The daylight past, as life I deeme, the night as death to come,
The clocke that chim’d, death’s fatall knell, that call’d me to my doome,
Still silence rest from worldly cares, my bed the graue I thinke,
In which, with heart to heau’n vp-lift, at length I downe did sinke:
Where after still repose when as thin vapors had restrain’d
The mouing powers of common sense, and sleepe each sense enchain’d,
Whether the watchfull fantasie did now in sleepe restore
The species of things sensible, which I had seene before:
And so some dreame it only was, which I intend to tell,
Or vision sent I’le not discusse, to me it thus befell: