The Works of Sir John Suckling in prose and verse/His Dream
HIS DREAM
On a still, silent night, scarce could I number
One of the clock, but that a golden slumber
Had lockt my senses fast, and carried me
Into a world of blest felicity,
I know not how: first to a garden, where5
The apricock, the cherry, and the pear,
The strawberry, and plum, were fairer far
Than that eye-pleasing fruit that caus'd the jar
Betwixt the goddesses, and tempted more
Than fair Atlanta's ball, though gilded o'er.10
I gaz'd awhile on these, and presently
A silver stream ran softly gliding by,
Upon whose banks, lilies more white than snow
New fall'n from heaven, with violets mixt, did grow;
Whose scent so chaf'd the neighbour air, that you15
Would surely swear that Arabick spices grew
Not far from thence, or that the place had been
With musk prepar'd, to entertain Love's queen.
Whilst I admir'd, the river past away,
And up a grove did spring, green as in May20
When April had been moist; upon whose bushes
The pretty robins, nightingales, and thrushes
Warbled their notes so sweetly, that my ears
Did judge at least the musick of the spheres.
But here my gentle dream conveyed me25
Into the place where I most long'd to see,
My mistress' bed; who, some few blushes past
And smiling frowns, contented was at last
To let me touch her neck; I, not content
With that, slipt to her breast, thence lower went,30
And then I awak'd.