These fifteen years you have been in a dream
These fifteen years you have been in a dream,
Or, when you waked, so waked as if you slept.
These fifteen years! By my fay, a goodly nap.
But did I never speak of all that time?
Oh, yes, my lord, but very idle words.
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you say you were beaten out of door,
And rail upon the hostess of the house,
And say you would present her at the leet
Because she brought stone jugs and no sealed quarts.
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Ay, the woman’s maid of the house.
Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such maid,
Nor no such men as you have reckoned up,
As Stephen Sly and old John Naps of Greete,
And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell,
And twenty more such names and men as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.
Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends!
I thank thee. Thou shalt not lose by it.