Their plumed helmes are wrought with beaten golde, / Their ſwords enameld, and about their neckes / Hangs maſſie chaines of golde downe to the waſte, / In euery part exceding braue and rich.
What were the squabbles of that gate-porter and his wife to the disputes which ensued when Mr. Bull, after flirting his full with Miss India, after diverting himself with Miss Australia, after gallantising it with Miss Canada, and other members of his extensive seraglio, came home, and, hanging his fiddle behind the door, proceeded to exercise his marital privileges by loading her that was nearest, and should be dearest, to him with chains, lashing her with scorpions, and behaving with the cruelty of a stepfather to her beloved and patriotic offspring?
Sometimes there are such bizarre experiences that the dream seems not at all assimilable to anything that happened in the remembered life, but may have some deeper meaning that we don’t know, as Freud conjectured.
