Chaucer Texts

eChaucer ¤ Chaucer in the Twenty-First Century

The Book of the Duchess

	I have gret wonder, be this lyght,
	How that I lyve, for day ne nyght
	I may nat slepe wel nygh noght;
	I have so many an ydel thoght
5	Purely for defaute of slep
	That, by my trouthe, I take no kep
	Of nothing, how hyt cometh or gooth,
	Ne me nys nothyng leef nor looth.
	Al is ylyche good to me --
10	Joye or sorowe, wherso hyt be --
	For I have felynge in nothyng,
	But as yt were a mased thyng,
	Alway in poynt to falle a-doun;
	For sorwful ymagynacioun
15	Ys alway hooly in my mynde.
	And wel ye woot, agaynes kynde
	Hyt were to lyven in thys wyse,
	For nature wolde nat suffyse
	To noon erthly creature
20	Nat longe tyme to endure
	Withoute slep and be in sorwe.
	And I ne may, ne nyght ne morwe,
	Slepe; and [thus] melancolye
	And drede I have for to dye.
25	Defaute of slep and hevynesse
	Hath sleyn my spirit of quyknesse
	That I have lost al lustyhede.
	Suche fantasies ben in myn hede
	So I not what is best to doo.
30	But men myght axe me why soo
	I may not slepe and what me is.
	But natheles, who aske this
	Leseth his asking trewely.
	Myselven can not telle why
35	The sothe; but trewly, as I gesse,
	I holde hit be a sicknesse
	That I have suffred this eight yeer;
	And yet my boote is never the ner,
	For there is phisicien but oon
40	That may me hele; but that is don.
	Passe we over untill eft;
	That wil not be mot nede be left;
	Our first mater is good to kepe.
	So whan I saw I might not slepe
45	Til now late this other night,
	Upon my bed I sat upright
	And bad oon reche me a book,
	A romaunce, and he it me tok
	To rede and drive the night away;
50	For me thoughte it better play
	Then playe either at ches or tables.
	And in this bok were written fables
	That clerkes had in olde tyme,
	And other poetes, put in rime
55	To rede and for to be in minde,
	While men loved the lawe of kinde.
	This bok ne spak but of such thinges,
	Of quenes lives, and of kinges,
	And many other thinges smale.
60	Amonge al this I fond a tale
	That me thoughte a wonder thing.
	This was the tale: There was a king
	That highte Seys, and had a wif,
	The beste that mighte bere lyf,
65	And this quene highte Alcyone.
	So it befil thereafter soone
	This king wol wenden over see.
	To tellen shortly, whan that he
	Was in the see thus in this wise,
70	Such a tempest gan to rise
	That brak her mast and made it falle,
	And clefte her ship, and dreinte hem alle,
	That never was founde, as it telles,
	Bord ne man, ne nothing elles.
75	Right thus this king Seys loste his lif.
	Now for to speke of Alcyone, his wif:
	This lady, that was left at hom,
	Hath wonder that the king ne com
	Hom, for it was a longe terme.
80	Anon her herte began to [erme];
	And for that her thoughte evermo
	It was not wele [he dwelte] so,
	She longed so after the king
	That certes it were a pitous thing
85	To telle her hertely sorowful lif
	That she had, this noble wif,
	For him, alas, she loved alderbest.
	Anon she sent bothe eest and west
	To seke him, but they founde nought.
90	"Alas!" quod she, "that I was wrought!
	And wher my lord, my love, be deed?
	Certes, I nil never ete breed,
	I make avow to my god here,
	But I mowe of my lord here!"
95	Such sorowe this lady to her tok
	That trewly I, that made this book,
	Had such pittee and such rowthe
	To rede hir sorwe that, by my trowthe,
	I ferde the worse al the morwe
100	Aftir to thenken on hir sorwe.
	So whan this lady koude here noo word
	That no man myghte fynde hir lord,
	Ful ofte she swouned, and sayed "Alas!"
	For sorwe ful nygh wood she was,
105	Ne she koude no reed but oon;
	But doun on knees she sat anoon
	And wepte that pittee was to here.
	"A, mercy, swete lady dere!"
	Quod she to Juno, hir goddesse,
110	"Helpe me out of thys distresse,
	And yeve me grace my lord to se
	Soone or wite wher-so he be,
	Or how he fareth, or in what wise,
	And I shal make yow sacrifise,
115	And hooly youres become I shal
	With good wille, body, herte, and al;
	And but thow wolt this, lady swete,
	Send me grace to slepe and mete
	In my slep som certeyn sweven
120	Wherthourgh that I may knowen even
	Whether my lord be quyk or ded."
	With that word she heng doun the hed
	And fel a-swowne as cold as ston.
	Hyr women kaught hir up anoon
125	And broghten hir in bed al naked,
	And she, forweped and forwaked,
	Was wery; and thus the dede slep
	Fil on hir or she tooke kep,
	Throgh Juno, that had herd hir bone,
130	That made hir to slepe sone.
	For as she prayede, ryght so was don
	In dede; for Juno ryght anon
	Called thus hir messager
	To doo hir erande, and he com ner.
135	Whan he was come, she bad hym thus:
	"Go bet," quod Juno, "to Morpheus --
	Thou knowest hym wel, the god of slep.
	Now understond wel and tak kep!
	Sey thus on my half: that he
140	Go faste into the Grete Se,
	And byd hym that, on alle thyng,
	He take up Seys body the kyng,
	That lyeth ful pale and nothyng rody.
	Bid hym crepe into the body
145	And doo hit goon to Alcione
	The quene, ther she lyeth allone,
	And shewe hir shortly, hit ys no nay,
	How hit was dreynt thys other day;
	And do the body speke ryght soo,
150	Ryght as hyt was woned to doo
	The whiles that hit was alyve.
	Goo now faste, and hye the blyve!"
	This messager tok leve and wente
	Upon hys wey, and never ne stente
155	Til he com to the derke valeye
	That stant betwixe roches tweye
	Ther never yet grew corn ne gras,
	Ne tre, ne noght that ought was,
	Beste, ne man, ne noght elles,
160	Save ther were a fewe welles
	Came rennynge fro the clyves adoun,
	That made a dedly slepynge soun,
	And ronnen doun ryght by a cave
	That was under a rokke ygrave
165	Amydde the valey, wonder depe.
	There these goddes lay and slepe,
	Morpheus and Eclympasteyr,
	That was the god of slepes heyr,
	That slep and dide noon other werk.
170	This cave was also as derk
	As helle-pit overal aboute.
	They had good leyser for to route,
	To envye who myghte slepe best.
	Somme henge her chyn upon hir brest
175	And slept upryght, hir hed yhed,
	And somme lay naked in her bed
	And slepe whiles the dayes laste.
	This messager com fleynge faste
	And cried, "O, how! Awake anoon!"
180	Hit was for noght; there herde hym non.
	"Awake!" quod he, "whoo ys lyth there?"
	And blew his horn ryght in here eere,
	And cried "Awaketh!" wonder hye.
	This god of slep with hys oon ye
185	Cast up, and axed, "Who clepeth ther?"
	"Hyt am I," quod this messager.
	"Juno bad thow shuldest goon" --
	And tolde hym what he shulde doon
	(As I have told yow here-to-fore;
190	Hyt ys no nede reherse hyt more)
	And went hys wey whan he had sayd.
	Anoon this god of slep abrayd
	Out of hys slep, and gan to goon,
	And dyde as he had bede hym doon:
195	Took up the dreynte body sone
	And bar hyt forth to Alcione,
	Hys wif the quene, ther as she lay
	Ryght even a quarter before day,
	And stood ryght at hyr beddes fet,
200	And called hir ryght as she het
	By name, and sayde, "My swete wyf,
	Awake! Let be your sorwful lyf,
	For in your sorwe there lyth no red;
	For, certes, swete, I am but ded.
205	Ye shul me never on lyve yse.
	But, goode swete herte, that ye
	Bury my body, for such a tyde
	Ye mowe hyt fynde the see besyde;
	And farewel, swete, my worldes blysse!
210	I praye God youre sorwe lysse.
	To lytel while oure blysse lasteth!"
	With that hir eyen up she casteth
	And saw noght. "Allas!" quod she for sorwe,
	And deyede within the thridde morwe.
215	But what she sayede more in that swow
	I may not telle yow as now;
	Hyt were to longe for to dwelle.
	My first matere I wil yow telle,
	Wherfore I have told this thyng
220	Of Alcione and Seys the kyng,
	For thus moche dar I saye wel:
	I had be dolven everydel
	And ded, ryght thurgh defaute of slep,
	Yif I ne had red and take kep
225	Of this tale next before.
	And I wol telle yow wherfore:
	For I ne myghte, for bote ne bale,
	Slepe or I had red thys tale
	Of this dreynte Seys the kyng
230	And of the goddes of slepyng.
	Whan I had red thys tale wel
	And overloked hyt everydel,
	Me thoghte wonder yf hit were so,
	For I had never herd speke or tho
235	Of noo goddes that koude make
	Men to slepe, ne for to wake,
	For I ne knew never god but oon.
	And in my game I sayde anoon
	(And yet me lyst ryght evel to pleye)
240	Rather then that y shulde deye
	Thorgh defaute of slepynge thus,
	I wolde yive thilke Morpheus,
	Or hys goddesse, dame Juno,
	Or som wight elles, I ne roghte who --
245	"To make me slepe and have som reste
	I wil yive hym the alderbeste
	Yifte that ever he abod hys lyve.
	And here on warde, ryght now as blyve,
	Yif he wol make me slepe a lyte,
250	Of down of pure dowves white
	I wil yive hym a fether-bed,
	Rayed with gold and ryght wel cled
	In fyn blak satyn doutremer,
	And many a pilowe, and every ber
255	Of cloth of Reynes, to slepe softe --
	Hym thar not nede to turnen ofte --
	And I wol yive hym al that falles
	To a chambre, and al hys halles
	I wol do peynte with pure gold
260	And tapite hem ful many fold
	Of oo sute; this shal he have
	(Yf I wiste where were hys cave),
	Yf he kan make me slepe sone,
	As did the goddesse quene Alcione.
265	And thus this ylke god, Morpheus,
	May wynne of me moo fees thus
	Than ever he wan; and to Juno,
	That ys hys goddesse, I shal soo do,
	I trow, that she shal holde hir payd."
270	I hadde unneth that word ysayd
	Ryght thus as I have told hyt yow,
	That sodeynly, I nyste how,
	Such a lust anoon me took
	To slepe that ryght upon my book
275	Y fil aslepe, and therwith even
	Me mette so ynly swete a sweven,
	So wonderful that never yit
	Y trowe no man had the wyt
	To konne wel my sweven rede;
280	No, not Joseph, withoute drede,
	Of Egipte, he that redde so
	The kynges metynge Pharao,
	No more than koude the lest of us;
	Ne nat skarsly Macrobeus
285	(He that wrot al th' avysyoun
	That he mette, kyng Scipioun,
	The noble man, the Affrikan --
	Suche marvayles fortuned than),
	I trowe, arede my dremes even.
290	Loo, thus hyt was; thys was my sweven.
	Me thoghte thus: that hyt was May,
	And in the dawenynge I lay
	(Me mette thus) in my bed al naked
	And loked forth, for I was waked
295	With smale foules a gret hep
	That had affrayed me out of my slep
	Thorgh noyse and swetnesse of her song.
	And, as me mette, they sate among
	Upon my chambre roof wythoute,
300	Upon the tyles, overal aboute,
	And songe, everych in hys wyse,
	The moste solempne servise
	By noote that ever man, y trowe,
	Had herd, for som of hem song lowe,
305	Som high, and al of oon acord.
	To telle shortly, att oo word,
	Was never herd so swete a steven
	But hyt had be a thyng of heven --
	So mery a soun, so swete entewnes,
310	That certes, for the toun of Tewnes
	I nolde but I had herd hem synge;
	For al my chambre gan to rynge
	Thurgh syngynge of her armonye;
	For instrument nor melodye
315	Was nowhere herd yet half so swete,
	Nor of acord half so mete;
	For ther was noon of hem that feyned
	To synge, for ech of hem hym peyned
	To fynde out mery crafty notes.
320	They ne spared not her throtes.
	And sooth to seyn, my chambre was
	Ful wel depeynted, and with glas
	Were al the wyndowes wel yglased
	Ful clere, and nat an hoole ycrased,
325	That to beholde hyt was gret joye.
	For hooly al the story of Troye
	Was in the glasynge ywroght thus,
	Of Ector and of kyng Priamus,
	Of Achilles and of kyng Lamedon,
330	And eke of Medea and of Jason,
	Of Paris, Eleyne, and of Lavyne.
	And alle the walles with colours fyne
	Were peynted, bothe text and glose,
	[Of] al the Romaunce of the Rose.
335	My wyndowes were shette echon,
	And throgh the glas the sonne shon
	Upon my bed with bryghte bemes,
	With many glade gilde stremes;
	And eke the welken was so fair --
340	Blew, bryght, clere was the ayr,
	And ful attempre for sothe hyt was;
	For nother to cold nor hoot yt nas,
	Ne in al the welken was a clowde.
	And as I lay thus, wonder lowde
345	Me thoght I herde an hunte blowe
	T' assay hys horn and for to knowe
	Whether hyt were clere or hors of soun.
	And I herde goynge bothe up and doun
	Men, hors, houndes, and other thyng;
350	And al men speken of huntyng,
	How they wolde slee the hert with strengthe,
	And how the hert had upon lengthe
	So moche embosed -- y not now what.
	Anoon ryght whan I herde that,
355	How that they wolde on-huntynge goon,
	I was ryght glad, and up anoon
	Took my hors, and forth I wente
	Out of my chambre; I never stente
	Til I com to the feld withoute.
360	Ther overtok y a gret route
	Of huntes and eke of foresteres,
	With many relayes and lymeres,
	And hyed hem to the forest faste
	And I with hem. So at the laste
365	I asked oon, ladde a lymere:
	"Say, felowe, who shal hunte here?"
	Quod I, and he answered ageyn,
	"Syr, th' emperour Octovyen,"
	Quod he, "and ys here faste by."
370	"A Goddes half, in good tyme!" quod I,
	"Go we faste!" and gan to ryde.
	Whan we came to the forest syde,
	Every man dide ryght anoon
	As to huntynge fil to doon.
375	The mayster-hunte anoon, fot-hot,
	With a gret horn blew thre mot
	At the uncouplynge of hys houndes.
	Withynne a while the hert yfounde ys,
	Yhalowed, and rechased faste
380	Longe tyme; and so at the laste
	This hert rused and staal away
	Fro alle the houndes a privy way.
	The houndes had overshote hym alle
	And were on a defaute yfalle.
385	Therwyth the hunte wonder faste
	Blew a forloyn at the laste.
	I was go walked fro my tree,
	And as I wente, ther cam by mee
	A whelp, that fauned me as I stood,
390	That hadde yfolowed and koude no good.
	Hyt com and crepte to me as lowe
	Ryght as hyt hadde me yknowe,
	Helde doun hys hed and joyned hys eres,
	And leyde al smothe doun hys heres.
395	I wolde have kaught hyt, and anoon
	Hyt fledde and was fro me goon;
	And I hym folwed, and hyt forth wente
	Doun by a floury grene wente
	Ful thikke of gras, ful softe and swete.
400	With floures fele, faire under fete,
	And litel used; hyt semed thus,
	For both Flora and Zephirus,
	They two that make floures growe,
	Had mad her dwellynge ther, I trowe;
405	For hit was, on to beholde,
	As thogh the erthe envye wolde
	To be gayer than the heven,
	To have moo floures, swiche seven,
	As in the welken sterres bee.
410	Hyt had forgete the povertee
	That wynter, thorgh hys colde morwes,
	Had mad hyt suffre, and his sorwes;
	All was forgeten, and that was sene,
	For al the woode was waxen grene;
415	Swetnesse of dew had mad hyt waxe.
	Hyt ys no nede eke for to axe
	Wher there were many grene greves,
	Or thikke of trees, so ful of leves;
	And every tree stood by hymselve
420	Fro other wel ten foot or twelve --
	So grete trees, so huge of strengthe,
	Of fourty or fifty fadme lengthe,
	Clene withoute bowgh or stikke,
	With croppes brode, and eke as thikke --
425	They were nat an ynche asonder --
	That hit was shadewe overal under.
	And many an hert and many an hynde
	Was both before me and behynde.
	Of founes, sowres, bukkes, does
430	Was ful the woode, and many roes,
	And many sqwirelles that sete
	Ful high upon the trees and ete,
	And in hir maner made festes.
	Shortly, hyt was so ful of bestes
435	That thogh Argus, the noble countour,
	Sete to rekene in hys countour,
	And rekene with his figures ten --
	For by tho figures mowe al ken,
	Yf they be crafty, rekene and noumbre,
440	And telle of every thing the noumbre --
	Yet shoulde he fayle to rekene even
	The wondres me mette in my sweven.
	But forth they romed ryght wonder faste
	Doun the woode; so at the laste
445	I was war of a man in blak,
	That sat and had yturned his bak
	To an ook, an huge tree.
	"Lord," thoght I, "who may that be?
	What ayleth hym to sitten her?"
450	Anoon-ryght I wente ner;
	Than found I sitte even upryght
	A wonder wel-farynge knyght --
	By the maner me thoghte so --
	Of good mochel, and ryght yong therto,
455	Of the age of foure and twenty yer,
	Upon hys berd but lytel her,
	And he was clothed al in blak.
	I stalked even unto hys bak,
	And there I stood as stille as ought,
460	That, soth to saye, he saw me nought;
	For-why he heng hys hed adoun,
	And with a dedly sorwful soun
	He made of rym ten vers or twelve
	Of a compleynte to hymselve --
465	The moste pitee, the moste rowthe,
	That ever I herde; for, by my trowthe,
	Hit was gret wonder that Nature
	Myght suffre any creature
	To have such sorwe and be not ded.
470	Ful pitous pale and nothyng red,
	He sayd a lay, a maner song,
	Withoute noote, withoute song;
	And was thys, for ful wel I kan
	Reherse hyt; ryght thus hyt began:
475	"I have of sorwe so gret won
	That joye gete I never non,
	Now that I see my lady bryght,
	Which I have loved with al my myght,
	Is fro me ded and ys agoon.
	"Allas, deth, what ayleth the,
	That thou noldest have taken me,
	Whan thou toke my lady swete,
	That was so fair, so fresh, so fre,
485	So good that men may wel se
	Of al goodnesse she had no mete!"
	Whan he had mad thus his complaynte,
	Hys sorwful hert gan faste faynte
	And his spirites wexen dede;
490	The blood was fled for pure drede
	Doun to hys herte, to make hym warm --
	For wel hyt feled the herte had harm --
	To wite eke why hyt was adrad
	By kynde, and for to make hyt glad,
495	For hit ys membre principal
	Of the body; and that made al
	Hys hewe chaunge and wexe grene
	And pale, for ther noo blood ys sene
	In no maner lym of hys.
500	Anoon therwith whan y sawgh this --
	He ferde thus evel there he set --
	I went and stood ryght at his fet,
	And grette hym; but he spak noght,
	But argued with his owne thoght,
505	And in hys wyt disputed faste
	Why and how hys lyf myght laste;
	Hym thoughte hys sorwes were so smerte
	And lay so colde upon hys herte.
	So, throgh hys sorwe and hevy thoght,
510	Made hym that he herde me noght;
	For he had wel nygh lost hys mynde,
	Thogh Pan, that men clepeth god of kynde,
	Were for hys sorwes never so wroth.
	But at the last, to sayn ryght soth,
515	He was war of me, how y stood
	Before hym and did of myn hood,
	And had ygret hym as I best koude,
	Debonayrly, and nothyng lowde.
	He sayde, "I prey the, be not wroth.
520	I herde the not, to seyn the soth,
	Ne I sawgh the not, syr, trewely."
	"A, goode sir, no fors," quod y,
	"I am ryght sory yif I have ought
	Destroubled yow out of your thought.
525	Foryive me, yif I have mystake."
	"Yis, th' amendes is lyght to make,"
	Quod he, "for ther lyeth noon therto;
	There ys nothyng myssayd nor do."
	Loo, how goodly spak thys knyght,
530	As hit had be another wyght;
	He made hyt nouther towgh ne queynte.
	And I saw that, and gan me aqueynte
	With hym, and fond hym so tretable,
	Ryght wonder skylful and resonable,
535	As me thoghte, for al hys bale.
	Anoon ryght I gan fynde a tale
	To hym, to loke wher I myght ought
	Have more knowynge of hys thought.
	"Sir," quod I, "this game is doon.
540	I holde that this hert be goon;
	These huntes konne hym nowher see."
	"Y do no fors therof," quod he;
	"My thought ys theron never a del."
	"By oure Lord," quod I, "y trow yow wel;
545	Ryght so me thinketh by youre chere.
	But, sir, oo thyng wol ye here?
	Me thynketh in gret sorowe I yow see;
	But certes, sire, yif that yee
	Wolde ought discure me youre woo,
550	I wolde, as wys God helpe me soo,
	Amende hyt, yif I kan or may.
	Ye mowe preve hyt be assay;
	For, by my trouthe, to make yow hool
	I wol do al my power hool.
555	And telleth me of your sorwes smerte;
	Paraunter hyt may ese youre herte,
	That semeth ful sek under your syde."
	With that he loked on me asyde,
	As who sayth, "Nay, that wol not be."
560	"Graunt mercy, goode frend," quod he,
	"I thanke the that thow woldest soo,
	But hyt may never the rather be doo.
	No man may my sorwe glade,
	That maketh my hewe to falle and fade,
565	And hath myn understondynge lorn
	That me ys wo that I was born!
	May noght make my sorwes slyde,
	Nought al the remedyes of Ovyde,
	Ne Orpheus, god of melodye,
570	Ne Dedalus with his playes slye;
	Ne hele me may no phisicien,
	Noght Ypocras ne Galyen;
	Me ys wo that I lyve houres twelve.
	But whooso wol assay hymselve
575	Whether his hert kan have pitee
	Of any sorwe, lat hym see me.
	Y wrecche, that deth hath mad al naked
	Of al the blysse that ever was maked,
	Yworthe worste of alle wyghtes,
580	That hate my dayes and my nyghtes!
	My lyf, my lustes, be me loothe,
	For al welfare and I be wroothe.
	The pure deth ys so ful my foo
	That I wolde deye, hyt wolde not soo;
585	For whan I folwe hyt, hit wol flee;
	I wolde have hym, hyt nyl nat me.
	This ys my peyne wythoute red,
	Alway deynge and be not ded,
	That Cesiphus, that lyeth in helle,
590	May not of more sorwe telle.
	And whoso wiste al, by my trouthe,
	My sorwe, but he hadde rowthe
	And pitee of my sorwes smerte,
	That man hath a fendly herte;
595	For whoso seeth me first on morwe
	May seyn he hath met with sorwe,
	For y am sorwe, and sorwe ys y.
	"Allas! and I wol tel the why:
	My [song] ys turned to pleynynge,
600	And al my laughtre to wepynge,
	My glade thoghtes to hevynesse;
	In travayle ys myn ydelnesse
	And eke my reste; my wele is woo,
	My good ys harm, and evermoo
605	In wrathe ys turned my pleynge
	And my delyt into sorwynge.
	Myn hele ys turned into seknesse,
	In drede ys al my sykernesse;
	To derke ys turned al my lyght,
610	My wyt ys foly, my day ys nyght,
	My love ys hate, my slep wakynge,
	My myrthe and meles ys fastynge,
	My countenaunce ys nycete
	And al abaved, where so I be;
615	My pees in pledynge and in werre.
	Allas, how myghte I fare werre?
	My boldnesse ys turned to shame,
	For fals Fortune hath pleyd a game
	Atte ches with me, allas the while!
620	The trayteresse fals and ful of gyle,
	That al behoteth and nothyng halt,
	She goth upryght and yet she halt,
	That baggeth foule and loketh faire,
	The dispitouse debonaire
625	That skorneth many a creature!
	An ydole of fals portrayture
	Ys she, for she wol sone wrien;
	She is the monstres hed ywrien,
	As fylthe over-ystrawed with floures.
630	Hir moste worshippe and hir flour ys
	To lyen, for that ys hyr nature;
	Withoute feyth, lawe, or mesure
	She ys fals, and ever laughynge
	With oon eye, and that other wepynge.
635	That ys broght up she set al doun.
	I lykne hyr to the scorpioun,
	That ys a fals, flaterynge beste,
	For with his hed he maketh feste,
	But al amydde hys flaterynge
640	With hys tayle he wol stynge
	And envenyme; and so wol she.
	She ys th' envyouse charite
	That ys ay fals and semeth wel;
	So turneth she hyr false whel
645	Aboute, for hyt ys nothyng stable --
	Now by the fire, now at table;
	For many oon hath she thus yblent.
	She ys pley of enchauntement,
	That semeth oon and ys not soo.
650	The false thef! What hath she doo,
	Trowest thou? By oure Lord I wol the seye:
	"At the ches with me she gan to pleye;
	With hir false draughtes dyvers
	She staal on me and tok my fers.
655	And whan I sawgh my fers awaye,
	Allas, I kouthe no lenger playe,
	But seyde, `Farewel, swete, ywys,
	And farewel al that ever ther ys!'
	"Therwith Fortune seyde `Chek her!
660	And mat in the myd poynt of the chekker,
	With a poun errant!' Allas,
	Ful craftier to pley she was
	Than Athalus, that made the game
	First of the ches, so was hys name.
665	But God wolde I had oones or twyes
	Ykoud and knowe the jeupardyes
	That kowde the Grek Pictagores!
	I shulde have pleyd the bet at ches
	And kept my fers the bet therby.
670	And thogh wherto? For trewely
	I holde that wyssh nat worth a stree!
	Hyt had be never the bet for me,
	For Fortune kan so many a wyle
	Ther be but fewe kan hir begile;
675	And eke she ys the lasse to blame;
	Myself I wolde have do the same,
	Before God, hadde I ben as she;
	She oghte the more excused be.
	For this I say yet more therto:
680	Had I be God and myghte have do
	My wille whan she my fers kaughte,
	I wolde have drawe the same draughte.
	For, also wys God yive me reste,
	I dar wel swere she took the beste.
685	But through that draughte I have lorn
	My blysse; allas, that I was born!
	For evermore, y trowe trewly,
	For al my wille, my lust holly
	Ys turned; but yet, what to doone?
690	Be oure Lord, hyt ys to deye soone.
	For nothyng I leve hyt noght,
	But lyve and deye ryght in this thoght;
	For there nys planete in firmament,
	Ne in ayr ne in erthe noon element,
695	That they ne yive me a yifte echone
	Of wepynge whan I am allone.
	For whan that I avise me wel
	And bethenke me every del
	How that ther lyeth in rekenyng,
700	In my sorwe, for nothyng,
	And how ther leveth no gladnesse
	May glade me of my distresse,
	And how I have lost suffisance,
	And therto I have no plesance,
705	Than may I say I have ryght noght.
	And whan al this falleth in my thoght,
	Allas, than am I overcome!
	For that ys doon ys not to come.
	I have more sorowe than Tantale."
710	And whan I herde hym tel thys tale
	Thus pitously, as I yow telle,
	Unnethe myght y lenger dwelle,
	Hyt dyde myn herte so moche woo.
	"A, goode sir," quod I, "say not soo!
715	Have som pitee on your nature
	That formed yow to creature.
	Remembre yow of Socrates,
	For he ne counted nat thre strees
	Of noght that Fortune koude doo."
720	"No," quod he, "I kan not soo."
	"Why so, good syr? Yis parde!" quod y;
	"Ne say noght soo, for trewely,
	Thogh ye had lost the ferses twelve,
	And ye for sorwe mordred yourselve,
725	Ye sholde be dampned in this cas
	By as good ryght as Medea was,
	That slough hir children for Jasoun;
	And Phyllis also for Demophoun
	Heng hirself -- so weylaway! --
730	For he had broke his terme-day
	To come to hir. Another rage
	Had Dydo, the quene eke of Cartage,
	That slough hirself for Eneas
	Was fals -- which a fool she was!
735	And Ecquo died for Narcisus
	Nolde nat love hir, and ryght thus
	Hath many another foly doon;
	And for Dalida died Sampson,
	That slough hymself with a piler.
740	But ther is no man alyve her
	Wolde for a fers make this woo!"
	"Why so?" quod he, "hyt ys nat soo.
	Thou wost ful lytel what thou menest;
	I have lost more than thow wenest."
745	"Loo, [sey] how that may be?" quod y;
	"Good sir, telle me al hooly
	In what wyse, how, why, and wherfore
	That ye have thus youre blysse lore."
	"Blythely," quod he; "com sytte adoun!
750	I telle the upon a condicioun
	That thou shalt hooly, with al thy wyt,
	Doo thyn entent to herkene hit."
	"Yis, syr." "Swere thy trouthe therto."
	"Gladly." "Do thanne holde hereto!"
755	"I shal ryght blythely, so God me save,
	Hooly, with al the wit I have,
	Here yow as wel as I kan."
	"A Goddes half!" quod he, and began:
	"Syr," quod he, "sith first I kouthe
760	Have any maner wyt fro youthe,
	Or kyndely understondyng
	To comprehende in any thyng
	What love was, in myn owne wyt,
	Dredeles, I have ever yit
765	Be tributarye and yive rente
	To Love, hooly with good entente,
	And throgh plesaunce become his thral
	With good wille, body, hert, and al.
	Al this I putte in his servage,
770	As to my lord, and dide homage;
	And ful devoutly I prayed hym to
	He shulde besette myn herte so
	That hyt plesance to hym were
	And worship to my lady dere.
775	"And this was longe, and many a yer
	Or that myn herte was set owher,
	That I dide thus, and nyste why;
	I trowe hit cam me kyndely.
	Paraunter I was therto most able,
780	As a whit wal or a table,
	For hit ys redy to cacche and take
	Al that men wil theryn make,
	Whethir so men wil portreye or peynte,
	Be the werkes never so queynte.
785	"And thilke tyme I ferde ryght so,
	I was able to have lerned tho,
	And to have kend as wel or better,
	Paraunter, other art or letre;
	But for love cam first in my thoght,
790	Therfore I forgat hyt noght.
	I ches love to my firste craft;
	Therfore hit ys with me laft,
	For-why I tok hyt of so yong age
	That malyce hadde my corage
795	Nat that tyme turned to nothyng
	Thorgh to mochel knowlechyng.
	For that tyme Yowthe, my maistresse,
	Governed me in ydelnesse;
	For hyt was in my firste youthe,
800	And thoo ful lytel good y couthe,
	For al my werkes were flyttynge
	That tyme, and al my thoght varyinge.
	Al were to me ylyche good
	That I knew thoo; but thus hit stood:
805	"Hit happed that I cam on a day
	Into a place ther that I say
	Trewly the fayrest companye
	Of ladyes that evere man with ye
	Had seen togedres in oo place.
810	Shal I clepe hyt hap other grace
	That broght me there? Nay, but Fortune,
	That ys to lyen ful comune,
	The false trayteresse pervers!
	God wolde I koude clepe hir wers,
815	For now she worcheth me ful woo,
	And I wol telle sone why soo.
	"Among these ladyes thus echon,
	Soth to seyen, y sawgh oon
	That was lyk noon of the route;
820	For I dar swere, withoute doute,
	That as the someres sonne bryght
	Ys fairer, clerer, and hath more lyght
	Than any other planete in heven,
	The moone or the sterres seven,
825	For al the world so hadde she
	Surmounted hem alle of beaute,
	Of maner, and of comlynesse,
	Of stature, and of wel set gladnesse,
	Of goodlyhede so wel beseye --
830	Shortly, what shal y more seye?
	By God and by his halwes twelve,
	Hyt was my swete, ryght as hirselve.
	She had so stedfast countenaunce,
	So noble port and meyntenaunce,
835	And Love, that had wel herd my boone,
	Had espyed me thus soone,
	That she ful sone in my thoght,
	As helpe me God, so was ykaught
	So sodenly that I ne tok
840	No maner counseyl but at hir lok
	And at myn herte; for-why hir eyen
	So gladly, I trow, myn herte seyen
	That purely tho myn owne thoght
	Seyde hit were beter serve hir for noght
845	Than with another to be wel.
	And hyt was soth, for everydel
	I wil anoon ryght telle thee why.
	"I sawgh hyr daunce so comlily,
	Carole and synge so swetely,
850	Laughe and pleye so womanly,
	And loke so debonairly,
	So goodly speke and so frendly,
	That certes y trowe that evermor
	Nas seyn so blysful a tresor.
855	For every heer on hir hed,
	Soth to seyne, hyt was not red,
	Ne nouther yelowe ne broun hyt nas;
	Me thoghte most lyk gold hyt was.
	"And whiche eyen my lady hadde!
860	Debonaire, goode, glade, and sadde,
	Symple, of good mochel, noght to wyde.
	Therto hir look nas not asyde
	Ne overthwert, but beset so wel
	Hyt drew and took up everydel
865	Al that on hir gan beholde.
	Hir eyen semed anoon she wolde
	Have mercy -- fooles wenden soo --
	But hyt was never the rather doo.
	Hyt nas no countrefeted thyng;
870	Hyt was hir owne pure lokyng
	That the goddesse, dame Nature,
	Had mad hem opene by mesure
	And close; for were she never so glad,
	Hyr lokynge was not foly sprad,
875	Ne wildely, thogh that she pleyde;
	But ever, me thoght, hir eyen seyde,
	`Be God, my wrathe ys al foryive!'
	"Therwith hir lyste so wel to lyve,
	That dulnesse was of hir adrad.
880	She nas to sobre ne to glad;
	In alle thynges more mesure
	Had never, I trowe, creature.
	But many oon with hire lok she herte,
	And that sat hyr ful lyte at herte,
885	For she knew nothyng of her thoght;
	But whether she knew or knew it nowght
	Algate she ne roughte of hem a stree! --
	To gete her love no ner nas he
	That woned at hom than he in Ynde;
890	The formest was alway behynde.
	But goode folk, over al other,
	She loved as man may do hys brother;
	Of which love she was wonder large,
	In skilful places that bere charge.
895	"But which a visage had she thertoo!
	Allas, myn herte ys wonder woo
	That I ne kan discryven hyt!
	Me lakketh both Englyssh and wit
	For to undo hyt at the fulle;
900	And eke my spirites be so dulle
	So gret a thyng for to devyse.
	I have no wit that kan suffise
	To comprehende hir beaute.
	But thus moche dar I sayn, that she
905	Was whit, rody, fressh, and lyvely hewed,
	And every day hir beaute newed.
	And negh hir face was alderbest,
	For certes Nature had swich lest
	To make that fair that trewly she
910	Was hir chef patron of beaute,
	And chef ensample of al hir werk,
	And moustre; for be hyt never so derk,
	Me thynketh I se hir ever moo.
	And yet moreover, thogh alle thoo
915	That ever livede were now alyve,
	Ne sholde have founde to discryve
	Yn al hir face a wikked sygne,
	For hit was sad, symple, and benygne.
	"And which a goodly, softe speche
920	Had that swete, my lyves leche!
	So frendly, and so wel ygrounded,
	Up al resoun so wel yfounded,
	And so tretable to alle goode
	That I dar swere wel, by the roode,
925	Of eloquence was never founde
	So swete a sownynge facounde,
	Ne trewer tonged, ne skorned lasse,
	Ne bet koude hele -- that, by the masse
	I durste swere, thogh the pope hit songe,
930	That ther was never yet throgh hir tonge
	Man ne woman gretly harmed;
	As for her, was al harm hyd --
	Ne lasse flaterynge in hir word,
	That purely hir symple record
935	Was founde as trewe as any bond
	Or trouthe of any mannes hond;
	Ne chyde she koude never a del;
	That knoweth al the world ful wel.
	"But swich a fairnesse of a nekke
940	Had that swete that boon nor brekke
	Nas ther non sene that myssat.
	Hyt was whit, smothe, streght, and pure flat,
	Wythouten hole or canel-boon,
	As be semynge had she noon.
945	Hyr throte, as I have now memoyre,
	Semed a round tour of yvoyre,
	Of good gretnesse, and noght to gret.
	"And goode faire White she het;
	That was my lady name ryght.
950	She was bothe fair and bryght;
	She hadde not hir name wrong.
	Ryght faire shuldres and body long
	She had, and armes, every lyth
	Fattyssh, flesshy, not gret therwith;
955	Ryght white handes, and nayles rede;
	Rounde brestes; and of good brede
	Hyr hippes were; a streight flat bak.
	I knew on hir noon other lak
	That al hir lymmes nere pure sewynge
960	In as fer as I had knowynge.
	"Therto she koude so wel pleye,
	Whan that hir lyste, that I dar seye
	That she was lyk to torche bryght
	That every man may take of lyght
965	Ynogh, and hyt hath never the lesse.
	Of maner and of comlynesse
	Ryght so ferde my lady dere,
	For every wight of hir manere
	Myght cacche ynogh, yif that he wolde,
970	Yif he had eyen hir to beholde;
	For I dar swere wel, yif that she
	Had among ten thousand be,
	She wolde have be, at the leste,
	A chef myrour of al the feste,
975	Thogh they had stonden in a rowe,
	To mennes eyen that koude have knowe;
	For wher-so men had pleyd or waked,
	Me thoghte the felawsshyppe as naked
	Withouten hir that sawgh I oones
980	As a corowne withoute stones.
	Trewly she was, to myn ye
	The soleyn fenix of Arabye,
	For ther livyth never but oon,
	Ne swich as she ne knowe I noon.
985	"To speke of godnesse, trewly she
	Had as moche debonairte
	As ever had Hester in the Bible,
	And more, yif more were possyble.
	And soth to seyne, therwythal
990	She had a wyt so general,
	So hool enclyned to alle goode,
	That al hir wyt was set, by the rode,
	Withoute malyce, upon gladnesse;
	And therto I saugh never yet a lesse
995	Harmful than she was in doynge.
	I sey nat that she ne had knowynge
	What harm was, or elles she
	Had koud no good, so thinketh me.
	"And trewly for to speke of trouthe,
1000	But she had had, hyt hadde be routhe.
	Therof she had so moche hyr del --
	And I dar seyn and swere hyt wel --
	That Trouthe hymself over al and al
	Had chose hys maner principal
1005	In hir that was his restyng place.
	Therto she hadde the moste grace
	To have stedefast perseveraunce
	And esy, atempre governaunce
	That ever I knew or wyste yit,
1010	So pure suffraunt was hir wyt;
	And reson gladly she understood;
	Hyt folowed wel she koude good.
	She used gladly to do wel;
	These were hir maners everydel.
1015	"Therwith she loved so wel ryght
	She wrong do wolde to no wyght.
	No wyght myghte do hir noo shame,
	She loved so wel hir owne name.
	Hyr lust to holde no wyght in honde,
1020	Ne, be thou siker, she wolde not fonde
	To holde no wyght in balaunce
	By half word ne by countenaunce --
	But if men wolde upon hir lye --
	Ne sende men into Walakye,
1025	To Pruyse, and into Tartarye,
	To Alysaundre, ne into Turkye,
	And byd hym faste anoon that he
	Goo hoodles into the Drye Se
	And come hom by the Carrenar,
1030	And seye, `Sir, be now ryght war
	That I may of yow here seyn
	Worshyp or that ye come ageyn!'
	She ne used no suche knakkes smale.
	"But wherfore that y telle my tale?
1035	Ryght on thys same, as I have seyd,
	Was hooly al my love leyd;
	For certes she was, that swete wif,
	My suffisaunce, my lust, my lyf,
	Myn hap, myn hele, and al my blesse,
1040	My worldes welfare, and my goddesse,
	And I hooly hires and everydel."
	"By oure Lord," quod I, "y trowe yow wel!
	Hardely, your love was wel beset;
	I not how ye myghte have do bet."
1045	"Bet? Ne no wyght so wel," quod he.
	"Y trowe hyt wel, sir," quod I, "parde!"
	"Nay, leve hyt wel!" "Sire, so do I;
	I leve yow wel, that trewely
	Yow thoghte that she was the beste
1050	And to beholde the alderfayreste,
	Whoso had loked hir with your eyen."
	"With myn? Nay, alle that hir seyen
	Seyde and sworen hyt was soo.
	And thogh they ne hadde, I wolde thoo
1055	Have loved best my lady free,
	Thogh I had had al the beaute
	That ever had Alcipyades,
	And al the strengthe of Ercules,
	And therto had the worthynesse
1060	Of Alysaunder, and al the rychesse
	That ever was in Babyloyne,
	In Cartage, or in Macedoyne,
	Or in Rome, or in Nynyve;
	And therto also hardy be
1065	As was Ector, so have I joye,
	That Achilles slough at Troye --
	And therfore was he slayn alsoo
	In a temple, for bothe twoo
	Were slayne, he and Antylegyus
1070	(And so seyth Dares Frygius),
	For love of Polixena --
	Or ben as wis as Mynerva,
	I wolde ever, withoute drede,
	Have loved hir, for I moste nede.
1075	`Nede?' Nay, trewly, I gabbe now;
	Noght `nede,' and I wol tellen how:
	For of good wille myn herte hyt wolde,
	And eke to love hir I was holde
	As for the fairest and the beste.
1080	She was as good, so have I reste,
	As ever was Penelopee of Grece,
	Or as the noble wif Lucrece,
	That was the beste -- he telleth thus,
	The Romayn, Tytus Lyvyus --
1085	She was as good, and nothyng lyk
	(Thogh hir stories be autentyk),
	Algate she was as trewe as she.
	"But wherfore that I telle thee
	Whan I first my lady say?
1090	I was ryght yong, soth to say,
	And ful gret nede I hadde to lerne;
	Whan my herte wolde yerne
	To love, hyt was a gret empryse.
	But as my wyt koude best suffise,
1095	After my yonge childly wyt,
	Withoute drede, I besette hyt
	To love hir in my beste wyse,
	To do hir worship and the servise
	That I koude thoo, be my trouthe,
1100	Withoute feynynge outher slouthe,
	For wonder feyn I wolde hir se.
	So mochel hyt amended me
	That whan I saugh hir first a-morwe
	I was warished of al my sorwe
1105	Of al day after; til hyt were eve
	Me thoghte nothyng myghte me greve,
	Were my sorwes never so smerte.
	And yet she syt so in myn herte
	That, by my trouthe, y nolde noght
1110	For al thys world out of my thoght
	Leve my lady; noo, trewely!"
	"Now, by my trouthe, sir," quod I,
	"Me thynketh ye have such a chaunce
	As shryfte wythoute repentaunce."
1115	"Repentaunce? Nay, fy!" quod he,
	"Shulde y now repente me
	To love? Nay, certes, than were I wel
	Wers than was Achitofel,
	Or Anthenor, so have I joye,
1120	The traytor that betraysed Troye,
	Or the false Genelloun,
	He that purchased the tresoun
	Of Rowland and of Olyver.
	Nay, while I am alyve her,
1125	I nyl foryete hir never moo."
	"Now, goode syre," quod I thoo,
	"Ye han wel told me herebefore;
	Hyt ys no nede to reherse it more,
	How ye sawe hir first, and where.
1130	But wolde ye tel me the manere
	To hire which was your firste speche --
	Therof I wolde yow beseche --
	And how she knewe first your thoght,
	Whether ye loved hir or noght?
1135	And telleth me eke what ye have lore,
	I herde yow telle herebefore."
	"Yee!" seyde he, "thow nost what thow menest;
	I have lost more than thou wenest."
	"What los ys that?" quod I thoo;
1140	"Nyl she not love yow? Ys hyt soo?
	Or have ye oght doon amys,
	That she hath left yow? Ys hyt this?
	For Goddes love, telle me al."
	"Before God," quod he, "and I shal.
1145	I saye ryght as I have seyd,
	On hir was al my love leyd,
	And yet she nyste hyt nat, never a del
	Noght longe tyme, leve hyt wel!
	For be ryght siker, I durste noght
1150	For al this world telle hir my thoght,
	Ne I wolde have wraththed hir, trewely.
	For wostow why? She was lady
	Of the body; she had the herte,
	And who hath that may not asterte.
1155	But for to kepe me fro ydelnesse,
	Trewly I dide my besynesse
	To make songes, as I best koude,
	And ofte tyme I song hem loude;
	And made songes thus a gret del,
1160	Althogh I koude not make so wel
	Songes, ne knewe the art al,
	As koude Lamekes sone Tubal,
	That found out first the art of songe;
	For as hys brothres hamers ronge
1165	Upon hys anvelt up and doun,
	Therof he took the firste soun --
	But Grekes seyn Pictagoras,
	That he the firste fynder was
	Of the art (Aurora telleth so);
1170	But therof no fors of hem two.
	Algates songes thus I made
	Of my felynge, myn herte to glade;
	And, lo, this was [the] altherferste --
	I not wher hyt were the werste.
1175	`Lord, hyt maketh myn herte lyght
	Whan I thenke on that swete wyght
	That is so semely on to see;
	And wisshe to God hit myghte so bee
	That she wolde holde me for hir knyght,
1180	My lady, that is so fair and bryght!'
	"Now have I told thee, soth to say,
	My firste song. Upon a day
	I bethoghte me what woo
	And sorwe that I suffred thoo
1185	For hir, and yet she wyste hyt noght,
	Ne telle hir durste I nat my thoght.
	`Allas,' thoghte I, `y kan no red;
	And but I telle hir, I [nam] but ded;
	And yif I telle hyr, to seye ryght soth,
1190	I am adred she wol be wroth.
	Allas, what shal I thanne do?'
	"In this debat I was so wo
	Me thoghte myn herte braste atweyne!
	So at the laste, soth to sayne,
1195	I bethoghte me that Nature
	Ne formed never in creature
	So moche beaute, trewely,
	And bounte, wythoute mercy.
	In hope of that, my tale I tolde
1200	With sorwe, as that I never sholde,
	For nedes, and mawgree my hed,
	I most have told hir or be ded.
	I not wel how that I began;
	Ful evel rehersen hyt I kan;
1205	And eke, as helpe me God withal,
	I trowe hyt was in the dismal,
	That was the ten woundes of Egipte --
	For many a word I over-skipte
	In my tale, for pure fere
1210	Lest my wordes mysset were.
	With sorweful herte and woundes dede,
	Softe and quakynge for pure drede
	And shame, and styntynge in my tale
	For ferde, and myn hewe al pale --
1215	Ful ofte I wex bothe pale and red --
	Bowynge to hir, I heng the hed;
	I durste nat ones loke hir on,
	For wit, maner, and al was goon.
	I seyde `Mercy!' and no more.
1220	Hyt nas no game; hyt sat me sore.
	"So at the laste, soth to seyn,
	Whan that myn hert was come ageyn,
	To telle shortly al my speche,
	With hool herte I gan hir beseche
1225	That she wolde be my lady swete;
	And swor, and gan hir hertely hete
	Ever to be stedfast and trewe,
	And love hir alwey fresshly newe,
	And never other lady have,
1230	And al hir worship for to save
	As I best koude. I swor hir this:
	`For youres is alle that ever ther ys
	For evermore, myn herte swete!
	And never to false yow, but I mete,
1235	I nyl, as wys God helpe me soo!'
	"And whan I had my tale y-doo,
	God wot, she acounted nat a stree
	Of al my tale, so thoghte me.
	To telle shortly ryght as hyt ys,
1240	Trewly hir answere hyt was this --
	I kan not now wel counterfete
	Hir wordes, but this was the grete
	Of hir answere: she sayde `Nay'
	Al outerly. Allas, that day
1245	The sorowe I suffred and the woo
	That trewly Cassandra, that soo
	Bewayled the destruccioun
	Of Troye and of Ilyoun,
	Had never swich sorwe as I thoo.
1250	I durste no more say thertoo
	For pure fere, but stal away;
	And thus I lyved ful many a day,
	That trewely I hadde no ned
	Ferther than my beddes hed
1255	Never a day to seche sorwe;
	I fond hyt redy every morwe,
	For-why I loved hyr in no gere.
	"So hit befel, another yere
	I thoughte ones I wolde fonde
1260	To do hir knowe and understonde
	My woo; and she wel understod
	That I ne wilned thyng but god,
	And worship, and to kepe hir name
	Over alle thynges, and drede hir shame,
1265	And was so besy hyr to serve,
	And pitee were I shulde sterve,
	Syth that I wilned noon harm, ywis.
	So whan my lady knew al this,
	My lady yaf me al hooly
1270	The noble yifte of hir mercy,
	Savynge hir worship by al weyes --
	Dredles, I mene noon other weyes.
	And therwith she yaf me a ryng;
	I trowe hyt was the firste thyng;
1275	But if myn herte was ywaxe
	Glad, that is no nede to axe!
	As helpe me God, I was as blyve
	Reysed as fro deth to lyve --
	Of al happes the alderbeste,
1280	The gladdest, and the moste at reste.
	For trewely that swete wyght,
	Whan I had wrong and she the ryght,
	She wolde alway so goodly
	Foryeve me so debonairly.
1285	In al my yowthe, in al chaunce,
	She took me in hir governaunce.
	Therwyth she was alway so trewe
	Our joye was ever ylyche newe;
	Oure hertes wern so evene a payre
1290	That never nas that oon contrayre
	To that other for no woo.
	For sothe, ylyche they suffred thoo
	Oo blysse and eke oo sorwe bothe;
	Ylyche they were bothe glad and wrothe;
1295	Al was us oon, withoute were.
	And thus we lyved ful many a yere
	So wel I kan nat telle how."
	"Sir," quod I, "where is she now?"
	"Now?" quod he, and stynte anoon.
1300	Therwith he wax as ded as stoon
	And seyde, "Allas, that I was bore!
	That was the los that here-before
	I tolde the that I hadde lorn.
	Bethenke how I seyde here-beforn,
1305	`Thow wost ful lytel what thow menest;
	I have lost more than thow wenest.'
	God wot, allas! Ryght that was she!"
	"Allas, sir, how? What may that be?"
	"She ys ded!" "Nay!" "Yis, be my trouthe!"
1310	"Is that youre los? Be God, hyt ys routhe!"
	And with that word ryght anoon
	They gan to strake forth; al was doon,
	For that tyme, the hert-huntyng.
	With that me thoghte that this kyng
1315	Gan homwarde for to ryde
	Unto a place, was there besyde,
	Which was from us but a lyte --
	A long castel with walles white,
	Be Seynt Johan, on a ryche hil,
1320	As me mette; but thus hyt fil.
	Ryght thus me mette, as I yow telle,
	That in the castell ther was a belle,
	As hyt hadde smyten houres twelve.
	Therwyth I awook myselve
1325	And fond me lyinge in my bed;
	And the book that I hadde red,
	Of Alcione and Seys the kyng,
	And of the goddes of slepyng,
	I fond hyt in myn hond ful even.
1330	Thoghte I, "Thys ys so queynt a sweven
	That I wol, be processe of tyme,
	Fonde to put this sweven in ryme
	As I kan best, and that anoon."
	This was my sweven; now hit ys doon.

Explicit the Bok of the Duchesse

Site Updated June 15, 2011