Ware that the sonne in his ascention Ne finde you not replete of humours hote; And if it do, I dare wel lay a grote That ye shul han a fever tertiane, Or elles an ague, that may be your bane. A day or two ye shul han digestives Of wormes or ye take your laxatives, Of laureole, centaurie, and fumetere, Or elles of ellebor that groweth there, Of catapuce or of gaitre beries, Or herbe ive growing in our yerd that mery is; Picke hem right as they grow, and ete hem in. Beth mery, husbond; for your fader kin Dredeth no dreme: I can say you no more. Madame, quod he, _grand mercy_ of your lore; But natheles as touching Dan Caton, That hath of wisdome swiche a gret renoun, Though that he bade no dremes for to drede, By God, men moun in olde bookes rede Of many a man more of auctoritee Than ever Caton was, so mote I the, That all the revers sayn of his sentence, And han wel founden by experience, That dremes ben significations As wel of joye as tribulations That folk enduren in this lif present: Ther nedeth make of this non argument; The veray preve sheweth it indede. On of the gretest auctours that men rede Saith thus, that whilom twey felawes wente On pilgrimage in a ful good entente, And happed so they came into a toun Wher ther was swiche a congregatioun Of peple, and eke so streit of herbergage, That they ne founde as moche as a cotage In which they bothe might ylogged be, Wherfore they musten of necessitee; As for that night, departen compagnie; And eche of hem goth to his hostelrie, And toke his logging as it wolde falle. That on of hem was logged in a stalle, Fer in a yard, with oxen of the plough, That other man was logged wel ynough, As was his aventure or his fortune, That us governeth all, as in commune. And so befell that long or it were day This man met in his bed, ther as he lay, How that his felaw gan upon him calle, And said, Alas! for in an oxen stalle This night shal I be mordred ther I lie; Now help me, dere brother! or I die: In alle haste come to me, he saide. This man out of his slepe for fere abraide; But whan that he was waken of his slepe He turned him, and toke of this no kepe; Him thought his dreme was but a vanitee. Thus twies in his sleping dremed he. And at the thridde time yet his felaw Came, as him thought, and said, I now am slaw; Behold my blody woundes depe and wide: Arise up erly in the morwe tide, And at the west gate of the toun (quod he) A carte ful of donge ther shalt thou see, In which my body is hid prively; Do thilke carte arresten boldely. My gold caused my mordre, soth to sain; And told him every point how he was slain With a ful pitous face, pale of hewe. And trusteth wel his dreme he found ful trewe.