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Visions are generated by repletions And vapours and the body's bad secretions Of humours overabundant in a wight. Surely this dream, which you have had tonight, Comes only of the superfluity Of your bilious irascibility, Which causes folk to shiver in their dreams For arrows and for flames with long red gleams, For great beasts in the fear that they will bite, For quarrels and for wolf whelps great and slight; Just as the humour of melancholy Causes full many a man, in sleep, to cry, For fear of black bears or of bulls all black, Or lest black devils put them in a sack. Of other humours could I tell also, That bring, to many a sleeping man, great woe; But I'll pass on as lightly as I can. "Lo, Cato, and he was a full wise man, Said he not, we should trouble not for dreams? Now, sir," said she, "when we fly from the beams, For God's love go and take some laxative; On peril of my soul, and as I live, I counsel you the best, I will not lie, That both for choler and for melancholy You purge yourself; and since you shouldn't tarry, And on this farm there's no apothecary, I will myself go find some herbs for you That will be good for health and pecker too; And in our own yard all these herbs I'll find, The which have properties of proper kind To purge you underneath and up above. Forget this not, now, for God's very love! You are so very choleric of complexion. Beware the mounting sun and all dejection, Nor get yourself with sudden humours hot; For if you do, I dare well lay a groat That you shall have the tertian fever's pain, Or some ague that may well be your bane. A day or two you shall have digestives Of worms before you take your laxatives Of laurel, centuary, and fumitory, Or else of hellebore purificatory, Or caper spurge, or else of dogwood berry, Or herb ivy, all in our yard so merry; Peck them just as they grow and gulp them in. Be merry, husband, for your father's kin! Dread no more dreams. And I can say no more." "Madam," said he, "gramercy for your lore.
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Nevertheless, not running Cato down, The Canterbury Tales The Canterbury Tales 177Who had for wisdom such a high renown, And though he says to hold no dreams in dread, By God, men have, in many old books, read Of many a man more an authority That ever Cato was, pray pardon me, Who say just the reverse of his sentence, And have found out by long experience That dreams, indeed, are good significations, As much of joys as of all tribulations That folk endure here in this life present. There is no need to make an argument; The very proof of this is shown indeed. "One of the greatest authors that men read Says thus: That on a time two comrades went On pilgrimage, and all in good intent; And it so chanced they came into a town Where there was such a crowding, up and down, Of people, and so little harbourage, That they found not so much as one cottage Wherein the two of them might sheltered be. Wherefore they must, as of necessity, For that one night at least, part company; And each went to a different hostelry And took such lodgment as to him did fall. Now one of them was lodged within a stall, Far in a yard, with oxen of the plow; That other man found shelter fair enow, As was his luck, or was his good fortune, Whatever 'tis that governs us, each one. "So it befell that, long ere it was day, This last man dreamed in bed, as there he lay, That his poor fellow did unto him call, Saying: 'Alas! For in an ox's stall This night shall I be murdered where I lie. Now help me, brother dear, before I die. Come in all haste to me.' 'Twas thus he said. This man woke out of sleep, then, all afraid; But when he'd wakened fully from his sleep, He turned upon his pillow, yawning deep, Thinking his dream was but a fantasy. And then again, while sleeping, thus dreamed he. And then a third time came a voice that said (Or so he thought): 'Now, comrade, I am dead; Behold my bloody wounds, so wide and deep! Early arise tomorrow from your sleep, And at the west gate of the town,' said he, A wagon full of dung there shall you see, Wherein is hid my body craftily; Do you arrest this wagon right boldly. They killed me for what money they could gain. And told in every point how he'd been slain, The Canterbury Tales The Canterbury Tales 178With a most pitiful face and pale of hue. And trust me well, this dream did all come true; For on the morrow, soon as it was day, Unto his comrade's inn he took the way; And when he'd come into that ox's stall, Upon his fellow he began to call. "The keeper of the place replied anon, And said he: 'Sir, your friend is up and gone; As soon as day broke he went out of town.' This man, then, felt suspicion in him grown, Remembering the dream that he had had, And forth he went, no longer tarrying, sad, Unto the west gate of the town, and found A dungcart on its way to dumpingground, And it was just the same in every wise As you have heard the dead man advertise; And with a hardy heart he then did cry Vengeance and justice on this felony: 'My comrade has been murdered in the night, And in this very cart lies, face upright. I cry to all the officers,' said he 'That ought to keep the peace in this city. Alas, alas, here lies my comrade slain!' "Why should I longer with this tale detain? The people rose and turned the cart to ground, And in the center of the dung they found The dead man, lately murdered in his sleep.