_Quarrels in Dreams._ I perceive you are not able to suffer all this Injustice, nor can I permit it any longer: and tho’ you commit no Crime yourself, yet you believe in this Dream, that I complain of the Injuries you do my Fame; and that I am extreamely angry with a Jealousy so prejudicial to my Honour. Upon this belief you accuse me of Weakness; you resolve to see me no more, and are making a thousand feeble Vows against Love. You esteem me as a false one, and resolve to cease loving the vain _Coquet_, and will say to me, as a certain Friend of yours said to his false Mistress: The Inconstant. _Tho’., Silvia, _you are very fair,_ _Yet disagreeable to me;_ _And since you so inconstant are,_ _Your Beauty’s damn’d with Levity._ _Your Wit, your most offensive Arms,_ _For want of Judgment, wants its Charms._ _To every Lover that is new,_ _All new and charming you surprize;_ _But when your fickle Mind they view,_ _They shun the danger of your Eyes._ _Should you a Miracle of Beauty show,_ _Yet you’re inconstant, and will still be so._ ’.is thus you will think of me: And in fine, _Damon_, during this Dream, we are in perpetual State of War. _Thus both resolve to break their Chain,_ _And think to do’t without much Pain,_ _But Oh! alas! we strive in vain._ _For Lovers, of themselves, can nothing do;_ _There must be the Consent of two:_ _You give it me, and I must give it you._ And if we shall never be free, till we acquit one another, this Tye between you and I, _Damon_, is likely to last as long as we live; therefore in vain you endeavour, but can never attain your End; and in conclusion you will say, in thinking of me: _Oh! how at ease my Heart would live,_ _Could I renounce this Fugitive;_ _This dear, but false, attracting Maid,_ _That has her Vows and Faith betray’d!_ _Reason would have it so, but Love_ _Dares not the dang’rous Tryal prove._ Do not be angry then, for this afflicting Hour is drawing to an end, and you ought not to despair of coming into my absolute Favour again, _Then do not let your murm’ring Heart,_ _Against my Int’rest, take your part._ _The Feud was rais’d by Dreams, all false and vain,_ _And the next Sleep shall reconcile again._ SIX o’.LOCK. _Accommodation in Dreams._