Our troubled heart with horror doth affright.
146.
On fearefull things long musing I do lie,
At last with sleepe opprest, in slumber cast,
Vpflew the doores and in the murderers flie,
At which awakt, and suddenly agast,
As from my naked bed I thought t’haue past,
They with rude hands do hold me downe by force,
While with vaine words I seeke to moue remorse.
147.