I laid me down upon a pillow soft,
And dream'd I clypt and kissed my mistress oft:
She cried, Fie fie, away, you are too bold.
I pray'd her be content, though she were cold;
My veins did burn with flames of hot desire,
And must not leave till she had quench'd my fire.

Well, since (said she) I may not from you fly,
Do what you please, I give you liberty.
With that I wak'd, but found I was deceiv'd;
For which I storm'd like one of sense bereav'd.