Cant. I.
the Faery Queene.
15
The Messenger approching to him spake,But his waste wordes retournd to him in vaine:So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake.Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine,Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againeShooke him so hard, that forced him to speake.As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braineIs tost with troubled sighes and fancies weake,He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence breake.
The Sprite then gan more boldly him to wake,And threatned vnto him the dreaded nameOf Hecate: whereat he gan to quake,And lifting vp his lompish head, with blameHalfe angrie asked him, for what he came.Hether (quoth he) me Archimago sent,He that the stubborne Sprites can wisely tame,He bids thee to him send for his intentA fit false dreame, that can delude the sleepers sent.
The God obayde, and calling forth straight wayA diuerse dreame out of his prison darke,Deliuered it to him, and downe did layHis heauie head, deuoide of careful carke,Whose sences all were straight benumbd and starke.He backe returning by the Yuorie dore,Remounted vp as light as chearefull Larke,And on his litle winges the dreame he bore,In hast vnto his Lord, where he him left afore.
Who all this while with charmes and hidden artes,Had made a Lady of that other Spright,And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partesSo liuely and so like in all mens sight,
That
