John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Her Poverty was glad; her Heart content,

  Nor knew she what the Spleen or Vapors meant. 30

  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; 35

  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, 45

  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, 55

  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 no 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, 65

  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, 75

  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 disobey. 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, 85

  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, 95

  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, 105

  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: 110

  It bodes I shall have Wars and woful Strife,

  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. 115

  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 Forehead, 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. 125

  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 nauseous, but a Coward worse:

  No bragging Coxcomb, yet no baffled Knight.

  How dar’st thou talk of Love, and dar’st not Fight? 135

  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 145

  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.

  When Choler overflows, then Dreams are 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. 155

  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

  The dominating Humour makes the Dream.

  Cato was in his time accounted Wise,

  And he condemns them all for empty Lies.

  Take my Advice, and when we fly to Ground

  With Laxatives preserve your Body sound, 165

  And purge the peccant Humors that abound.

  I should be loath to lay you on a Bier;

  And though there lives no ‘Pothecary near,

  I dare for once prescribe for your Disease,

  An
d save long Bills, and a damn’d Doctor’s Fees. 170

  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, 175

  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, 185

  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, 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, 195

  But Cato, 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, 200

  Maintain, with sounder Sense, that Dreams forebode;

  For Homer plainly says they come from God.

  Nor Cato said it: But some modern Fool

  Impos’d in Cato’s Name on Boys at School.

  Believe me, Madam, Morning Dreams foreshow 205

  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. 210

  Two Friends, or Brothers, with devout Intent,

  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, 215

  ’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. 220

  So were they forc’d to part; one stay’d behind,

  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; 225

  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, 235

  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, 245

  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: 250

  My Corps is in a Tumbril laid; among

  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 255

  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. 265

  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.

  This when the Pilgrim saw, he stretch’d his Throat, 270

  And cry’d out Murther with a yelling Note.

  My murther’d Fellow in this Cart lies dead,

  Vengeance and Justice on the Villain’s Head.

  You, Magistrates, who sacred Laws dispense,

  On you I call to punish this Offence. 275

  The Word thus giv’n, within a little Space

  The Mob came roaring out, and throng’d the Place.

  All in a trice they cast the Cart to Ground,

  And in the Dung the murther’d Body found;

  Though breathless, warm, and reeking from the Wound. 280

  Good Heav’n, whose darling Attribute we find

  Is boundless Grace, and Mercy to Mankind,

  Abhors the Cruel; and the Deeds of Night

  By wond’rous Ways reveals in open Light:

  Murther may pass unpunish’d for a time, 285

  But tardy Justice will o’ertake the Crime

  And oft a speedier pain the Guilty feels,

  The Hue and Cry of Heav’n pursues him at the Heels,

  Fresh from the Fact; as in the present Case;

  The Criminals are seiz’d upon the Place: 290

  Carter and Host confronted Face to Face.

  Stiff in denial, as the Law appoints,

  On Engins they distend their tortur’d Joints:

  So was confession forc’d, th’ Offence was known,

  And publick Justice on th’ Offenders done. 295

  Here may you see that Visions are to dread:

  And in the Page that follows this I read

  Of two young Merchants, whom the hope of Gain

  Induc’d in Partnership to cross the Main:

  Waiting till willing Winds their Sails supply’d, 300

  Within a Trading-Town they long abide,

  Full fairly situate on a Haven’s side.

  One Evening it befel that looking out,

  The Wind they long had wish’d was come about:

  Well pleas’d they went to Rest; and if the Gale 305

  Till Morn continu’d, both resolv’d to sail.

  But as together in a Bed they lay,

  The younger had a Dream at break of Day.

  A Man, he thought, stood frowning at his side,

  Who warn’d him for his Safety to provide
, 310

  Not put to Sea, but safe on Shore abide.

  I come, thy Genius, to command thy stay;

  Trust not the Winds, for fatal is the Day,

  And Death unhop’d attends the watry way.

  The Vision said: And vanish’d from his Sight; 315

  The Dreamer waken’d in a mortal Fright;

  Then pull’d his drowzy Neighbour, and declar’d

  What in his Slumber he had seen, and heard.

  His Friend smil’d scornful, and, with proud contempt,

  Rejects as idle what his Fellow dreamt. 320

  Stay, who will stay: For me no Fears restrain,

  Who follow Mercury the God of Gain:

  Let each Man do as to his Fancy seems,

  I wait not, I, till you have better Dreams.

  Dreams are but Interludes, which Fancy makes; 325

  When Monarch-Reason sleeps, this Mimick wakes:

  Compounds a Medley of disjointed Things,

  A Mob of Coblers and a Court of Kings:

  Light Fumes are merry, grosser Fumes are sad;

  Both are the reasonable Soul run mad: 330

  And many monstrous Forms in Sleep we see,

  That neither were, nor are, nor e’er can be.

  Sometimes, forgotten Things long cast behind

  Rush forward in the Brain, and come to mind.

  The Nurses Legends are for Truths receiv’d, 335

  And the Man dreams but what the Boy believ’d.

  Sometimes we but rehearse a former Play,

  The Night restores our Actions done by Day;

  As Hounds in sleep will open for their Prey.

  In short, the Farce of Dreams is of a piece, 340

  Chimera’s all; and more absurd, or less.

  You, who believe in Tales, abide alone,

  What e’er I get this Voyage is my own.

  Thus while he spoke he heard the shouting Crew

  That call’d aboard and took his last adieu. 345

  The Vessel went before a merry Gale,

  And for quick Passage put on ev’ry Sail:

  But when least fear’d, and ev’n in open Day,

  The Mischief overtook her in the way:

  Whether she sprung a Leak, I cannot find, 350

  Or whether she was overset with Wind;

  Or that some Rock below, her bottom rent;

  But down at once with all her Crew she went;

  Her Fellow Ships from far her Loss descry’d;

  But only she was sunk, and all were safe beside. 355

  By this Example you are taught again,

  That Dreams and Visions are not always vain:

  But if, dear Partlet, you are yet in doubt,

  Another Tale shall make the former out.

  Kenelm, the Son of Kenulph, Mercia’s King, 360

  Whose holy Life the Legends loudly sing,

  Warn’d, in a Dream, his Murther did foretel