'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, Maintain, with sounder sense, that dreams forebode; For Homer plainly says they come from God. 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,[178] equal with the best, Relates this tale of dreams among the rest. Two friends or brothers, with devout intent, On some far pilgrimage together went. It happened 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. 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 littered 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 dreamt his friend appeared before his sight, 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. Rouzed from his rest, he wakened in a start, Shivering with horror, and with aching heart; At length to cure himself by reason tries; } 'Twas 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: } The murderers 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 appeared Pale, naked, pierced with wounds, with blood besmeared: Thrice warned, 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 corpse convey: My corpse is in a tumbrel laid, among The filth, and ordure, and inclosed with dung. That cart arrest, and raise a common cry; For sacred hunger of my gold I die:-- Then shewed 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 answered that his guest was gone before: