Page:The muses threnodie (Adamson, 1638).djvu/35
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The second muse
15
Infusde we drank; for to preserve our splens
From grief, our lungs from cough, and purge our reins.
But this recept Gall did not keep alway,
Which made him die, alace, before his day.
Then home we went unto our beds to rest us,
To morrow againe we to the fields addrest us;
And in my bed as I did dreaming ly,
Me thought I heard with mightie voice, one cry
Arise, Monsier, the day is wondrous fair,
Monsier arise, then answered I, Who's there?
Arise, Monsier, the third time did it call.
Who's there? Quoth I, It is I Master Gall.
Then I awoke, and found it so indeed;
Good morrow Master Gall. Monsier, God speed.
Good Master Gall, Dreames did me much molest
This night, and almost rave me of my rest.
Monsier, quoth Gall, What motion might that be?
Said I, I dream'd I was in archerie
Outmatcht so far, that I was striken dumbe,
For verie grief to be so overcome.
Monsier, said he, That's beene a mightie passion,
That hath you striken dumb in such a fashion.
A passion, so great, that I did sweat,
My sinewes tremble, and my heart did beat.
At length, respiring, these few words did speak,
O noble heart, of force now must thou break!
For to these dayes was never in this land
That did o'rcome this matchlesse maiden hand;
And dreaming, as I grudg'd with Master Gall,
Incontinent a voice on me did call;
From grief, our lungs from cough, and purge our reins.
But this recept Gall did not keep alway,
Which made him die, alace, before his day.
Then home we went unto our beds to rest us,
To morrow againe we to the fields addrest us;
And in my bed as I did dreaming ly,
Me thought I heard with mightie voice, one cry
Arise, Monsier, the day is wondrous fair,
Monsier arise, then answered I, Who's there?
Arise, Monsier, the third time did it call.
Who's there? Quoth I, It is I Master Gall.
Then I awoke, and found it so indeed;
Good morrow Master Gall. Monsier, God speed.
Good Master Gall, Dreames did me much molest
This night, and almost rave me of my rest.
Monsier, quoth Gall, What motion might that be?
Said I, I dream'd I was in archerie
Outmatcht so far, that I was striken dumbe,
For verie grief to be so overcome.
Monsier, said he, That's beene a mightie passion,
That hath you striken dumb in such a fashion.
A passion, so great, that I did sweat,
My sinewes tremble, and my heart did beat.
At length, respiring, these few words did speak,
O noble heart, of force now must thou break!
For to these dayes was never in this land
That did o'rcome this matchlesse maiden hand;
And dreaming, as I grudg'd with Master Gall,
Incontinent a voice on me did call;
Arise,