The DREAM: Or, CELADON's Complaint of MORPHEUS to the Assembly of the GODS.

The DREAM: Or, CELADON's Complaint of MORPHEUS to the Assembly of the GODS.

TO thee, Supreme Almighty Iove, And all the Parliament above, My just Complaint I here address, Griefs by complaining are made less; Whilst those that silence trys to tame Break soonest out into a Flame, The spiteful Morpheus I accuse, That in our Mid-Night Slumbers shews False Scenes of Pleasure to molest The tortur'd Lover from that Rest; Which Heaven and Nature does prepare, As Cordial for all Mortal Care. Reliev'd by five succeeding years, My sighs dispers'd, and dry my Tears, Which daily had my Eyes bedew'd, Through Cynthia's strange Ingratitude: As in my Bed I sleeping lay, Tir'd with the Troubles of the Day; Prepar'd that Ease to have enjoy'd, Which restless Love had long deny'd, The God from whom all slumbers fall, Decre'd I should have none at all; But with strange Visions wrack'd my Brain, And Dreams ridiculous and vain: Methought, with wings fix'd on to fly, I strangely soar'd up to the Sky; Where on a Lucid Cloud in State, A Reverend hoary Elder sat, Bearing a Shield, that stil'd him Fate; His Head and Beard as white as when The Winter Snow does Sheet the Plain; His Brow austere, his Eye as bright As Venus in a starry Night: And though some Furrows did appear, Dig'd by the Cares of many a year, The awful Wrinkles did presage The effects of Wisdom more than Age: On his left hand were lesser fates, Employ'd in ordering Crowns and States, And on huge Iron Wheels enjoin'd To spin the Lives of Humankind; And in his Lap large Bundles were, The Dooms of many a forespent year, Long scrowls containing wondrous things, The downfals of unlucky Kings; Swift turns of Nobles into slaves, The Luck of Fools and Rise of Knaves; And Man's inevitable hour Of Good or Ill was in his power; Thus whilst I trembling fix'd my Eye Upon this more than Deity: Methought I saw a numerous Crowd All thronging up, and crying loud, For an immediate redress Of all their several Grievances; Emperial Heads with Crown and Ball, Prelates in Robes Episcopal; Traders, Physicians, Lawyers come, All crowching to revoke their Doom, The Muses also thither press'd, And mine, methought, amongst the rest; Nay, Beauty too her Interest try'd, But was as sullenly deny'd; In vain a Monarch here disclos'd His Suit whom fate had late depos'd, As vainly Priests large Sums prepare, Aspiring to the Papal Chair; Or sordid Clowns infest our Schools, Born and predestin'd to be Fools, Who dully Rich, would States-men grow, By Nature moulded for the Plow; As vainly too he seeks for Ore, Dam'd to the Curse of being Poor. As Travellers in Forrests stray, He ever takes the Erring way; Thus Good or Evil destiny, Waits on Fates absolute decree. As to my Eyes these Wonders came, Methought a burst of dreadful Flame Crack'd the vast Cloud, and to my sight Shew'd the dark Cave of endless Night, Dismal as Chaos when all Nature lay Confus'd in one huge Lump of Clay, When Earth's prodigious bulk was seen To quake with Air enclos'd within, And muddy Floods foam'd with desire, To combat their old Foe the Fire, From its wide Mouth breath'd forth a Yell, That soon confirm'd this place was Hell; And by some flakes of blewish Flame, That from a glowing Furnace came, Unseen I could discern with ease, 'Twas th' Devils Court of Common Pleas, Where Souls in different Causes drudge, And where Fate also sits as Judge: Here Princes, Plowmen, Lords and Slaves, Panders and States-men, Fools and Knaves, Maids that ne'er bless'd with Men would be, And Widows dam'd for having three Made their Appeals — some Poets too, But very fat and very few, The noted dullest of the Crew, Broil'd their next neighbors, these more curst, Than all the Fiends were hated worst; Who knowing Hell so hot a Place, Came to augment it with their Grease; Vast crowds of Pimps and Noseless Whores, Rich Epicures and bloated Boors, With Shoals of Baldpate Priests and Fryars, Even clog'd the fiercest of the Fires. Deaf with the Crys of those that mourn'd, As I gaz'd on, the Court adjourn'd; Huge Gates of Jet methought were shut, Nor knew I which way to get out, Till from a secret dismal Room, A hollow Voice methought did come, That cry'd for forty Peter Pence, I will (rash Mortal) lead thee hence: Agreed, quoth I, with all my Soul, Then straight one started from the hole, That by his Robe and Stature Tall, I knew to be a Cardinal, That here on Earth lov'd Coin so well, His Palm was itching for't in Hell; But I no sooner had begun To drive this hopeful bargain on, When one of Fate's great Family Came up and seiz'd me for a Spy, Swearing I came by Fame's report To learn the Practice of that Court; Resolv'd to teach their Methods all, To the Attournies of Guild-Hall: Fearing the Lash for taking Bribes, My faithful Guide my Doom proscribes, And like a through-pass'd Prelate swore, He was attaching me before, To bring me to the Throne of Fate, Before whom I was hurried straight, Through Regions vast of drery Night: At last ascending up to Light, The Judge his Reason did unlock, And thus methought divinely spoke; By Womans frailty, though undone, Yet art thou still Apollo's Son, Beauty may grieve thy Heart with pain, But it shall never hurt thy Brain; Thy Doom's revok'd, she not possess'd, Go hence and slumber, and be bless'd. As when some Wretch that chain'd does lye, Expecting every hour to dye, Hears the glad sound of a Reprieve, And Royal Grant to let him live; His Heart that vast Content does cloy, Faints at the blaze of sudden Joy, Such Passion did my Soul possess, Reflecting on approaching Bliss; And now methought by Sacred Power I was transported to a Bower, Where the Indian Jessamine and Rose Of Syria, lasting Sweets disclose, Clear Rivolets that took their Vents From flowry Mounts, made their descents, And with small Pebbles troll'd along, Making a pretty purling Song; And thence in wild Meander's flow, To bless the Verdant Meads below: Tall Sons of Earth the leavy Trees, All shook to make refreshing Breeze; The lofty Pine, the Maple stronge, The Laurel ever Green and Young; The Oak, the Monarch of the Wood, That had two hundred Winters stood. The fatal Ash, that wanting Keys, To Kingdoms bodes Calamities, With th' Elm that high his Front doth raise, Long flourish'd in that heavenly Place; Nor did the mirthful Birds forbear To keep their Evening Consort there; The barb'rous Rape that had too long Been Philomela's lonely Song; The Thrush and Linnet skill'd in Arts, Set to their Flutes, and sung in parts, Whilst the wrong'd Swallow half the year. Still hovers round their Heads to hear; And the sad Pheasant takes no bliss In his gay particolour'd dress; As all my Cares here sleep did chase, Who could have Cares in such a place? To add to my excess of Joy, This second Vision bless'd my Eye: Methought into this charming Grove, Attir'd like the Queen of Love, Cynthia approach'd, her Rosie Face Might to the blushing Morn add grace, And in her Shape and Mien was all That Poets e'er could Beauty call, Her fatal Eyes that us'd to kill, Two kind repentant drops now fill, Where Pitty in warm Bubbles shone, To chear the Heart she had undone, As Venus look'd when first she found Her Darling bleeding on the Ground; So Eloquent her Love appears In the soft Language of her Tears. Rapt with this vissionary Bliss, This Scene of Perfect Happiness, My throbbing Heart, and swelling Veins, Scarcely the flood of Joy contains; Whilst like Diana in her Chase, Spreading her Arms with lovely Grace, Language at last a Passage broke, And thus methought the Charmer spoke; Oh too much wrong'd, for too much Love, Thou blessing sent me from above; Thou Treasure which my Erring Eyes, Had never Light enough to prize; Accept these Tears that hourly flow, T' attone for my curs'd breach of Vow, And take — Repenting Love as Fee, For thy 'admir'd Fidelity. Scarce she these Words had throughly spoke, When sighing as my Heart had broke, With eager Joy my Arms I stretch'd, But nought, alas, but Air I cetch'd; The God of sleep, as false as she, Had with a Dream deluded me, And caus'd fresh Pangs of lasting Pain, And new clos'd Wounds to bleed again. Revenge then all ye Powers above, Revenge my Wrongs and injur'd Love, Let hated Morpheus Reign no more, Nor o'er my peaceful sleeps have power, My Soul henceforth let knowledg find, Without one thought of Womankind; Whose Heart's as wavering as the Wind; Falshood may with Success pursue, But none e'er prosper'd that was true.