The Tragedy of M.Arden
Come M. Francklin, you shall go with me.
This night I dreamd that beeing in a parke,
A toyle was picht to ouerthrow the deare.
And I vppon a little rysing hill,
Stoode whistely watching for the herds approch,
Euen there me thoughts a gentle slumber tooke me,
And sommond all my parts to sweete repose.
But in the pleasure of this golden rest,
An ill thewd foster had remoued the toyle,
And rounded me with that beguyling home.
Which late me thought was pitcht to cast the deare,
With that he blew an euill sounding horne,
And at the noise an other heard man came:
With Fauchon drawn, and bent it at my brest.
Crying aloud thou art the game we seeke,
With this I wakt, and trembled euery ioynt,
Lyke one oscured in a lytle bushe,
That sees a lyon foraging about,
And when the dreadfull forrest King is gone,
He pryes about, with timerous suspect,
Throughout the thorny casements of the brake,
And will not think his person daungerles.
But quakes and shewers though the cause be gone.
So trust me Francklin when I did awake,
I stoode in doubt whether I waked or no:
Such great impression tooke this fond surprise:
God graunt this vision bedeeme me any good.
Fran.
This fantassie doeth rise from Michaels feare.
Who being awaked with the noyse he made,
His troubled sences, yet could take no rest.
And this I warant you procured your dreame.
Ard.
It may be so God frame it to the best,
But often times my dreames presage to trew.
Fran.
To such as note their nightly fantasies,
Some one in twenty may incurre beliefe,
But vse it not, tis but a mockery.
