With woefull passion did so maister reason, That as I stood vpon that pleasant hill To fancie sweet delight I had no will; But seeking for some groue or gloomie wood, Where I might feede my melancholie mood: Vpon this hil’s south side at last I found Fitting my thoughts a pleasing plot of ground; It was to wit, that wel knowne happie shade, Which for delight the royall Britaine maid Did oft frequent, as former times can tell, When her sweet soule in mortall mould did dwell: It is a walke thicke set with manie a tree; Whose arched bowes ore hed combined bee, That nor the golden eye of heauen can peepe Into that place, ne yet, when heauen doth weepe, Can the thin drops of drizeling raine offend Him, that for succour to that place doth wend. Where, when alone I first did enter in, And call to minde how that truth-shielding queene, In former times the same did beautifie With presence of her princelie maiestie; O how the place did seeme to mourne to mee, That she should thence for euer absent bee! In this sad passion, which did still abound, I sat me downe vpon the grassie ground, Wishing that heau’n into my infant muse That antique poet’s spirit would infuse, Who, when in Thracian land hee did rehearse Ianthee’s wofull end in tragick verse, Did make men, birds, beasts, trees and rockes of stone That virgin’s timelesse tragedie to mone: For then I thought, that to that mournefull place, I might haue sung my verse with lesse disgrace To great _Elizae’s_ worth: for who doth bring Her deeds to light, or who her worth doth singe? O, did that Fairie Queene’s sweet singer liue, That to the dead eternitie could giue, Or if, that heauen by influence would infuse His heauenlie spirit on mine earth-borne muse, Her name ere this a mirror should haue been Lim’d out in golden verse to th’eyes of men: But my sad muse, though willing, yet too weak In her rude rymes _Elizae’s_ worth to speak, Must yeeld to those, whose muse can mount on high, And with braue plumes can clime the loftie skie. As thus I sat all sad vpon the greene In contemplation of that royall queene, And thinking, what a Mirrour she might be Vnto all future time’s posteritie, Inclining downe my hed, soft fingered sleepe With pleasing touch throughout my limbes did creepe, Who hauing seas’d vpon mee with strong hands, Bound vp my thoughts in soporiferous bands, And held mee captiue, while his seruant slie A vision strange did vnto mee descrie: For vp from Morpheus den a vision came, Which were it sent in mightie Ioue’s own name, Or by some other power, I wot not well: But as I slept, I say, thus it befell: As at that time in walking to and fro, I 'bout this pleasant place alone did goe, Each obiect of the same all suddenlie