When night's blacke Mantle could most darknesse prove,
And sleepe (deaths Image) did my senses hyre,
From Knowledge of my selfe, then thoughts did move
Swifter then those, most swiftnesse neede require.
In sleepe, a Chariot drawne by wing'd Desire,
I saw; where sate bright Venus Queene of Love,
And at her feete her Sonne, still adding Fire
To burning hearts, which she did hold above,
But one heart flaming more then all the rest,
The Goddesse held, and put it to my breast,
'Deare Sonne now shoot,' said she: 'thus must we winne;'
He her obey'd, and martyr'd my poore heart.
I waking hop'd as dreames it would depart,
Yet since, O me, a Lover I have beene.