I'm ill at ease, touching a certain matter
I've taken to heart—don't speak of't—and besides
I have a sort of horror of my bed.
Last night a squadron charged me in a dream,
With Isis and Osiris at the flanks,
Towering and waving their colossal arms,
While in the van a fiery chariot roll'd,
Wherein a woman stood—I knew her well—
Who seem'd but newly risen from the grave!
She whirl'd a javelin at me, and methought