A floorish vpon fancie As gallant a glose vpon so triflinge a text, as euer was written. Compiled by N.B. Gent. To which are annexed, manie pretie pamphlets, for pleasant heads to passe away idle time withal. By the same authour.

❧A straunge Dreame.

¶VVho so he be on earth, that wisely can deuine Vppon a Dreame: come shewe his skyl, vpon a Dreame of mine, VVhich if that well he marke, sure he shall finde therein, Great misteries I gage my lyfe, which Dreame did thus begin.

ME t••ought I walked too and fro, vpon a hilly land, So long, tel euen with wéerinesse, I could wel scarcely stand And wéery so (mee thought) I went to leane against an Oke, Where leaning but awhyle, mée thought, the tree in peeces broke. From which, me thought, to saue my life I lightely skipt away, And at the first, the sight thereof my senses did dismay: But when I stayed so a whyle, and looked rounde about, And sawe no other dreadfull sight, I knewe not what to doubt, But to some house (mée thought) alas, I wisht my selfe full fayne: But when I looke, and could not see one house vpon the playne:

Good Lord (thought I) where am I nowe▪ what desart place is this Howe came I here? what shall I doo▪ my hart full fearefull is. And therewithall (mée thought) I ••••ll flat downe vppon my knée: And humble praiers made to God, on highe to comfort mée. And praying so, vppon my knées, mée thought, there did appeare A gallaunt Lady, all in white, with mery ioyfull ch••••re, Holding a Citterne in her hand, wherewith to mée she came: And gaue it mee desiring mée, to play vppon the same. More halfe afeard, to sée this sight, O Lady fayre quoth I. My skyll too simple is, God wot, to sound such hermony. Yet playe quoth shee, the best thou canst, it shall suffice I say, Doo thy good wyll, I craue no more, and therfore (pray thée) play. With that, mée thought, I tooke the same, and sounded by and by, Not knowing what I dyd myselfe, a Heauenly hermony, Unto which tune the Lady then, so swéete a song did sing: As if I coulde remember it, it were a Heauenly thing. Of all which song one onely steppe I styll d••e bea•••• in minde, And that was this: There is no ioye, vnto 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of minde, No plague, to pride: no woe, to want: no greefe, to lucklesse loue: No foe to fortune: friend to God: no trueth, tyll ••••yall proue. No Serpent, to sclaunderous tongue: no corsey vnto care. No losse, to want of liberty: no griefes, to Cupids snare. No foole, to fickle fantasy, that turnes with euery winde. No torment, vnto Ielosy, that styll disturbes the minde. Lo, this was all I bare in minde, the rest I haue forgot: Unto my greife, O God he knowes: but since I haue it not, Well, let it passe: this Lady fayre when she had sung her song, She layde mee downe a Napkin fayre vppon the ground along: As white as snowe: which when I sawe, I m••zed what she ment: But, then (mée thought) frō thence, againe a lyttle space she went, And calde mee thus? hoe maides I say? when wyll you come away. Tis time that dinner redy were: tis very nere middaye: Wherwith, mée thought, from out no house, but frō a bushy bancke. came out eight Damsels, all in white: two and two in a rancke: In order right: and euery one, a fine Dish in her hand, Of sundry meates, some this, some that, and down vpon the land:

They layde mée downe their Delycates, wheras this Napkin lay▪ Which done, fowre of thē staied styl, the rest went straight away, Unto the place frō whence they came, the Bushy Banke (I meane) And sodenly, I wot not howe, they all were vanisht cleane. But, to goe onwardes with my Dreame, in order briefe I wyll, To make discourse of these fowre Dames, behind that staied styl, First, one of them fell downe on knée, and solempnely sayde Grace: Another, shee with Pleasant Herbes, bestrowed all the place. The thirde▪ shée with a Bason fayre▪ of water swéete did stande, The fourth, demurely stoode, and bare a Towell in her hand, I standing styll, as one amazd, to sée so straunge a sight: Yet séeing nothing, but might serue my minde for to delyght, The Lady (Mistris) of them all, that kept her Royall seate Rose vp, and comming towardes mee, did greately mée entreate, To come vnto her stately b••••rde: séeing me styll yet to stand Amazed so, s••e 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he•• selfe, and tooke mée by the hand. Come on, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 downe, quoth shée, be not afrayde I say, And ••ate quoth 〈◊〉〈◊〉, for well I knowe, thou hast not dinde to daye. Fayre Dame, quoth I▪ I cannot eate, my stomacke serues mee not, Therefore I pardon craue: quoth she, thou art affraide I wot: To see this seruice here so straunge: indéede, tis straunge to thee, For men, but 〈◊〉〈◊〉, or none, d••e come our seruice here to sée. And h••••py ••hou m••ist thinke thy self, that thou ••amst here this day, Fo•• ••ery fewe 〈…〉〈…〉 byll, can hap to hyt the way. We liue within these desart woodes, lyke Ladies all alone, With M••sicke, passing forth the day, and ••ellows we haue none, Wée are not like the wretches of the world, in many a place, That many si••es, for feare or shame, dare scarsly shew their face. We spende the day in fine disport, somtime, with Musicke sweete, Somtime with Hunting of y^e Hart, somtime, as we thinke meete, With other Pastimes, many one: somtyme with pleas••nt talke. We passe y^e tyme, somtime for sport, about the Fyelds we walke, With Bowe and Arrowes (Archar like,) to kill the stately Déere, Which being slayn, we roste & bake, & make our selues good chéere Our meate, we roste againe the Sunne, wee haue none other fire, Swéete water Springs, do yéelde vs drinke, as good as we desire.

For herbs and roots, we haue great store, here growing in the wood, wherwith we many dainties make, as we our selues thinke good▪ In Sommer time, our Houses here: are Arbers made of Trees, About the which in sommer time, do swarme such Hiues of Bée▪ As leaues vs then, of hony sweete, such store as well doth serue, In stéede of Sugre, all the yeare, our fruictes for to preserue. Besides, they yeld vs store of waxe which from the Hiues we take: And for our lights, in winter nights, we many Torches make. For then our houses all are Caues, as well thy selfe shalt see, UUhen thou hast dinde, for I my self, wil go and shew them thée, Therefore, be bolde and feare no more, for thou ••halt go with mee, From perils al, within this place, I wyll safeconduct thee: And tast of one of these same herbes, which thou thy selfe likst best, The fayrest flower, trust me oft times▪ is not the hulsomme••••. But as for these same herbes, or flowers, 〈…〉〈…〉▪ There is not one, but is right good, 〈…〉〈…〉 Take wher thou lyst I geue thée leaue▪ 〈…〉〈…〉 pul of thy gl••ue, & wash thy hands. 〈…〉〈…〉 maid broug••t m•• A bason fayre, of water cleare, which ga•••• 〈…〉〈…〉 so sweete: That credit me, mée thinkes almost, that I doe smell it yet. UUherein I softly dipt my hands, and straight to wipe the same, Uppon her arme, a towel brought, an other gallant dame. Of whome. I could none other doe, but take in court••ous sorte, UUith humble thankes, for seruice suche, and so for to be short. UUith reuerence done, vnto the Dame, who kept her 〈◊〉〈◊〉 seate▪ I sat me downe: and hongerly (mée thought) I fell to eate. First of a S••let, that mée thought, hard by my trencher stoode: UUhereof at first, mee thought the tast, was reasonable good. But being downe, if left (alas) a bitter tang behinde: Then that I left, and thought to taste, some herbes of other kind, And there withall, I gan of her, in humble sort to craue, The roote, that I had tasted so, what name the same might haue▪ It is Repentaunce roote, quoth shee, whose taste, though bitter bée: Yet in the Spring time, holsome ••is▪ and very rare to see: But, in the ende of all the yeare, when it is nothing worth▪ In euery foolishe fielde it growes, to shewe the braunches forth.

But, if the taste thou lykest not, then set awaye the same, And taste of somwhat else, quoth she, & straight (at hand) a Dame. Stoode réedy by, at her commaunde, to take the Dish away: Which done, then of an other herbe, I gan to take a say, Which better farre did please my taste, wherof I fedde o•• well. Good Lady, quoth I, of this herbe vouchsafe to mée to tell The proper name? This holsome herbe: is called Hope (quoth shée) And happy ••e who of this herbe, can get a peece of mée, This herbe preserues the life of man, euen at poincte of death. whē they are spéechles, often times, this herbe doth l••nd thē breth. This driues Dispaire, frō brainsick heds, this salueth many a sore: This is releife, to euery greife, what vertue can be more? Féede wel theron, quoth she, and thou shalt ••••nde such ease of mind, As by no meanes, but onely that, is possible to finde. O Lady fayre quoth I, I humble thanckes doe yeilde, For this thy friendly fauour great, but nowe, if to the fyelde, Wheras this herb so rare doth grow, if you wyl deigne (faire dam••) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to conducte: and shewe mee eake, the true roote of the same, Twise happy shal I thincke my selfe, that thus by chaunce I found, So courteouse a noble Dame, and such a fertyl grounde. The roote (quoth she) yes, thou shalt sée, when thou hast dinde anon, Both roote and herbe & ••ake the ground, which it doth grow vpon. Dine Lady, quoth I, I haue dinde: this herbe hath fyld mée so, That when you wyll, I ready am vnto that grounde to goe. Which gr••unde, and roo••e for to behould, I haue so great desire, That tyll I sée the sam••, mée thinkes, my hart is styll on fyre. Well, then quoth shée, since after it I sée thou longest so, I wyll my dinner shorter make, and with thée I wyll goe, And bring thée to the place, where thou both roote and herbe shalt sée: And gather eake a peece therof, and beare awaye with thee. And therwith from the boorde shée rose, and tooke mée by the hand, And led mée ouerthwart, mée thought, a peece of newe digd land, And so from thence into a wood, in midst wherof, mee thought: Shee brought mée to a greate wilde Maze, which sure was neuer wrought By Gardeners hāds, but of it self, I rather gesse it grew, The order of it was so straunge, of troth, I tell you true.

Well, in, into this Maze we went: in midst whereof wée founde, In comly order, well cut out, a pre••y péece of grownde, The portrayture whereof, was lyke the body of a man, which viewing well, foorthwith mee thought thys Lady gan▪ To knéele her downe vpon the grounde, hard by the body loe, and there she shewed mée the herbe, that I desired soe: And ••ake the order howe it grewe▪ which viewing well at last, Shée brake a péece, and gaue it mée to take therof a taste, Fresh frō y^e groūd: which d••n straight way, wel now y^e roote qd she, Thou lookest for: but stay a whyle, and th•••• it strayght shalt see, The roote is like an other root••, but onely that in n••••e: In difference from all other rootes: and to declare the same, When thou hast séene it▪ thou shalt knowe: •• therwithal quoth shee▪ Come heere, beholde the roote which thou desirest so to see: And therwith digging vp a 〈◊〉〈◊〉, shee 〈◊〉〈◊〉 verye pl••••ne, The fashion of it howe it grewe, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 she 〈◊〉〈◊〉 agayne The Turfe in place, wheras it was: O Lady fayre quoth I. If one should seeme to cut the roote, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••ould y^• herb then dye? No no quoth shee, vntyll the roote be plucked quite a••ay: the roote it selfe, •••• sure of this▪ wyll neuer quite 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Then would I cr•••••• a péece therof (quoth ••) O 〈◊〉〈◊〉 D••••e. That I may knowe it, if againe, I cha••••••e to ta••••e the same. The taste quoth shee vnpleasaunt is, I tell thee that before: But where the roote. doth rancor breed▪ y^e herb•• wyl 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the sor••. But yet to make thee for to knowe, the taste therof, quoth shee, She raisde the Turfe, and of the roote she brake a peece for mee: And downe she layde the same againe, in order as she found. That scarsely wel it could be seene, that shee had raisde y^e ground. Well, I had my desyre therein, but tasting of the same, It was so bitter in my mouth, that to allaye the same, I was full glad to take the herbe: which as t••e Dame did say, The bitter taste of that vile roote, did quickly driue away. And then in humble sort, quoth I, O fayre and courteous Dame, Since that this roote, (as you doe say) doth differ much in nam•• From other rootes, O let mee knowe what his true name may bée▪ His name quoth she, Necessitie is, truely credit mée▪

And of these Rootes, some lesse then some: but bigger that they bée, The more doth Hope spred forth his leaues: & som do go with mee. Nowe I haue showne thee thy desyre, this hearb, this ro••te, & groūd, I back again wyl bring thee to y^e place, wher first thy self I found. So to be short, we b••cke returnde vnto the place againe, From whence we went, where sitting styll, attendant did remain These fowre faire Dames, whom ther we left: But al y^• dishes they, And what else on the Boorde was left, they al had borne away. Well, being come vnto the place, vp rose they all at once: And to this Ladie reuerence dyd, and lykely for the nonce. They knew their Mistresse minde right well, her vse belike it was, Of water cleere vpon the ground, they full had set a Glasse. Hard by the Glasse, a Towell fayre, and by the Towell, Flower••: Loe, Youth quoth she, how likst thou now this seruice heere of ours? Coul••st thou thus lyke, to lyue in woods, & make thy chiefe repaste? On hearbs▪ and rootes, as we do heere? or else the lyfe thou haste? Troubled, tormented, euery howre, and that with endlesse griefe? In ••ope of helpe▪ and nowe againe, dispayring in reliefe? Styll to reserue? We heere thou seest, do lyue in quietnesse: Wée passe the tyme without all care, in myrth and ioyfulnesse. Wée feare no foe, wée féele no woe, we dreade no daungers great, we quake not here, with too much cold, nor burn with extréem heat. UUe wish not for great heaps of gold, such trash we do despise, We pray for health, & not for wealth: and thus in pleasant wyse UUe spende the daye full ioyfully, we craue no rytch attyre: This thinne white wéede, is euen asmuch, as we do héere desire. UUée haue our Musicke sweete besydes, to sollace nowe and than Our wéery minds, with other sports: and now, how saist thou man! If thou mayst haue thy choyce, which wouldest thou rather do? Leade heere thy lyfe, lyke one of vs, or else returne vnto The loathsome lyfe, that now thou leadst? pause on this that I saye▪ If th'one thou chuse, héere tary styl: if th'other, hence away. Thou must returne from whence thou comst, I put it to thy choyce: If th'one thou chuse: of thy good happe, thou euer mayst reioyce: But if thou chuse amysse: poore wretch, then thank thy self therfore, Consider well, vpon my wordes: as yet I saye no more.

With that more halfe amazd•• hereat still standing in a muze, Not knowing what were best, to doe, to take or to refuze The proffer made mée by this Dame, I humblye fell on knée: Beseeching God, to graunt mée of his grace, to gouerne mee, To make mée chuse that choyce, y^e best mought please his holy wyll: And sitting so in humble wise, on knée thus praying still, The Dame expecting earnestly, some aunswere at my hand. So long, quoth shée, vpon this choyce: why doo you studying stand? Some aunswere briefely let mée haue, what euer so it bee: What? wilt thou back retorne againe? or wilt thou bide with me? One way fayre Dame, quoth I, I gladly here would staye, And leade my life here styll with you: but nowe, another way, Reason perswades mée, to returne: thus in a doubt twixt both, I one way lou••, the lyfe I led: another way I loth. So that remayning thus in doubt, a certaine aunswere for to giue, Whether backe agayne for to returne, or in these wods to liue I most desire, I cannot sure: therefore I pardon craue, And for an aunswere flat, I may some longer respit haue? O no quoth she, I cannot graunt thée longer tyme, not nowe To pause vpon these words of mine: and therfore since that thou Wylt backe returne, loe, here behold, this narrow foote path here, Go followe this, vntyll thou comst vnto a Temple néere: Then leaue this pathe, and presently, crosse ouer to the same: And there for further help frō thence, your praiers humbly frame Unto Dame Pittie, and her tell, that strayght from mée you came, And she wyll helpe you for my sake, Dame Patience is my name, And for a token true, that you were sent to her by mée: Say, Patience, vvyll Pittie moue, and she wyll credit thée: And so farwell, when thou hast ben, a yéere or more away, If thou wilt hither make returne, and be content to stay, Though thou béest woūded many a way, & plagde with many a sor•• thou shalt haue ease of euery greef: & thē what wouldst haue more? And so my Youth quoth shée, adue, I may no longer stay, Haue good regard to this foote path, for feare thou goe astray: And for a farewell, eare thou goest, to mee thy courteous friend, In song come beare a part with mée, which being at an ende,

Then fare thou well: and therewithal an Instrument she tooke, And bade one of her Maides with spéede▪ go fetch her forth a booke, Which term••d was, T••e trackt of tyme, which by •• by me thought, Ere one coulde well say, thus it was: in humble wyse she brought, UUith such an humble reuerence, doune to this noble Dame: That sure it would haue do•••• one good, for to haue seene the same. UUell, opening the Booke of Songs, and looking well therein: At last she stayde, and on she playde, which Song dyd thus begin. VVho seketh farre in Time shal find, great choyce of sūdry change, In Time a man shall passe the Pikes, of peryls wonderous strange: But he that trauaileth long Time, to seeke content of minde, And in the ende in trackt of Time▪ his owne desire shall finde, And being well, is not content, to keepe him where he is. His Time is lost, vnworthy he to finde the place of blisse: One Time, a fault may be forgeuen, but if thou once obtayne the place of res••: marke well the way, vnto the same agayne. For if thou once doe misse the way, or hast the same forgot, thou wander mayst, a tediouse Time, & neare the neere, God wot: Therefore in Time I warne thee well to haue a greate regarde: the vvay thou goest, for to returne, for trust mee it is hard. And so for vvant oflonger Time, I needes must make an ende, take ••ime enough, marke vvel thy vvay, and so farvvel my friend. Tyll ••ime, I see thee here againe, vvhich ••ime let me not see, tyl Time thou canst content thy self, to spend thy Time vvith me: And so take ••ime vvhile ••ime vvyll serue, els ••ime vvyl slyp avvay, So once againe adewe quoth shee, I can no longer stay. With y^• me thought this heauenly Dame, with all her maides was gon: And I poore soule▪ vpon the hyll, was left so al alone: Where taking héede, vnto the path, which shée had shewde mée so, Crosse ouerthwart the hyll (mée thought) I gan to goe: At foote whereof, harde by the path, mée thought a Riuer ran, and down y^e streame in a smale boat, me thought there came a mā And by and by he calde to mée, to aske me if I would, Come take a boat to crosse the streame? and if I would, I shoulde: Nowe crosse the riuer strayght (mée thought) I sawe a beaten way, Lykely to leade vnto some Towne, whereat I gan to stay:

But nought I sayd: and therwithal (mée thought) I plaine dyd sée, The Dame who late had left mée quite, approching néere to mée. And being néere come to mée, mée thought she stoutly sayde, why do you lose your labour so? what cause hath héere you stayde? Keepe on your way, and lose no Tyme, and happy sure art thou, Thou tookst not boate or ere I came? but quite past danger now: My selfe wyll bring thée thyther, where the Temple thou shalt sée, wherto I gaue thee charge to go, and so (mée thought) quoth shee, Come follow mée, and by and by no great waye we had gon. But strayght she brought me to the hyll, this Temple stood vpon. And ther (me thought) these words she said. Go knock at yōder dore And say thou art a seely vvight, cast vp on sorrovvers shore: Brought in the Barke of vvearie b••l••, cast vp by vvaues of vvoe, The Barke is burst, thou saude alyue, dost vvander too and froe. To seeke some place of quiet rest, and vvandring so about The hyl of Hope, vvhere Patience, dvvels, by chance thou foundest out, From vvhome thou presently dost c••me a message to declare. Beare this in minde, thou shalt get in, well warrant thee I dare. And when thou comst into the Church, marke wel on the right hād▪ within the Quyre all cladde in why••e, doth Lady Pittie stande. To whome with humble reuerence. saye this for thy behoue▪ I do beleeue that Patience, in tyme vvyl Pittie moue. And thus this lesson I thèe leaue, which if thou heare in minde, Assure thy selfe▪ straight at her handes, some fauor for to finde. And thus, quoth shée, againe farewel, though me no more thou see, Tyll backe thou dost returne againe, yet I wyll be with thee, And guide thee so, where so thou goest, that thou thy self shalt see, In many Melancholike moodes, thou shalt be help•••• by mee. And therwithall, I knowe not howe, she vanished away, And I vnto the Temple straight, began to take my way. And to the doore, as I ••ad charge me thought I came. And tooke the ring▪ in my hand▪ and knocked at the same: Who knocketh at the doore, quoth one? A silly vvight, quoth I, Cast vp of late▪ on sorrovves shore, by tempests soddenly: Brought in the barke of vveary bale, cast vp by vvaues of vv••e, Since vvhen, to seeke some place of rest, I vvandred too and froe,

And vvandring so, I knevve not hovve, vnto a mount I came, VVhereas I found in comely sort, a noble courteous Dame: The Moūt is cald, the Hyl of Hope, where doth Dame Patience dwel: From whome I come: Welc••me quoth he, I know the Lady wel. With that the doore, was opened, and in (mée thought) I went, Wherewith mée thought, I hard a voice, a sobbing sighe that sent, Wherewith somwhat amazd, at first though greatly not afraide, Styll staring round about (awhile) this stately Church, I stayde: And as before Dame Patience, to mee at parting tolde, Within the Quier, on the right hand (mée thought) I did behold A gallant Dame, all clad in white, to whome for my behoue, These wordes I sayde: Dame Patience, I Hope vvyll Pittie moue: With that (me thought) this Lady saide, I know thy deepe distresse, and for my friēd Dame Patience sake, thou shalt haue som redresse. And therewithall, mée thought she sayde, vnto an aged sire, Which in the Temple, hard by sate: Father I thee desire To shewe this Youth, the perfect path vnto the place of rest, Who long hath wandred vp & down, with torments sore opprest, Dame Patience, hath stoode his friend, and sent him vnto mee, To lend him helpe vnto this place, where he desires to bee: Lady quoth he, I cannot go my selfe abrode to day, But I wyll send, my seruaunt here, to shewe him the right way: Whose company, if he wyll kéepe, beléeue mée he shall finde In little time, a place that may right well content his minde. Which if he doe not, yet let him, with him returne to mée, And then my selfe, wyll go with him: it shall suffice quoth shée▪ Go sirra, quoth shée, followe well, his man where so he goes, And take good heede, that in no wise, his company you loose: For if you lose▪ his company, you lose your labour quite. But followe him, your gaine parhaps, your trauyle shal requite. His name quoth shée, True Reason is, my Father VVisdoms man, Whome if you followe to the place of rest, conduct you can. So sirra, quoth shee, go your wayes, be rulde by him I say: And though ••e leade you now & thē, through some vnplesant way Yet followe him, where so he goes, doe as I bidde you doe: And he in time, the perfect place of rest, can bring thée too.

And so, farewell Lady, quoth I, I humble thankes do geue, To you and eke this good olde man: and sure whyle I do lyue, You two I vowe, and eke besides the noble curteous Dame, That sent mée hyther vnto you, Dame Patience by name: In harte I euer honour wyll: And honest Reason loe. For taking paines vnto the place of rest, with mée to goe, To recompence his paines, I vowe, to stande his faithfull friende, To followe him, and to be rulde by him vnto mine ende. And if I seeke to slyppe from him, I wylling aye wyll bée, That as he lyst, he shall doo due correction vpon mée. So Lady, I my leaue doo take: And therewithall, me thought, The good olde m••n, fast by the hande vnto the doore me brought▪ And at the doore (me thought) dyd part, this good olde man and I, And Reason▪ he came stepping forth, to beare me company: Or else to leade me to the place, whereas we then should goe: But as in euery mery moode, doth happe some sodaine woe. So in this Dreame, as wee (me thought) were going on our waye▪ I knowe not well, at what (alas) we soddainly gan staye. And staying so, a Phesant Cocke, harde by me I gan sée, Which flying by me, crew so lowde, as that he waked mée. And thus my Dreame was at an ende: which when that I awooke, I tooke my penne, and as you see, I put it in my booke. Which for the straungenesse of the same, surely perswadeth mée: It doth some straunge effect pretende, what euer so it bée.

THe huge highe Mountaine fyrst of all? and then the broken Trée? And then the Lady soddainly, that dyd appeare to mée? The Napkin lying on the ground? and then the Dames that 〈◊〉〈◊〉, In order so, with Dishes all, vnto this noble Dame? And wherfore onely fowre of them, went backe againe away: And other fowre attendaunt styll, vpon this Dame dyd staye? And what should meane the geuing of the Cytter••e, vnto mée to playe vpon? and that my selfe should sound such Harmonie, Which neuer playde on lyke before? and then the Song that shee, Unto the tune that I so playde, dyd sweetly syng to mée.

Then what should meane the order that, the Maidens dyd obserue▪ As they vpon this stately Dame, attendaunt styll dyd serue? The Bason, Towel, & the Flowres, wherwith shee strawd y^e place? And one alone among the rest, so humbly saying Grace? What meant her stately keeping, of her royall Princely sca••e? And what shee meant by bydding mée, to wash before I eate? And when as one amazed so: shee dyd beholde mee stande: What shee should meane to ryse her selfe, & take mee by the hand? Then what should meane the bytter roote, that first I fed vpon: And tasting of the herbe of Hope, the bytter taste was gon? Then what should meane my great desyre, to see that herb to grow: And how the Lady ledde mee straight: wheras shee mée dyd show The herbe, the roote, the ground & all? and why I then dyd craue, Of that same roote or ere I went, a lytle taste to haue? Then what should meane the cutting vp the Turfe, to let mée sée the roote? and then then the breaking of a peece thereof for̄ mée? Then what shold meane y^e laying down, the Turfe euē as she foūd, So closely as could scarse be seene, that she had styrde the ground? And then what ment, the greate wilde Maze, the Image of a man, Whereas it grewe? and after that our backe returning than? What ment the glasse of water, that at our returne wée founde: The towel and the flowers best••es, downe lying on the ground? Then what Dame Patience should meane, for to demande of mee. Howe I did lyke her seruice there, and whether I coulde be Content to lyue with her or not, or backe returne to chuse: And that shee put it to my choice, to take or to refuse? And backe returnde to my olde lyfe, then what she ment to say: If well I chose, I mought reioyce, for to haue seene that day? If contrary why then I mought, but thancke my selfe therefore? And bad me pause vpon her words, and then would say no more? Then what should meane my kneeling so, and praying then of mine To God for grace, to take and chuse, to please his wyll diuine? Then what the Lady ment in hast, as I was kneeling so, To aske to that she did demaunde, an aunswere yea or no? Then what my doubtfull answere meant, and pardon I dyd craue, That for an aunswere flat, I might some longer respit haue?

And why she would no respit giue? then what the path way meāt? And what she ment, in that she mée, vnto the Temple sent? The lesson that she gaue mee then? and then Dame Pitty too? And what besides at the Church doore, she further bad mee doo? Then at our parting, the sweet song, which rāne of Tyme so much? what y^• shold mean, & what should mean, our choice of musick such? Her song once done, what then should meane the vanishing away, Wherewith my selfe at first awhyle, amazed so did stay? But going onwardes, on my way, what ment the riuer then, That ran so néere the path? and then the Boate? and then the man? And then what should be meant in that, he called so to mée, To take a bote, to crosse the streame? the way that I dyd sée: Lykely to leade vnto some Towne? what too was meant by that, Whereto I made no aunswer, but, I stayed looking at? And then againe, what meant the Dame, who vanished awaye, To come vnto mée there againe, and what shée meant to saye. I happy was, I had not tane a Boate, or ere shée came: And how from thence, with mée vnto the Temple néere she came? Then what should meane the lesson, that shée gaue mée for to saye, At the Church doore? and then againe, he•• vanishing away? Then what should meane the stately Church? and as I sayd before, The lesson, that I dyd rehearse, when I came to the doore? Then what should meane y^e sight I heard? then what y^e Lady meāt, Apparrelled in white, to whome Dame Patience had mee sent. Then what my kneeling meant to her? and then my words I sayde? And that at my first entring in, I was so much afrayde? And what should meane the answere then, the Lady gaue to mée: And howe that from Dame Patience, I came shee dyd well see? Then what should meane her saying, that shee knew right well my grief? And for Dame Patience sake, I shold be sure to find relief? Then what should meane the aged man, of whom shée dyd request, To take the paines, to bring mée to the place of quiet rest? Then what the olde man ••••ant to say, he could not goe that daye, But he would send his serua••nt then, to bring mée on the waye? Then what the Lady meant to saye, that should as then suffice: And charging mee his company, to keepe in any wyse?

And then what meant the Lady then, to bydde mée farewell soe? And thē what meant this old mans mā, that forth with me did go? And then my thankes vnto the Dame, and to the good olde man? And to Dame Patience, my friend? and eke our parting than at the Church doore, with y^e olde syre? And thē what should be meāt By him that for to bring mée to the place of Rest was sent? And then what should be meant by this, in going of our waye? I knowe not howe, but soddainly, we both at once gan staye. And last of that accursed Cocke: what should the meaning bee, That in his flying crew so lowde: as that he waked mee. Which Cocke, I am perswaded sure, if that he had not béene: Some wōdrous sight in trauailing, I doubtl••sse should haue séen. And that which grieues mée most of all, the place of quiet rest: That man would sure haue brought mée too, wher now with grief opprest, I must perforce liue as I do: and only haue this ease, To praye vnto Dame Patience, my sorrrowes to appease. Who promisde mée at parting last: that though I her not sée, Long tyme againe, in open sight, yet she would be with mée. And guide mee so from place to place, where euer so I goe: That I by her shall finde great ease, of many a deadly woe. In hope whereof, thus as you see, my wearie lyfe I spende, tyll I the place of rest attaine and so I make an ende.

This Dreame is straunge, and sure I thinke it doth Pronosticate, Some straunge effect, what so it is: but since I know not what It doeth pretende: I styll wyll wyll praye, to God me to defende, In daungers all both daye and night, vnto my lyues ende. And when this loath some lyfe I ende, with torments so opprest▪ In heauen I maie at latter daie, enioye a place of rest.

FINIS.