But, by a long Descent, th' Etherial Fire Corrupts ; and Forms, the mortal Part, expire. 1051

As he withdraws his Vertue, so they pass,
And the same Matter makes another Mass:
This Law th' Omniscient Pow'r was pleas'd
to give,

That ev'ry Kind should by Succession live;
That Individuals die, his Will ordains;
The propagated Species still remains.
The Monarch Oak, the Patriarch of the Trees,
Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow
Degrees;

Three Centuries he grows, and three he stays, Supreme in State; and in three more decays: 1061

So wears the paving Pebble in the Street, And Towns and Tow'rs their fatal Period meet:

So Rivers, rapid once, now naked lie,
Forsaken of their Springs; and leave their
Channels dry.

So Man, at first a Drop, dilates with Heat,
Then form'd, the little Heart begins to beat;
Secret he feeds, unknowing in the Cell;
At length, for Hatching ripe, he breaks the
Shell,

1069 And struggles into Breath, and cries for Aid; Then, helpless, in his Mother's Lap is laid. He creeps, he walks, and, issuing into Man, Grudges their Life from whence his own began:

Retchless of Laws, affects to rule alone, Anxious to reign, and restless on the Throne; First vegetive, then feels, and reasons last; Rich of Three Souls, and lives all three to

waste.

Some thus; but thousands more in Flow'r of Age:

For few arrive to run the latter Stage.
Sunk in the first, in Battel some are slain,
And others whelm'd beneath the stormy
Main.
1081
What makes all this, but Jupiter the King,
At whose Command we perish, and we
spring?

Then 'tis our best, since thus ordain'd to die,
To make a Vertue of Necessity.

Take what he gives, since to rebel is vain; The Bad grows better, which we well sustain: And cou'd we chuse the Time, and chuse aright,

Tis best to die, our Honour at the height.

When we have done our Ancestors no Shame, 1090

But serv'd our Friends, and well secur'd our Fame;

Then should we wish our happy Life to close, And leave no more for Fortune to dispose: So should we make our Death a glad Relief From future Shame, from Sickness, and from Grief:

Enjoying while we live the present Hour, And dying in our Excellence, and Flow'r. Then round our Death-bed every Friend shou'd run,

And joy us of our Conquest, early won; While the malicious World, with envious Tears,

1100

Of Wine she never tasted through the Year,

But White and Black was all her homely Chear;

Brown Bread, and Milk (but first she skim'd her bowls)

And Rashers of sindg'd Bacon on the Coals. On Holy Days, an Egg or two at most; But her Ambition never reach'd to roast.

A Yard she had with Pales enclos'd about, Some high, some low, and a dry Ditch without.

Within this Homestead, liv'd without a Peer,
For crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer: 40
So hight her Cock, whose singing did surpass
The merry Notes of Organs at the Mass.
More certain was the crowing of a Cock
To number Hours, than is an Abbey-clock;
And sooner than the Mattin-Bell was rung,
He clap'd his Wings upon his Roost, and
sung:

For when Degrees fifteen ascended right,
By sure Instinct he knew 'twas One at
Night.

High was his Comb, and Coral-red withal, In dents embattel'd like a Castle-Wall; 50 His Bill was Raven-black, and shon like Jet, Blue were his Legs, and Orient were his Feet: White were his Nails, like Silver to behold, His Body glitt'ring like the burnish'd Gold. This gentle Cock, for solace of his Life, Six Misses had beside his lawful Wife ; Scandal, that spares no King, tho' ne'er so good,

Says, they were all of his own Flesh and Blood:

His Sisters both by Sire, and Mother's Side, And sure their Likeness show'd them near ally'd.

60

But make the worst, the Monarch did nc

more

Than all the Ptolomey's had done before: When Incest is for Int' rest of a Nation, "Tis made no Sin by Holy Dispensation. Some Lines have been maintain'd by this alone,

Which by their common Ugliness are known.

But passing this as from our Tale apart, Dame Partlet was the Soveraign of his Heart: Ardent in Love, outragious in his Play, He feather'd her a hundred times a Day; 70 And she, that was not only passing fair, But was withal discreet, and debonair,

Resolv'd the passive Doctrin to fulfil,
Tho' loath, and let him work his wicked
Will:

At Board and Bed was affable and kind,
According as their Marriage-Vow did bind,
And as the Churches Precept had enjoin'd.)
Ev'n since she was a Sennight old, they say
Was chast, and humble to her dying Day,
Nor Chick nor Hen was known to dis-
obey.
80

By this her Husband's Heart she did obtain ;

What cannot Beauty join'd with Virtue gain! She was his only Joy, and he her Pride: She, when he walk'd, went pecking by his Side;

If, spurning up the Ground, he sprung a Corn,

The Tribute in his Bill to her was born. But oh! what Joy it was to hear him sing In Summer, when the Day began to spring, Stretching his Neck, and warbling in his Throat,

Solus cum Sola, then was all his Note. 90 For in the Days of Yore, the Birds of Parts Were bred to Speak, and Sing, and learn the lib'ral Arts.

It happ'd that perching on the Parlor beam

Amidst his Wives he had a deadly Dream, Just at the Dawn, and sigh'd, and groan'd so fast,

As every Breath he drew would be his last. Dame Partlet, ever nearest to his Side, Heard all his piteous Moan, and how he cry'd For help from Gods and Men: And sore aghast

She peck'd and pull'd, and waken'd him at last.

100

Dear Heart, said she, for Love of Heav'n declare

Your Pain, and make me Partner of your Care.

You groan, Sir, ever since the Morning-light, As something had disturb'd your noble Spright.

And, Madam, well I might, said Chanticleer,

Never was Shrovetide-Cock in such a Fear.
Ev'n still I run all over in a Sweat,
My Princely Senses not recover'd yet.
For such a Dream I had of dire Portent,
That much I fear my Body will be shent :

III

Or in a loathsom Dungeon end my Life. Know, Dame, I dreamt within my troubl'd'

Breast,

That in our Yard I saw a murd' rous Beast, That on my Body would have made Arrest.) With waking Eyes I ne'er beheld his Fellow, His Colour was betwixt a Red and Yellow Tipp'd was his Tail, and both his pricking Ears

With black; and much unlike his other Hairs:

The rest, in Shape a Beagle's Whelp throughout, 120 With broader Forchead, and a sharper Snout: Deep in his Front were sunk his glowing Eyes,

That yet, methinks, I see him with Surprize. Reach out your Hand, I drop with clammy Sweat,

And lay it to my Heart, and feel it beat. Now fy for Shame, quoth she, by Heav'n above,

Thou hast for ever lost thy Ladies Love.
No Woman can endure a Recreant Knight,
He must be bold by Day, and free by Night:
Our Sex desires a Husband or a Friend, 130
Who can our Honour and his own defend;
Wise, Hardy, Secret, lib'ral of his Purse;
A Fool is nauscous, but a Coward worse:
No bragging Coxcomb, yet no baffled Knight.
How dar'st thou talk of Love, and dar'st not
Fight?

How dar'st thou tell thy Dame thou art affer'd?

Hast thou no manly Heart, and hasta Beard? If ought from fearful Dreams may be divin'd,

They signify a Cock of Dunghill-kind.
All Dreams, as in old Gallen I have read, 140
Are from Repletion and Complexion bred;
From rising Fumes of indigested Food,
And noxious Humors that infect the Blood:
And sure, my Lord, if I can read aright,
These foolish Fancies you have had to Night
Are certain Symptoms (in the canting Style)
Of boiling Choler and abounding Bile:
This yellow Gaul that in your Stomach floats,
Ingenders all these visionary Thoughts.

119 With] Warton and others wrongly give Were

bred 150 Of Flames, and all the Family of Red; Red Dragons, and red Beasts in Sleep we view;

For Humors are distinguish'd by their Hue. From hence we Dream of Wars and Warlike Things,

And Wasps and Hornets with their double Wings.

Choler adust congeals our Blood with fear; Then black Bulls toss us, and black Devils tear.

In sanguine airy Dreams aloft we bound; With Rhumes oppress'd, we sink in Rivers drown'd.

More I could say, but thus conclude my Theme,

160

Two Soveraign Herbs, which I by practise know,

Are both at hand (for in our Yard they grow ;)

On Peril of my Soul 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 Sun when in a vernal Sign;
For when he mounts exalted in the Ram,
If then he finds your Body in a Flame, 180
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 some untimely End.
And therefore, Sir, as you desire to live,
A Day or two before your Laxative,
Take just three Worms, nor under nor above,
Because the Gods unequal Numbers love,
These Digestives prepare you for your Purge,
Of Fumetery, Centaury, and Spurge,

187 under] over 1700. A slip of the pen.

190

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 Son was never born to fear.
Madam, quoth he, Grammercy for your
Care,

But Cata, whom you quoted, you may spare ;
'Tis true, a wise, and worthy Man he seems,
And (as you say) gave no belief to Dreams:
But other Men of more Authority,
And, by th' Immortal Powers as wise as He,
Maintain, with sounder Sense, that Dreams
forebode;

201

For Homer plainly says they come from God. Nor Calo said it: But some 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 Reason to be try'd,
But we have sure 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,
211

On some far Pilgrimage together went.
It happen'd so that, when the Sun was down,
They just arriv'd by twilight at a Town ;
That Day had been the baiting of a Bull,
'Twas at a Feast, and ev'ry Inn so full,
That no void Room in Chamber, or on
Ground,

And but one sorry Bed was to be found,
And that so little it would hold but one,
Though till this Hour they never lay alone.
So were they forc'd to part; one stay'd
behind,

221

His Fellow sought what Lodging he could find:

At last he found a Stall where Oxen stood,
And that he rather chose than lie abroad.
'Twas in a farther Yard without a Door;
But, for his ease, well litter'd was the Floor.
His Fellow, who the narrow Bed had kept,
Was weary, and without a Rocker slept :
Supine he snor'd; but in the Dead of Night,
He dreamt his Friend appear'd before his
Sight,

230
Who, with a ghastly Look and doleful Cry,
Said, Help me, Brother, or this Night I die:
Arise, and help, before all Help be vain,
Or in an Oxes Stall I shall be slain.

Rowz'd from his Rest, he waken'd in a
Start,

Shiv'ring with Horror, and with aking
Heart:

At length to cure himself by Reason tries; 'Tis but a Dream, and what are Dreams but Lies?

So thinking chang'd his Side, and closed his Eyes.

His Dream returns; his Friend appears, again :

240

The Murd' rers come, now help, or I am slain :

'Twas but a Vision still, and Visions are but vain.

He dreamt the third: But now his Friend appear'd,

Pale, naked, pierc'd with Wounds, with Blood besmear'd:

Thrice warn'd, awake, said he ; Relief is late, The Deed is done; but thou revenge my Fate:

Tardy of Aid, unseal thy heavy Eyes,
Awake, and with the dawning Day arise :
Take to the Western Gate thy ready way,
For by that Passage they my Corps convey:
My Corps is in a Tumbril laid; among 251
The Filth and Ordure, and enclos'd with
Dung.

That Cart arrest, and raise a common Cry,
For sacred hunger of my Gold I die;
Then show'd his grisly Wounds; and last
he drew

A piteous Sigh; and took a long Adieu.

The frighted Friend arose by break of Day, And found the Stall where late his Fellow lay. Then of his impious Host inquiring more, Was answer'd that his Guest was gone before :

260

Muttring, he went, said he, by Morning-light, And much complain'd of his ill Rest by Night.

This rais'd Suspicion in the Pilgrim's Mind;' Because all Hosts are of an evil Kind, And oft, to share the Spoil, with Robbers join'd.

His Dream confirm'd his Thought: with troubled look

Straight to the Western-Gate his Way he took ;

There, as his Dream foretold, a Cart he found, That carry'd Composs forth to dung the Ground.