A sudden sound of trumpe I heard, whose blast so loud was blowne,
That in a trance I senselesse lay, fraile mortall there was none
That heard such sound, could sense retaine: my chamber wals did shake,
Vp flew the doores, a voice I heard, which thus distinctly spake:
“Awake from sleepe, lift vp thy head, and be no whit dismai’d,
I serue the deities of heau’n, their hests must be obei’d,
And now am sent from her that keepes the store-house of the mind:
The mother of the muses nine, for thee she hath assign’d
For her designe, the night to come in sleepe thou must not spend:
Prepare thy selfe, that gainst she come, her will thou maist attend.”