Tipp'd was his tail, and both his pricking ears
Were black; and much unlike his other hairs:
The rest, in shape a beagle's whelp throughout,
With broader forehead, and a fharper fnout :
Deep in his front were funk his glowing eyes,
That yet methinks I fee him with furprize.
Reach out your hand, I drop with clammy sweat,
And lay it to my heart, and feel it beat.
Now fy for shame, quoth fhe, by Heav'n above,
Thou haft for ever loft thy lady's love;

No woman can endure a recreant knight,
He must be bold by day, and free by night:
Our fex deûres a husband or a friend,

Who can our honor and his own defend
Wife, hardy, fecret, lib'ral of his purse:
A fool is naufeous, but a coward worse:
No bragging coxcomb, yet no baffled knight.
How dar'ft thou talk of love, and dar'st not fight?
How dar'st thou tell thy dame thou art affear'd?
Haft thou no manly heart, and hast a beard?

If ought from fearful dreams may be divin'd,

They fignify a cock of dunghill kind.

All dreams, as in old Galen I have read,
Are from repletion and complexion bred;

From

From rifing fumes of indigested food,

And noxious humors that infect the blood:
And fure, my lord, if I can read aright,
These foolish fancies, you have had to-night,
Are certain fymptoms (in the canting ftile)
Of boiling choler, and abounding bile;
This yellow gaul that in your ftomach floats,
Engenders all these vifionary thoughts.
When choler overflows then dreams are bred
Of flames, and all the family of red;
Red dragons, and red beasts in fleep we view,
For humors are diftinguish'd by their hue.
From hence we dream of wars and warlike things,
And wafps and hornets with their double wings.
Choler aduft congeals our blood with fear,
Then black bulls tofs us, and black devils tear.
In fanguine airy dreams aloft we bound,
With rheums opprefs'd we fink in rivers drown'd.
More I could fay, but thus conclude my theme,
The dominating humour makes the dream.
Cato was in his time accounted wife,

And he condemns them all for empty lies.

Take my advice, and when we fly to ground,
With laxatives preferve your body found,
And purge the pecant humors that abound.

I fhould be loth to lay you on a bier;
And tho' there lives no 'pothecary near,

I dare for once prescribe for your
disease,
And fave long bills, and a damn'd doctor's fees.

Two fov'reign herbs which I by practice know And both at hand, (for in our yard they grow ;) On peril of my foul shall rid you wholly

Of yellow choler, and of melancholy :

You must both purge, and vomit; but obey,
And for the love of heav'n make no delay.
Since hot and dry in your complexion join,
Beware the fun when in a vernal fign;
For when he mounts exalted in the ram,
If then he finds your body in a flame,
Replete with choler, I dare lay a groat,
A tertian ague is at least your lot.

Perhaps a fever (which the Gods forefend)
May bring your youth to fome untimely end :
And therefore, fir, as you defire to live,,
A day or two before your laxative,

Take juft three worms, nor under nor above,
Because.the Gods unequal numbers love,
These digeftives prepare you for your purge;
Of fumetery, centaury, and fpurge,
And of ground-ivy add a leaf, or two,
All which within our yard or garden grow.

Eat these, and be, my lord, of better cheer:
Your father's fon was never born to fear.

Madam, quoth he, grammercy for your care,
But Cato, whom you quoted, you may spare:
'Tis true, a wife and worthy man he seems,
And (as you fay) gave no belief to dreams:
But other men of more authority,

And, by th' immortal pow'rs, as wife as he, Maintain, with founder fenfe, that dreams forebode;

For Homer plainly fays they come from God.
Nor Cato faid it: but fome modern fool

Impos'd in Cato's name on boys at school.

Believe me, madam, morning dreams foreshow Th' events of things, and future weal or woe: Some truths are not by reafon to be try'd, But we have fure experience for our guide. An ancient author, equal with the best, Relates this tale of dreams among the rest.

Two friends or brothers, with devout intent, On fome far pilgrimage together went. It happen'd fo that, when the fun was down, They just arriv'd by twilight at a town: That day had been the baiting of a bull, 'Twas at a feaft, and ev'ry inn fo full,

That no void room in chamber, or on ground;
And but one forry bed was to be found:
And that fo little it would hold but one,
Tho' till this hour they never lay alone.

So were they forc'd to part; one stay'd behind, His fellow fought what lodging he could find: At last he found a ftall where oxen stood,

And that he rather choose than lie abroad.
'Twas in a farther yard without a door;
But, for his eafe, well litter'd was the floor.

His fellow, who the narrow bed had kept,
Was weary, and without a rocker slept :
Supine he fnor'd; but in the dead of night,
He dreamt his friend appear'd before his fight,
Who, with a ghaftly look and doleful cry,
Said, help me, brother, or this night I die:
Arife, and help, before all help be vain,
Or in an ox's ftall I fhall be flain.

Rous'd from his reft he waken'd in a start,
Shiv'ring with horror, and with aking heart;
At length to cure himself by reafon tries;
'Tis but a dream, and what are dreams but lies?
So thinking chang'd his fide, and clos'd his eyes.
His dream returns; his friend appears again :
The murderers come, now help, or I am slain:
'Twas but a vision still, and vifions are but vain.