White were his nails, like filver to behold,
His body glittering like the burnish'd gold.
This gentle cock, for folace of his life,

Six miffes had, befides his lawful wife

Scandal, that spares no king, though ne'er so good,
Says, they were all of his own flesh and blood,
His fifters both by fire and mother's fide;

And fure their likeness fhow'd them near ally'd.
But make the worst, the monarch did no more,
Than all the Ptolemys had done before
When inceft is for intereft of a nation,
'Tis made no fin by holy dispensation.
Some lines have been maintain'd by this alone,
Which by their common ugliness are known.
But paffing this as from oyr tale apart,
Dame Partlet was the sovereign of his heart :
Ardent in love, outrageous in his play,
He feather'd her a hundred times a day a
And she, that was not only paffing fair,
But was withal discreet, and debonair,
Refolv'd the paffive doctrine to fulfil,
Though loth; and let him work his wicked will:
At board and bed was affable and kind,
According as their marriage-vow did bind,
And as the church's precept had injoin'd.
Ev'n fince fhe was a se’nnight old, they say,
Was chafte and humble to her dying day,
Nor chick nor hen was known to disobey.

By this her husband's heart she did obtain;
What cannot beauty, join'd with virtue, gain

}

She

She was his only joy, and he her pride,
She, when he walk'd, went pecking by his fide;
If, fpurning up the ground, he sprung a corn,
The tribute in his bill to her was borne.
But, oh what joy it was to hear him fing
In fummer, when the day began to spring,
Stretching his neck, and warbling in his throat,
Solus cum fola," then was all his note.

For in the days of yore, the birds of parts

Were bred to speak, and fing, and learn the liberal arts. It happ'd that, perching on the parlour-beam

Amidst his wives, he had a deadly dream,

Just at the dawn; and figh'd, and groan'd so fast,
As every breath he drew would be his last.
Dame Partlet, ever nearest to his fide,

Heard all his piteous moan, and how he cry'd
For help from Gods and men and fore aghast
She peck'd and pull'd, and waken'd him at last.
Dear heart, faid fhe, for love of Heaven, declare
Your pain, and make me partner of your care.
You groan, Sir, ever since the morning-light,
As fomething had disturb'd your noble spright.
And madam, well I might, said Chanticleer,
Never was fhrovetide cock in fuch a fear,
Ev'n ftill I run all over in a sweat,
My princely fenfes not recover'd yet.
For fuch a dream I had of dire portent,
That much I fear my body will be fhent:
It bodes I fhall have wars and woeful ftrife,
Or in a loathfome dungeon end my life.

Know,

}

Know, dame, I dreamt within my troubled breast,
That in our yard I faw a murderous beast,
That on my body would have made arrest.
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
Were black; and much unlike his other hairs:
The reft, in shape a beagle's whelp throughout,
With broader forehead, and a fharper fnout:
Deep in his front were funk his glowing eyes,
That yet methinks I fee him with furprize.
Reach out your hand, I drop with clammy sweat,
And lay it to my heart, and feel it beat.
Now fy for fhame, quoth fhe, by Heaven above,
Thou haft for ever loft thy lady s love;
No woman can endure a recreant knight,
He must be bold by day, and free by night :
Our fex defires a husband or a friend,
Who can our honour and his own defend;
Wife, hardy, fecret, liberal of his purfe :
A fool is naufeous, but a coward worse :
No bragging coxcomb, yet no baffled knight.
How dar'ft thou talk of love, and dar'ft not fight?
How dar'ft thou tell thy dame thou art affear'd?
Haft thou no manly heart, and hast a beard?
If aught from fearful dreams may be divin'd,
They fignify a cock of dunghill kind.

All dreams, as in old Galen I have read,
Are from repletion and complexion bred;

From

From rifing fumes of indigested food,
And noxious humours that infect the blood:
And fure, my lord, if I can read aright,
These foolish fancies, you have had to-night,
Are certain symptoms (in the canting ftile)
Of boiling choler, and abounding bile;
This yellow gall that in your ftomach floats,
Engenders all these visionary thoughts.
When choler overflows, then dream's are bred
Of flames, and all the family of red;

Red dragons, and red beafts, in fleep we view,
For humours are distinguish'd by their hue.
From hence we dream of wars and warlike things,
And wafps and hornets with their double wings.

Choler aduft congeals our blood with fear,
Then black bulls tofs us, and blacks devils tear.
In fanguine airy dreams aloft we bound,
With rheums opprefs'd we fink in rivers drown'd.
More I could fay, but thus conclude my theme,
The dominating humour makes the dream.
Cato was in his time accounted wife,
And he condemns them all for empty lies.
Take my advice, and when we fly to ground,
With laxatives preferve your body found,
And purge the peccant humours that abound.
I should be loth to lay you on a bier

And though there lives no 'pothecary near,
I dare for once prescribe for your disease,
And fave long bills, and a damn'd doctor's fees.

}

Two

Two fovereign herbs which I by practice know,
And 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,
And for the love of heaven make no delay.
Since hot and dry in your complexion join,
Beware the fun when in a vernal fign;
For when he mounts exalted in the ram,
If then he finds your body in a flame,
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 fome untimely end :
And therefore, fir, as you defire to live,
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,
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 fon was never born to fear.

Madam, quoth he, grammercy for your care,
But Cato, whom you quoted, you may spare:
'Tis true, a wife and worthy man he feems,
And (as you fay) gave no belief to dreams :
But other men of more authority,

And, by th' immortal powers, as wife as he,

VOL. III.

L

Maintain,