By
Ben Jonson
Or scorne or pity on me take,
I must the true relation make,
I am undone tonight.
Love, in a subtle dreame disguised,
Hath both my heart and me suprised,
Whom never yet he durst attempt awake;
Nor will he tell me for whose sake
He did me the delight or spight,
But leaves me to inquire,
In all my wild desire,
Of sleep again,
Who was his aid,
And sleep so guiltie and afraid,
As since he dares not come within my sight.