A Dreame Poem by Humfrey Gifford

In pleasaunt moneth of gladsome May
I walkt abroad to view
The fieldes, which nature had bedeckt
With flowers of sundry hew.
The sight whereof did recreate
My senses in such sort,
As passeth far beyond my power,
Thereof to make reporte.
Then sat I neere a pleasaunt wood,
And listened with desire:
Unto the small birdes chirping charme,
Which set my heart on fire.
Of Goldefinch and of Nightingale
I there might heare the voyce:
The Wren, the Robin and the thrush,
Did make a heauenly noyse.
Whose sweete melodious harmonie
My senses so bereft,
That I in this delightfull plot,
A pray to sleepe was left.
In slumber mine an auncient dame,
Before my face appeares:
Whose hollow cheekes and wrinckled face,
Did argue many yeeres.
Her vesture was as white as snow,
Her countenaunce very sad,
It semed by her watry eine,
Some inward griefe shee had.
For why, great streames of trickling teares,
Distilled downe her cheekes,
And thus to mee with trembling voyce,
This aged beldam speakes.
My friende (quoth shee) bee not dismayde,
At this my sodaine sight,
Ne let the speeches I shall vse,
Thy fearefull minde afright.
I am not of the furies broode,
Ne damned sprites of hell:
But hee through whome my being is,
Aboue the skies doth dwell.
And Lady Concord I am calde,
From forraine Realmes exilde:
Once mutual Loue my husband was,
And plentie was our childe:
But, ah, quod shee, a hagge of hell,
That long hath sought their spoyle
Hath slaine them both, vnlesse they dwell,
Within your english soyle.
Heere with there yssued from her eine,
Of teares abundant store:
And sighes so stopt her feeble voyce,
That shee could speake no more.
The sight wherof (mee thought) did rayse,
Great dolours in my breast:
Yet praying her for to proceede,
She thus her minde exprest.
Uile Couetousnesse that furie fell,
Hath wrought vs all this woe:
To Concord and to Mutuall Loue,
Shee is a deadly foe.
Time was, when wee were well esteemde,
And calde ech countries stay:
But Couetousnesse now rules the roast,
And beareth all the sway.
And were it not that in this land,
I finde some small reliefe:
I had beene dead long ere this time,
Through greatnesse of my greefe.
Debate and rancour night and day,
On this vile Dame attend,
Whom shee to worke her beastly will,
About the world doth send.
These two haue raysde such warre and strife,
In partes beyond the Seas,
That now few nations in the earth,
Enioy their woonted peace.
Now gold is reuerenced as a God,
Eche hunts for priuat gayne.
Men care not how their soules shall speede,
So wealth they may attaine.
Of conscience now, few make account,
Him men esteeme most wise:
Which to beguile his neighbour poore,
Can craftiest meanes deuise.
This sayd, mee thought the auncient dame,
Did vanish straight away.
And I awaking heere withall,
Went home without delay,
Where taking paper, penne, and inke,
With speede I there enrolde:
The circumstaunce of all the tale,
That Concord to mee tolde.
Which makes me wish that euery one,
Would mutuall loue imbrace:
And that no spots of couetousnesse,
With sinne their deedes deface.