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The Dreame. |
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Deare love, for nothing lesse then thee |
Would I have broke this happy dreame, |
It was a theame |
For reason, much too strong for phantasie, |
Therefore thou wakd'st me wisely; yet |
My Dreame thou brok'st not, but continued'st it, |
Thou art so truth, that thoughts of thee suffice, |
To make dreames truths; and fables histories; |
Enter these armes, for since thou thoughtst it best, |
Not to dreame all my dreame, let's act the rest. |
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As lightning, or a Tapers light, |
Thine eyes, and not thy noise wak'd mee; |
Yet I thought thee |
(For thou lovest truth) an Angell, at first sight, |
But when I saw thou sawest my heart, |
And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an Angels art, |
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, whẽ thou knew'st whẽ |
Excesse of joy would wake me, and cam'st then, |
I must confesse, it could not chuse but bee |
Prophane, to thinke thee any thing but thee. |
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Comming and staying show'd thee, thee, |
But rising make me doubt, that now, |
Thou art not thou. |
That love is weake, where feare's as strong as hee; |
'Tis not all spirit, pure, and brave,
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[CW: If] |