Dame Iris takes her pall wherein a thousand colours were,
And bowing like a stringéd bow upon the cloudy sphere
Immediately descended to the drowzy house of sleepe,
Whose court the clowdes continually do clocely overcreepe.
Among the dark Cimmeriansis a hollow mountain found,
And in the hill a cave that far doth run within the ground,
The chamber and the dwelling place where slouth sleepe doth cowtch.
The light of Phoebus' golden beams this place can never touch,
A foggye mist with dimnesse nex steams upward from the ground.
And glimmering twylyght evermore within the same is found.
No watchful bird with barbie bill and combéd crowne dooth call
The morning forth with crowing out. There is no noyse at all
Of waking dogge or gagling goose, more waker than the hound
To hinder sleepe. Of beast ne wyld ne tame there is no sound:
No boughes are stirred with blastes of wind, no noyse of tatling tongue
Of man or woman ever yet within that bower rung.
Dumb quiet dwelleth there, yet from the roches foot doth go
The river of forgetfulnesse, which runneth trickling so
Upon the little pebble stones that in the channel lye.
That unto sleepe a great deale more it doth provoke thereby.
Before the entry of the cave there growes of Poppye store
With seeded heades and other weedes innumerable more,
Out of the miklie jewce of which the night doth gather sleepes,
And over all the shadowéd earth with darkish dew them dreepes.
Because the craking hindges of the doore no noise should make,
There is no doore nor porter at the gate.
Amid the cave of Ebonye a bedstead standeth bye.
And on the same a bed of downe with keeverings black doth lye,
In which the drowzy God of Sleepe his lither limbs doth rest.
About him forging sundrye shapes as many dreams be prest,
As eares of corne doo stand in fieldes at harvest time, or leaves
Doo grow trees, or sea to shore of sandye cinder heaves.
Thus came Iris into this hold,
And to the bed which is all black she goeth,
And there with sleepe she spake.
O sleepe, the rest of things, the gentlest of the goddes,
Sweet sleepe, the peace of mind with whom crookt care is aye at oddes:
Which cherishest mennes weary limbs, appalled with toyling sore,
And makest them as fresh to work and lusty as before.
Command a Dreame that in their kindes can everything expresse,
To Trachine, Hercles towne, himselfe this instant to addresse.
And let him lively counterfeit to Queene Alcyonea
The magic of her husband who is drowned in the sea.
Juno willeth so. Hir message being told to Dame Iris
Went her way, she could her eyes no longer hold from sleepe.
But when she felt it come she fled that instant tyme.
And by the bowe that brought her downe, to heaven again did clyme.
|
![[Zur Startseite]](/images/misc/logo-new.gif){kind=logo}
