stande
tyll lyftinge upp my heade
To kisse her comelye hande
the shape awaye was fledd
But then I did devyse
a slumber new to fayne
And closede kept myne Eyes
althoughe it were in vaine
Att laste awakte I sayde
oh dreame that didst surpasse
By the I am betrayde
as Bradamanta was
Yett that which lyked me beste
my Mistres here shall fynde
That thoughe my Bodye reste
I have her styll in mynde.