Thrice ore the caddow I mine armes outſpred: / Thrice did I fall, before I once could riſe: / Leaning vpon mine elbow for a reſt, / Nodding, I knockt my chin againſt my breſt. // Then ſigh’d, ſlipt downe, and twixt the ſheete and pillow / I nuzled in, joyn’d knees and chin together: / I dream’d I wore a garland of greene willow. / But ſnuffling low, I prickt me with a fether; / So wakt, the bolſter for my backe I choſe, / And yawning thrice, I rub’d mine eyes and roſe.