Two friends or brothers, with devout intent,
  On some far pilgrimage together went. 
  It happen’d 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. 220
  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 litter’d 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 dream’d his friend appear’d before his sight, 230
  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. 
  Roused from his rest, he waken’d in a start,
  Shivering with horror, and with aching heart;
  At length to cure himself by reason tries;
  ’Tis 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:  240
  The murderers come, now help, or I am slain: 
  ’Twas but a vision still, and visions are but vain. 
  He dream’d the third:  but now his friend appear’d
  Pale, naked, pierced with wounds, with blood besmear’d: 
  Thrice warn’d, 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:  250
  My corpse is in a tumbril laid, among
  The filth and ordure, and enclosed with dung;
  That cart arrest, and raise a common cry;
  For sacred hunger of my gold, I die: 
  Then show’d his grisly wound; 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 answer’d that his guest was gone before:  260
  Muttering he went, said he, by morning light,
  And much complain’d of his ill rest by night. 
  This raised suspicion in the pilgrim’s mind;
  Because all hosts are of an evil kind,
  And oft to share the spoils with robbers join’d.