It happ’d that, perching on the parlour-beam
  Amidst his wives, he had a deadly dream,
  Just at the dawn; and sigh’d, and groan’d so fast,
  As every breath he drew would be his last. 
  Dame Partlet, ever nearest to his side,
  Heard all his piteous moan, and how he cried
  For help from gods and men:  and sore aghast
  She peck’d and pull’d, and waken’d him at last. 100
  Dear heart, said she, for love of heaven declare
  Your pain, and make me partner in your care! 
  You groan, sir, ever since the morning-light,
  As something had disturb’d your noble sprite.

    And, madam, well I might, said Chanticleer;
  Never was shrovetide cock in such a fear. 
  Even still I run all over in a sweat,
  My princely senses not recover’d yet. 
  For such a dream I had, of dire portent,
  That much I fear my body will be shent:  110
  It bodes I shall have wars and woful strife,
  Or in a loathsome dungeon end my life. 
  Know, dame, I dreamt within my troubled breast,
  That in our yard I saw 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 rest, in shape a beagle’s whelp throughout, 120
  With broader forehead, and a sharper snout: 
  Deep in his front were sunk his glowing eyes,
  That yet, methinks, I see him with surprise. 
  Reach out your hand, I drop with clammy sweat,
  And lay it to my heart, and feel it beat. 
  Now fie, for shame, quoth she; by Heaven above,
  Thou hast for ever lost thy lady’s love! 
  No woman can endure a recreant knight,
  He must be bold by day, and free by night: 
  Our sex desires a husband or a friend, 130
  Who can our honour and his own defend. 
  Wise, hardy, secret, liberal of his purse: 
  A fool is nauseous, but a coward worse: 
  No bragging coxcomb, yet no baffled knight. 
  How darest thou talk of love, and darest not fight? 
  How darest thou tell thy dame thou art affear’d? 
  Hast thou no manly heart, and hast a beard?

    If aught from fearful dreams may be divined,
  They signify a cock of dunghill kind. 
  All dreams, as in old Galen I have read, 140
  Are from repletion and complexion bred;
  From rising fumes of indigested food,
  And noxious humours that infect the blood: 
  And sure, my lord, if I can read aright,
  These foolish fancies you have had to-night
  Are certain symptoms (in the canting style)
  Of boiling choler, and abounding bile;
  This yellow gall, that in your stomach floats,
  Engenders all these visionary thoughts.