What shall I say now!—I, who but a few hours ago had such faith in
dreams, and had proposed out of hand to begin my treatise of dreams
sleeping and dreams waking, and was pleasing myself with the dialogues
between the old matronal lady and the young lady, and with the
metamorphoses, (absolutely assured that every thing would happen as my
dream chalked it out,) shall never more depend upon those flying
follies, those illusions of a fancy depraved, and run mad.
Thus confoundedly have matters happened.
I went out at eight o’clock in high good humour with myself, in order
to give the sought-for opportunity to the plotting mistress and
corrupted maid; only ordering Will. to keep a good look-out for fear
his lady should mistrust my plot, or mistake a hackney-coach for the
dowager-lady’s chariot. But first I sent to know how she did; and
receiving for answer, Very ill: had a very bad night: which latter was
but too probable; since this I know, that people who have plots in
their heads as seldom have as deserve good ones.