The Poetical Works of John Dryden Volume Ii Part 41

Madam, quoth he, gramercy for your care, 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 the immortal powers! as wise as he, 200 Maintain, with sounder sense, that dreams forebode; For Homer plainly says they come from G.o.d.

Nor Cato said it: but some modern fool Imposed in Cato's name on boys at school.

Believe me, madam, morning dreams foreshow The events of things, and future weal or woe: Some truths are not by reason to be tried, 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 arrived by twilight at a town; That day had been the baiting of a bull, 'Twas at a feast, and every 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 forced to part; one staid 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; 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 snored; but in the dead of night He dream'd 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 ox's stall I shall be slain.

Roused from his rest, he waken'd in a start, s.h.i.+vering with horror, and with aching heart; At length to cure himself by reason tries; 'Tis but a dream, and what are dreams but lies?

So thinking, changed his side, and closed his eyes.

His dream returns; his friend appears again: 240 The murderers come, now help, or I am slain: 'Twas but a vision still, and visions are but vain.

He dream'd the third: but now his friend appear'd Pale, naked, pierced 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 pa.s.sage they my corpse convey: 250 My corpse is in a tumbril laid, among The filth and ordure, and enclosed with dung; That cart arrest, and raise a common cry; For sacred hunger of my gold, I die: Then show'd his grisly wound; 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 Muttering he went, said he, by morning light, And much complain'd of his ill rest by night.

This raised suspicion in the pilgrim's mind; Because all hosts are of an evil kind, And oft to share the spoils 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 carried compost forth to dung the ground.

This when the pilgrim saw, he stretch'd his throat, 270 And cried out murder with a yelling note.

My murder'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.

The word thus given, within a little s.p.a.ce 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 murder'd body found; Though breathless, warm, and reeking from the wound.

Good Heaven, whose darling attribute we find Is boundless grace and mercy to mankind, 280 Abhors the cruel; and the deeds of night By wondrous ways reveals in open light: Murder may pa.s.s unpunish'd for a time, But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime.

And oft a speedier pain the guilty feels; The hue and cry of Heaven pursues him at the heels, Fresh from the fact; as in the present case, The criminals are seized upon the place: 290 Carter and host confronted face to face.

Stiff in denial, as the law appoints, On engines they distend their tortured joints: So was confession forced, the offence was known, And public justice on the offenders done.

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 Induced in partners.h.i.+p to cross the main: Waiting till willing winds their sails supplied, 300 Within a trading town they long abide, Full fairly situate on a haven's side.

One evening it befell, that, looking out, The wind they long had wish'd was come about: Well pleased, they went to rest; and if the gale Till morn continued, both resolved 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 Nor put to sea, but safe on sh.o.r.e abide.

I come, thy Genius, to command thy stay; Trust not the winds, for fatal is the day, And death unhoped attends the watery way.

The vision said; and vanish'd from his sight: The dreamer waken'd in a mortal fright: Then pull'd his drowsy neighbour, and declared What in his slumber he had seen and heard.

His friend smiled 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 G.o.d 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; When monarch Reason sleeps, this mimic wakes: Compounds a medley of disjointed things, A mob of cobblers, 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 nurse's legends are for truths received, And the man dreams but what the boy believed.

Sometimes we but rehea.r.s.e 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 Chimeras all; and more absurd, or less: You, who believe in tales, abide alone; Whate'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.

The vessel went before a merry gale, And for quick pa.s.sage put on every sail: But when least fear'd, and even 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 s.h.i.+ps from far her loss descried; But only she was sunk, and all were safe beside.

By this example you are taught again, That dreams and visions are not always vain: But if, dear Partlet, you are still 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 murder did foretell From point to point as after it befell: All circ.u.mstances to his nurse he told, (A wonder from a child of seven years old): The dream with horror heard, the good old wife From treason counsell'd him to guard his life; But close to keep the secret in his mind, For a boy's vision small belief would find.

The pious child, by promise bound, obey'd, 370 Nor was the fatal murder long delay'd: By Quenda slain, he fell before his time, Made a young martyr by his sister's crime.

The tale is told by venerable Bede, Which, at your better leisure, you may read.

Macrobius, too, relates the vision sent To the great Scipio, with the famed event: Objections makes, but after makes replies, And adds, that dreams are often prophecies.

Of Daniel you may read in holy writ, 380 Who, when the king his vision did forget, Could word for word the wondrous dream repeat.

Nor less of patriarch Joseph understand, Who by a dream enslaved the Egyptian land, The years of plenty and of dearth foretold, When, for their bread, their liberty they sold.

Nor must the exalted butler be forgot, Nor he whose dream presaged his hanging lot.

And did not Croesus the same death foresee, Raised in his vision on a lofty tree? 390 The wife of Hector, in his utmost pride, Dream'd of his death the night before he died; Well was he warn'd from battle to refrain, But men to death decreed are warn'd in vain: He dared the dream, and by his fatal foe was slain.

Much more I know, which I forbear to speak, For, see, the ruddy day begins to break; Let this suffice, that plainly I foresee My dream was bad, and bodes adversity: But neither pills nor laxatives I like, 400 They only serve to make the well-man sick: Of these his gain the sharp physician makes, And often gives a purge, but seldom takes: They not correct, but poison all the blood, And ne'er did any but the doctors good.

Their tribe, trade, trinkets, I defy them all; With every work of pothecary's hall.

These melancholy matters I forbear: But let me tell thee, Partlet mine, and swear, That when I view the beauties of thy face, 410 I fear not death, nor dangers, nor disgrace: So may my soul have bliss, as when I spy The scarlet red about thy partridge eye, While thou art constant to thy own true knight, While thou art mine, and I am thy delight, All sorrows at thy presence take their flight.

For true it is, as _in principio, Mulier est hominis confusio_.

Madam, the meaning of this Latin is, That woman is to man his sovereign bliss. 420 For when by night I feel your tender side, Though for the narrow perch I cannot ride, Yet I have such a solace in my mind, That all my boding cares are cast behind; And even already I forget my dream.

He said, and downward flew from off the beam; For daylight now began apace to spring, The thrush to whistle, and the lark to sing; Then, crowing, clapp'd his wings, the appointed call, To chuck his wives together in the hall. 430

By this the widow had unbarr'd the door, And Chanticleer went strutting out before.

With royal courage, and with heart so light, As show'd he scorned the visions of the night.

Now roaming in the yard, he spurn'd the ground, And gave to Partlet the first grain he found; Then often feather'd her with wanton play, And trod her twenty times ere prime of day; And took by turns, and gave, so much delight, Her sisters pined with envy at the sight. 440 He chuck'd again, when other corns he found, And scarcely deign'd to set a foot to ground; But swagger'd like a lord about his hall, And his seven wives came running at his call.

'Twas now the month in which the world began, (If March beheld the first created man): And since the vernal equinox, the sun, In Aries twelve degrees, or more, had run; When, casting up his eyes against the light, Both month, and day, and hour he measured right; 450 And told more truly than the Ephemeris: For art may err, but nature cannot miss.

Thus numbering times and seasons in his breast, His second crowing the third hour confess'd.

Then turning, said to Partlet, See, my dear, How lavish nature has adorn'd the year; How the pale primrose and blue violet spring, And birds essay their throats disused to sing: All these are ours; and I with pleasure see Man strutting on two legs, and aping me: 460 An unfledged creature, of a lumpish frame, Endow'd with fewer particles of flame; Our dame sits cowering o'er a kitchen fire, I draw fresh air, and nature's works admire: And even this day in more delight abound, Than, since I was an egg, I ever found.

The time shall come when Chanticleer shall wish His words unsaid, and hate his boasted bliss: The crested bird shall by experience know, Jove made not him his masterpiece below; 470 And learn the latter end of joy is woe.

The vessel of his bliss to dregs is run, And Heaven will have him taste his other tun.

Ye wise, draw near, and hearken to my tale, Which proves that oft the proud by flattery fall: The legend is as true, I undertake, As Tristran is, and Launcelot of the lake: Which all our ladies in such reverence hold, As if in Book of Martyrs it were told.

A fox, full-fraught with seeming sanct.i.ty, 480 That fear'd an oath, but, like the devil, would lie; Who look'd like Lent, and had the holy leer, And durst not sin before he said his prayer; This pious cheat, that never suck'd the blood, Nor chew'd the flesh of lambs, but when he could, Had pa.s.s'd three summers in the neighbouring wood: And musing long, whom next to circ.u.mvent, On Chanticleer his wicked fancy bent; And in his high imagination cast, By stratagem, to gratify his taste. 490

The plot contrived, before the break of day Saint Reynard through the hedge had made his way; The pale was next, but proudly with a bound He leapt the fence of the forbidden ground: Yet fearing to be seen, within a bed Of coleworts he conceal'd his wily head; Then skulk'd till afternoon, and watch'd his time (As murderers use) to perpetrate his crime.

Oh, hypocrite, ingenious to destroy!

Oh, traitor, worse than Sinon was to Troy! 500 Oh, vile subverter of the Gallic reign, More false than Gano was to Charlemagne!

Oh, Chanticleer, in an unhappy hour Didst thou forsake the safety of thy bower!

Better for thee thou hadst believed thy dream, And not that day descended from the beam.

But here the doctors eagerly dispute: Some hold predestination absolute; Some clerks maintain, that Heaven at first foresees, And in the virtue of foresight decrees. 510 If this be so, then prescience binds the will, And mortals are not free to good or ill; For what he first foresaw, he must ordain, Or its eternal prescience may be vain: As bad for us as prescience had not been: For first, or last, he's author of the sin.

And who says that, let the blaspheming man Say worse even of the devil, if he can.

For how can that Eternal Power be just To punish man, who sins because he must? 520 Or, how can he reward a virtuous deed, Which is not done by us; but first decreed?

I cannot bolt this matter to the bran, As Bradwardin and holy Austin can; If prescience can determine actions so That we must do, because he did foreknow, Or that, foreknowing, yet our choice is free, Not forced to sin by strict necessity; This strict necessity they simple call, Another sort there is conditional. 530 The first so binds the will, that things foreknown By spontaneity, not choice, are done.

Thus galley-slaves tug willing at their oar, Content to work, in prospect of the sh.o.r.e; But would not work at all if not constrain'd before.

That other does not liberty constrain, But man may either act, or may refrain.

Heaven made us agents free to good or ill, And forced it not, though he foresaw the will.

Freedom was first bestow'd on human race, 540 And prescience only held the second place.

If he could make such agents wholly free, I not dispute, the point's too high for me; For Heaven's unfathom'd power what man can sound, Or put to his Omnipotence a bound?