Week 4 Chaucer, Book of the Duchess Middle English

This electronic edition was edited, proofed, and prepared by Douglas B. Killings (DeTroyes@AOL.COM), September 1994, based upon a previous e-text of unknown origin. Additional assistance provided by Diane M. Brendan. THE PROEM 1 I have gret wonder, be this lighte, 2 How that I live, for day ne nighte 3 I may nat slepe wel nigh noght, 4 I have so many an ydel thoght 5 Purely for defaute of slepe 6 That, by my trouthe, I take no kepe 7 Of no-thing, how hit cometh or goth, 8 Ne me nis no-thing leef nor loth. 9 Al is y-liche good to me -10 Ioye or sorowe, wherso hyt be -11 For I have feling in no-thinge, 12 But, as it were, a mased thing, 13 Alway in point to falle a-doun; 14 For sorwful imaginacioun 15 Is alway hoolly in my minde. 16 And wel ye wite, agaynes kynde 17 Hit were to liven in this wyse; 18 For nature wolde nat suffyse 19 To noon erthely creature 20 Not longe tyme to endure 21 Withoute slepe, and been in sorwe; 22 And I ne may, ne night ne morwe, 23 Slepe; and thus melancolye 24 And dreed I have for to dye, 25 Defaute of slepe and hevinesse 26 Hath sleyn my spirit of quiknesse, 27 That I have lost al lustihede. 28 Suche fantasies ben in myn hede 29 So I not what is best to do. 30 But men myght axe me, why soo 31 I may not slepe, and what me is? 32 But natheles, who aske this 33 Leseth his asking trewely. 34 My-selven can not telle why 35 The sooth; but trewely, as I gesse, 36 I holde hit be a siknesse 37 That I have suffred this eight yere, 38 And yet my bote is never the nere; 39 For ther is phisicien but oon, 40 That may me hele; but that is doon. 41 Passe we over until eft; 42 That wil not be, moot nede be left;

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Our first matere is good to kepe. So whan I saw I might not slepe, Til now late, this other night, Upon my bedde I sat upright And bad oon reche me a book, A romaunce, and he hit me took To rede and dryve the night away; For me thoghte it better play Then playen either at chesse or tables. And in this boke were writen fables That clerkes hadde, in olde tyme, And other poets, put in ryme To rede, and for to be in minde Whyl men loved the lawe of kinde. This book ne spak but of such thinges, Of quenes lyves, and of kinges, And many othere thinges smale. Amonge al this I fond a tale That me thoughte a wonder thing. This was the tale: There was a king That hight Seys, and hadde a wyf, The beste that mighte bere lyf; And this quene hight Alcyone. So hit befel, therafter sone, This king wolde wenden over see. To tellen shortly, whan that he Was in the see, thus in this wyse, Soche a tempest gan to ryse That brak hir mast, and made it falle, And clefte her ship, and dreinte hem alle, That never was founden, as it telles, Bord ne man, ne nothing elles. Right thus this king Seys loste his lyf. Now for to speken of his wife: -This lady, that was left at home, Hath wonder, that the king ne come Hoom, for hit was a longe terme. Anon her herte gan to erme; And for that hir thoughte evermo Hit was not wel he dwelte so, She longed so after the king That certes, hit were a pitous thing To telle hir hertely sorwful lyf That hadde, alas! this noble wyfe; For him she loved alderbest. Anon she sente bothe eest and west To seke him, but they founde nought. `Alas!' quoth she, `that I was wrought! And wher my lord, my love, be deed?

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Certes, I nil never ete breed, I make a-vowe to my god here, But I mowe of my lord here!' Such sorwe this lady to her took That trewely I, which made this book, Had swich pite and swich rowthe To rede hir sorwe, that, by my trowthe, I ferde the worse al the morwe After, to thenken on her sorwe. So whan she coude here no word That no man mighte fynde hir lord, Ful ofte she swouned, and saide `Alas!' For sorwe ful nigh wood she was, Ne she coude no reed but oon; But doun on knees she sat anoon, And weep, that pite was to here. `A! mercy! swete lady dere!' Quod she to Iuno, hir goddesse; `Help me out of this distresse, And yeve me grace my lord to see Sone, or wite wher-so he be, Or how he fareth, or in what wyse, And I shal make you sacrifyse, And hoolly youres become I shal With good wil, body, herte, and al; And but thou wilt this, lady swete, Send me grace to slepe, and mete In my slepe som certeyn sweven, Wher-through that I may knowen even Whether my lord be quik or deed.' With that word she heng doun the heed, And fil a-swown as cold as ston; Hir women caught her up anon, And broghten hir in bed al naked, And she, forweped and forwaked, Was wery, and thus the dede sleep Fil on hir, or sh e toke keep, Through Iuno, that had herd hir bone, That made hir to slepe sone; For as she prayde, so was don, In dede; for Iuno, right anon, Called thus her messagere To do her erande, and he com nere. Whan he was come, she bad him thus: `Go bet,' quod Iuno, `to Morpheus, Thou knowest hym wel, the god of sleep; Now understond wel, and tak keep. Sey thus on my halfe, that he Go faste into the grete see,

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And bid him that, on alle thing, He take up Seys body the king, That lyth ful pale and no-thing rody. Bid him crepe into the body, Aud do it goon to Alcyone The quene, ther she lyth alone, And shewe hir shortly, hit is no nay, How hit was dreynt this other day; And do the body speke so Right as hit was wont to do, The whyles that hit was on lyve. Go now faste, and hy thee blyve!' This messager took leve and wente Upon his wey, and never ne stente Til he com to the derke valeye That stant bytwene roches tweye, Ther never yet grew corn ne gras, Ne tree, ne nothing that ought was, Beste, ne man, ne nothing elles, Save ther were a fewe welles Came renning fro the cliffes adoun, That made a deedly sleping soun, And ronnen doun right by a cave That was under a rokke y-grave Amid the valey, wonder depe. Ther thise goddes laye and slepe, Morpheus, and Eclympasteyre, That was the god of slepes heyre, That slepe and did non other werk. This cave was also as derk As helle pit over-al aboute; They had good leyser for to route To envye, who might slepe beste; Some henge hir chin upon hir breste And slepe upright, hir heed y -hed, And some laye naked in hir bed, And slepe whyles the dayes laste. This messager come flying faste, And cryed, `O ho! awake anon!' Hit was for noght; ther herde him non. `Awak!' quod he, `who is, lyth there?' And blew his horn right in hir ere, And cryed `awaketh!' wonder hye. This god of slepe, with his oon ye Cast up, axed, `who clepeth there?' `Hit am I,' quod this messagere; `Iuno bad thou shuldest goon' -And tolde him what he shulde doon As I have told yow here-tofore;

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Hit is no need reherse hit more; And wente his wey, whan he had sayd. Anon this god of slepe a-brayd Out of his slepe, and gan to goon, And did as he had bede him doon; Took up the dreynte body sone, And bar hit forth to Alcyone, His wif the quene, ther-as she lay, Right even a quarter before day, And stood right at hir beddes fete, And called hir, right as she hete, By name, and sayde, `my swete wyf, Awak! let be your sorwful lyf! For in your sorwe there lyth no reed; For certes, swete, I nam but deed; Ye shul me never on lyve y-see. But good swete herte, look that ye Bury my body, at whiche a tyde Ye mowe hit finde the see besyde; And far-wel, swete, my worldes blisse! I praye god your sorwe lisse; To litel whyl our blisse lasteth!' With that hir eyen up she casteth, And saw noght; `A!' quod she, `for sorwe!' And deyed within the thridde morwe. But what she sayde more in that swow I may not telle yow as now, Hit were to longe for to dwelle; My first matere I wil yow telle, Wherfor I have told this thing Of Alcione and Seys the king. For thus moche dar I saye wel, I had be dolven everydel, And deed, right through defaute of sleep, If I nad red and taken keep Of this tale next before: And I wol telle yow wherfore: For I ne might, for bote ne bale, Slepe, or I had red this tale Of this dreynte Seys the king, And of the goddes of sleping. Whan I had red this tale wel And over-loked hit everydel, Me thoughte wonder if hit were so; For I had never herd speke, or tho, Of no goddes that coude make Men for to slepe, ne for to wake; For I ne knew never god but oon. And in my game I sayde anoon --

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And yet me list right evel to pleye -`Rather then that I shulde deye Through defaute of sleping thus, I wolde yive thilke Morpheus, Or his goddesse, dame Iuno, Or som wight elles, I ne roghte who -To make me slepe and have som reste -I wil yive him the alder-beste Yift that ever he aboode his lyve, And here on warde, right now, as blyve; If he wol make me slepe a lyte, Of downe of pure dowves whyte I wil yive him a fether-bed, Rayed with golde, and right wel cled In fyn blak satin doutremere, And many a pilow, and every bere Of clothe of Reynes, to slepe softe; Him thar not nede to turnen ofte. And I wol yive him al that falles To a chambre; and al his halles I wol do peynte with pure golde, And tapite hem ful many folde Of oo sute; this shal he have, Yf I wiste wher were his cave, If he can make me slepe sone, As did the goddesse Alcione. And thus this ilke god, Morpheus, May winne of me mo fees thus Than ever he wan; and to Iuno, That is his goddesse, I shal so do, I trow that she shal holde her payd.' I hadde unneth that word y-sayd Right thus as I have told hit yow, That sodeynly, I niste how, Swich a lust anoon me took To slepe, that right upon my book I fil aslepe, and therwith even Me mette so inly swete a sweven, So wonderful, that never yit I trowe no man hadde the wit To conne wel my sweven rede; No, not Ioseph, withoute drede, Of Egipte, he that redde so The kinges meting Pharao, No more than coude the leste of us; Ne nat scarsly Macrobeus, (He that wroot al thavisioun That he mette, Kyng Scipioun, The noble man, the Affrican --

288 Swiche marvayles fortuned than) 289 I trowe, a-rede my dremes even. 290 Lo, thus hit was, this was my sweven. THE DREAM Me thoughte thus: -- that hit was May, And in the dawning ther I lay, Me mette thus, in my bed al naked: -I loked forth, for I was waked With smale foules a gret hepe, That had affrayed me out of slepe Through noyse and swetnesse of hir song; And, as me mette, they sate among, Upon my chambre-roof withoute, Upon the tyles, al a-boute, And songen, everich in his wise, The moste solempne servyse By note, that ever man, I trowe, Had herd; for som of hem song lowe, Som hye, and al of oon acorde. To telle shortly, at oo worde, Was never y-herd so swete a steven, But hit had be a thing of heven; -So mery a soun, so swete entunes, That certes, for the toune of Tewnes, I nolde but I had herd hem singe, For al my chambre gan to ringe Through singing of hir armonye. For instrument nor melodye Was nowher herd yet half so swete, Nor of acorde half so mete; For ther was noon of hem that feyned To singe, for ech of hem him peyned To finde out mery crafty notes; They ne spared not hir throtes. And, sooth to seyn, my chambre was Ful wel depeynted, and with glas Were al the windowes wel y-glased, Ful clere, and nat an hole y-crased, That to beholde hit was gret Ioye. For hoolly al the storie of Troye Was in the glasing y-wroght thus, Of Ector and of king Priamus, Of Achilles and king Lamedon, Of Medea and of Iason, Of Paris, Eleyne, and Lavyne. And alle the walles with colours fyne Were peynted, bothe text and glose, Of al the Romaunce of the Rose.

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My windowes weren shet echon, And through the glas the sunne shon Upon my bed with brighte bemes, With many glade gilden stremes; And eek the welken was so fair, Blew, bright, clere was the air, And ful atempre, for sothe, hit was; For nother cold nor hoot hit nas, Ne in al the welken was a cloude. And as I lay thus, wonder loude Me thoughte I herde an hunte blowe Tassaye his horn, and for to knowe Whether hit were clere or hors of soune. I herde goinge, up and doune, Men, hors, houndes, and other thing; And al men speken of hunting, How they wolde slee the hert with strengthe, And how the hert had, upon lengthe, So moche embosed,I not now what. Anon-right, whan I herde that, How that they wolde on hunting goon, I was right glad, and up anoon; I took my hors, and forth I wente Out of my chambre; I never stente Til I com to the feld withoute. Ther overtook I a gret route Of huntes and eek of foresteres, With many relayes and lymeres, And hyed hem to the forest faste, And I with hem; -- so at the laste I asked oon, ladde a lymere: -`Say, felow, who shal hunten here' Quod I, and he answerde ageyn, `Sir, themperour Octovien,' Quod he, `and is heer faste by.' `A goddes halfe, in good tyme,' quod I, `Go we faste!' and gan to ryde. Whan we came to the forest-syde, Every man dide, right anoon, As to hunting fil to doon. The mayster-hunte anoon, fot-hoot, With a gret horne blew three moot At the uncoupling of his houndes. Within a whyl the hert y-founde is, Y-halowed, and rechased faste Longe tyme; and so at the laste, This hert rused and stal away Fro alle the houndes a prevy way. The houndes had overshote hem alle,

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And were on a defaute y-falle; Therwith the hunte wonder faste Blew a forloyn at the laste. I was go walked fro my tree, And as I wente, ther cam by me A whelp, that fauned me as I stood, That hadde y-folowed, and coude no good. Hit com and creep to me as lowe, Right as hit hadde me y-knowe, Hild doun his heed and Ioyned his eres, And leyde al smothe doun his heres. I wolde han caught hit, and anoon Hit fledde, and was fro me goon; And I him folwed, and hit forth wente Doun by a floury grene wente Ful thikke of gras, ful softe and swete, With floures fele, faire under fete, And litel used, hit seemed thus; For bothe Flora and Zephirus, They two that make floures growe, Had mad hir dwelling ther, I trowe; For hit was, on to beholde, As thogh the erthe envye wolde To be gayer than the heven, To have mo floures, swiche seven As in the welken sterres be. Hit had forgete the povertee That winter, through his colde morwes, Had mad hit suffren, and his sorwes; Al was forgeten, and that was sene. For al the wode was waxen grene, Swetnesse of dewe had mad it waxe. Hit is no need eek for to axe Wher ther were many grene greves, Or thikke of trees, so ful of leves; And every tree stood by him-selve Fro other wel ten foot or twelve. So grete trees, so huge of strengthe, Of fourty or fifty fadme lengthe, Clene withoute bough or stikke, With croppes brode, and eek as thikke -They were nat an inche a-sonder -That hit was shadwe over-al under; And many an hert and many an hinde Was both before me and bihinde. Of founes, soures, bukkes, does Was ful the wode, and many roes, And many squirelles that sete Ful hye upon the trees, and ete,

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And in hir maner made festes. Shortly, hit was so ful of bestes, That thogh Argus, the noble countour, Sete to rekene in his countour, And rekened with his figures ten -For by tho figures mowe al ken, If they be crafty, rekene and noumbre, And telle of every thing the noumbre -Yet shulde he fayle to rekene even The wondres, me mette in my sweven. But forth they romed wonder faste Doun the wode; so at the laste I was war of a man in blak, That sat and had y-turned his bak To an oke, an huge tree. `Lord,' thoghte I, `who may that be? What ayleth him to sitten here?' Anoon-right I wente nere; Than fond I sitte even upright A wonder wel-faringe knight -By the maner me thoughte so -Of good mochel, and yong therto, Of the age of four and twenty yeer. Upon his berde but litel heer, And he was clothed al in blakke. I stalked even unto his bakke, And ther I stood as stille as ought, That, sooth to saye, he saw me nought, For-why he heng his heed adoune. And with a deedly sorwful soune He made of ryme ten vers or twelve Of a compleynt to him-selve, The moste pite, the moste rowthe, That ever I herde; for, by my trowthe, Hit was gret wonder that nature Might suffren any creature To have swich sorwe, and be not deed. Ful pitous, pale, and nothing reed, He sayde a lay, a maner song, Withoute note, withoute song, And hit was this; for wel I can Reherse hit; right thus hit began. -`I have of sorwe so grete woon, That Ioye gete I never noon, Now that I see my lady bright, Which I have loved with al my might, Is fro me dedd, and is a-goon. And thus in sorwe lefte me alone. `Allas, o deeth! what ayleth thee,

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That thou noldest have taken me, `Whan that thou toke my lady swete? That was so fayr, so fresh, so free, So good, that men may wel y-see `Of al goodnesse she had no mete!' -Whan he had mad thus his complaynte, His sorowful herte gan faste faynte, And his spirites wexen dede; The blood was fled, for pur e drede, Doun to his herte, to make him warm -For wel hit feled the herte had harm -To wite eek why hit was a-drad, By kinde, and for to make hit glad; For hit is membre principal Of the body; and that made al His hewe chaunge and wexe grene And pale, for no blood was sene In no maner lime of his. Anoon therwith whan I saw this, He ferde thus evel ther he sete, I wente and stood right at his fete, And grette him, but he spak noght, But argued with his owne thoght, And in his witte disputed faste Why and how his lyf might laste; Him thoughte his sorwes were so smerte And lay so colde upon his herte; So, through his sorwe and hevy thoght, Made him that he ne herde me noght; For he had wel nigh lost his minde, Thogh Pan, that men clepe god of kinde, Were for his sorwes never so wrooth. But at the laste, to sayn right sooth, He was war of me, how I stood Before him, and dide of myn hood, And grette him, as I best coude. Debonairly, and no-thing loude, He sayde, `I prey thee, be not wrooth, I herde thee not, to sayn the sooth, Ne I saw thee not, sir, trewely.' `A! goode sir, no fors,' quod I, `I am right sory if I have ought Destroubled yow out of your thought; For-yive me if I have mis-take.' `Yis, thamendes is light to make,' Quod he, `for ther lyth noon ther-to; Ther is no-thing missayd nor do,' Lo! how goodly spak this knight, As it had been another wight;

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He made it nouther tough ne queynte And I saw that, and gan me aqueynte With him, and fond him so t retable, Right wonder skilful and resonable, As me thoghte, for al his bale. Anoon-right I gan finde a tale To him, to loke wher I might ought Have more knowing of his thought. `Sir,' quod I, `this game is doon; I holde that this hert be goon; Thise huntes conne him nowher see.' `I do no fors therof,' quod he, `My thought is ther-on never a del.' `By our lord,' quod I, `I trow yow wel, Right so me thinketh by your chere. But, sir, oo thing wol ye here? Me thinketh, in gret sorwe I yow see; But certes, good sir, yif that ye Wolde ought discure me your wo, I wolde, as wis god help me so, Amende hit, yif I can or may; Ye mowe preve hit by assay. For, by my trouthe, to make yow hool, I wol do al my power hool; And telleth me of your sorwes smerte, Paraventure hit may ese your herte, That semeth ful seke under your syde.' With that he loked on me asyde, As who sayth, `Nay, that wol not be.' `Graunt mercy, goode frend,' quod he, `I thanke thee that thou woldest so, But hit may never the rather be do, No man may my sorwe glade, That maketh my hewe to falle and fade, And hath myn understonding lorn, That me is wo that I was born! May noght make my sorwes slyde, Nought the remedies of Ovyde; Ne Orpheus, god of melodye, Ne Dedalus, with playes slye; Ne hele me may phisicien, Noght Ypocras, ne Galien; Me is wo that I live houres twelve; But who so wol assaye him-selve Whether his herte can have pite Of any sorwe, lat him see me. I wrecche, that deeth hath mad al naked Of alle blisse that ever was maked, Y-worthe worste of alle wightes,

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That hate my dayes and my nightes; My lyf, my lustes be me lothe, For al welfare and I be wrothe. The pure deeth is so my fo Thogh I wolde deye, hit wolde not so; For whan I folwe hit, hit wol flee; I wolde have hit, hit nil not me. This is my peyne withoute reed, Alway deinge and be not deed, That Sesiphus, that lyth in helle, May not of more sorwe telle. And who so wiste al, be my trouthe, My sorwe, but he hadde routhe And pite of my sorwes smerte, That man hath a feendly herte. For who so seeth me first on morwe May seyn, he hath y-met with sorwe; For I am sorwe and sorwe is I. `Allas! and I wol telle the why; My song is turned to pleyning, And al my laughter to weping, My glade thoghtes to hevinesse, In travaile is myn ydelnesse And eek my reste; my wele is wo, My goode is harm, and ever-mo In wrathe is turned my pleying, And my delyt in-to sorwing. Myn hele is turned into seeknesse, In drede is al my sikernesse. To derke is turned al my light, My wit is foly, my day is night, My love is hate, my sleep waking, My mirthe and meles is fasting, My countenaunce is nycete, And al abaved wher-so I be, My pees, in pleding and in werre; Allas! how mighte I fare werre? `My boldnesse is turned to shame, For fals Fortune hath pleyd a game Atte ches with me, allas! the whyle! The trayteresse fals and ful of gyle, That al behoteth and no-thing halt, She goth upryght and yet she halt, That baggeth foule and loketh faire, The dispitouse debonaire, That scorneth many a creature! An ydole of fals portraiture Is she, for she wil sone wryen; She is the monstres heed y-wryen,

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As filth over y-strawed with floures; Hir moste worship and hir flour is To lyen, for that is hir nature; Withoute feyth, lawe, or mesure. She is fals; and ever laughinge With oon eye, and that other wepinge. That is broght up, she set al doun. I lykne hir to the scorpioun, That is a fals, flateringe beste; For with his hede he maketh feste, But al amid his flateringe With his tayle he wol stinge, And envenyme; and so wol she. She is thenvyouse charite That is ay fals, and seemeth wele, So turneth she hir false whele Aboute, for it is no-thing stable, Now by the fyre, now at table; Ful many oon hath she thus y-blent; She is pley of enchauntement, That semeth oon and is not so, The false theef! what hath she do, Trowest thou? By our lord, I wol thee seye. Atte ches with me she gan to pleye; With hir false draughtes divers She stal on me, and took my fers. And whan I saw my fers aweye, Alas! I couthe no lenger playe, But seyde, "Farewel, swete, y-wis, And farwel al that ever ther is!" Therwith Fortune seyde, "Chek here!" And "Mate!" in mid pointe of the chekkere With a poune erraunt, allas! Ful craftier to pley she was Than Athalus, that made the game First of the ches: so was his name. But God wolde I had ones or twyes Y-koud and knowe the Ieupardyes That coude the Grek Pithagores! I shulde have pleyd the bet at ches, And kept my fers the bet therby; And thogh wherto? for trewely, I hold that wish nat worth a stree! Hit had be never the bet for me. For Fortune can so many a wyle, Ther be but fewe can hir begyle, And eek she is the las to blame; My-self I wolde have do the same, Before god, hadde I been as she;

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She oghte the more excused be. For this I say yet more therto, Hadde I be god and mighte have do My wille, whan she my fers caughte, I wolde have drawe the same draughte. For, also wis god yive me reste, I dar wel swere she took the beste! `But through that draughte I have lorn My blisse; allas! that I was born! For evermore, I trowe trewly, For al my wil, my lust hoolly Is turned; but yet what to done? Be oure lord, hit is to deye sone; For no-thing I ne leve it noght, But live and deye right in this thoght. There nis planete in firmament, Ne in air, ne in erthe, noon element, That they ne yive me a yift echoon Of weping, whan I am aloon. For whan that I avyse me wel, And bethenke me every-del, How that ther lyth in rekening, In my sorwe for no-thing; And how ther leveth no gladnesse May gladde me of my distresse, And how I have lost suffisance, And therto I have no plesance, Than may I say, I have right noght. And whan al this falleth in my thoght, Allas! than am I overcome! For that is doon is not to come! I have more sorowe than Tantale.' And whan I herde him telle this tale Thus pitously, as I yow telle, Unnethe mighte I lenger dwelle, Hit dide myn hert so moche wo. `A! good sir!' quod I, `say not so! Have som pite on your nature That formed yow to creature, Remembre yow of Socrates; For he ne counted nat three strees Of noght that Fortune coude do.` `No,' quod he, `I can not so.' `Why so? good sir! parde!' quod I; `Ne say noght so, for trewely, Thogh ye had lost the ferses twelve, And ye for sorwe mordred your-selve, Ye sholde be dampned in this cas By as good right as Medea was,

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That slow hir children for Iason; And Phyllis als for Demophon Heng hir-self, so weylaway! For he had broke his terme-day To come to hir. Another rage Had Dydo, quene eek of Cartage, That slow hir-self for Eneas Was fals; a whiche a fool she was! And Ecquo dyed for Narcisus. Nolde nat love hir; and right thus Hath many another foly don. And for Dalida died Sampson, That slow him-self with a pilere. But ther is noon a-lyve here Wolde for a fers make this wo!' `Why so?' quod he; `hit is nat so, Thou woste ful litel what thou menest; I have lost more than thow wenest.' `Lo, sir, how may that be?' quod I; `Good sir, tel me al hoolly In what wyse, how, why, and wherfore That ye have thus your blisse lore,' `Blythly,' quod he, `com sit adoun, I telle thee up condicioun That thou hoolly, with al thy wit, Do thyn entent to herkene hit.' `Yis, sir.' `Swere thy trouthe ther-to.' `Gladly.' `Do than holde her -to!' `I shal right blythly, so god me save, Hoolly, with al the witte I have, Here yow, as wel as I can,' `A goddes half!' quod he, and began: -`Sir,' quod he, `sith first I couthe Have any maner wit fro youthe, Or kyndely understonding To comprehende, in any thing, What love was, in myn owne wit, Dredeles, I have ever yit Be tributary, and yiven rente To love hoolly with goode entente, And through plesaunce become his thral, With good wil, body, herte, and al. Al this I putte in his servage, As to my lorde, and dide homage; And ful devoutly prayde him to, He shulde besette myn herte so, That it plesaunce to him were, And worship to my lady dere. `And this was longe, and many a yeer

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Or that myn herte was set o-wher, That I did thus, and niste why; I trowe hit cam me kindely. Paraunter I was therto most able As a whyt wal or a table; For hit is redy to cacche and take Al that men wil therin make, Wher-so so men wol portreye or peynte, Be the werkes never so queynte. `And thilke tyme I ferde so I was able to have lerned tho, And to have coud as wel or better, Paraunter, other art or letter. But for love cam first in my thought, Therfore I forgat hit nought. I chees love to my firste craft, Therfor hit is with me y-laft. Forwhy I took hit of so yong age, That malice hadde my corage Nat that tyme turned to no-thing Through to mochel knowleching. For that tyme youthe, my maistresse, Governed me in ydelnesse; For hit was in my firste youthe, And tho ful litel good I couthe, For al my werkes were flittinge, And al my thoghtes varyinge; Al were to me y-liche good, That I knew tho; but thus hit stood. `Hit happed that I cam on a day Into a place, ther I say, Trewly, the fayrest companye Of ladies that ever man with ye Had seen togedres in oo place. Shal I clepe hit hap other grace That broght me ther? nay, but Fortune, That is to lyen ful comune, The false trayteresse, pervers, God wolde I coude clepe hir wers! For now she worcheth me ful wo, And I wol telle sone why so. `Among thise ladies thus echoon, Soth to seyn, I saw ther oon That was lyk noon of al the route; For I dar swere, withoute doute, That as the someres sonne bright Is fairer, clere, and hath more light Than any planete, is in heven, The mone, or the sterres seven,

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For al the worlde so had she Surmounted hem alle of beaute, Of maner and of comlinesse, Of stature and wel set gladnesse, Of goodlihede so wel beseye -Shortly, what shal I more seye? By god, and by his halwes twelve, It was my swete, right al hir-selve! She had so stedfast countenaunce, So noble port and meyntenaunce. And Love, that had herd my bone, Had espyed me thus sone, That she ful sone, in my thoght, As helpe me god, so was y-caught So sodenly, that I ne took No maner reed but at hir look And at myn herte; for-why hir eyen So gladly, I trow, myn herte seyen, That purely tho myn owne thoght Seyde hit were bet serve hir for noght Than with another to be wel. And hit was sooth, for, everydel, I wil anoon-right telle thee why. I saw hir daunce so comlily, Carole and singe so swetely, Laughe and pleye so womanly, And loke so debonairly, So goodly speke and so frendly, That certes, I trow, that evermore Nas seyn so blisful a tresore. For every heer upon hir hede, Soth to seyn, hit was not rede, Ne nouther yelw, ne broun hit nas; Me thoghte, most lyk gold hit was. And whiche eyen my lady hadde! Debonair, goode, glade, and sadde, Simple, of good mochel, noght to wyde; Therto hir look nas not a-syde, Ne overthwert, but beset so wel, Hit drew and took up, everydel, Alle that on hir gan beholde. Hir eyen semed anoon she wolde Have mercy; fooles wenden so; But hit was never the rather do. Hit nas no countrefeted thing, It was hir owne pure loking, That the goddesse, dame Nature, Had made hem opene by mesure, And close; for, were she never so glad,

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Hir loking was not foly sprad, Ne wildely, thogh that she pleyde; But ever, me thoght, hir eyen seyde, "By god, my wrathe is al for-yive!" `Therwith hir liste so wel to live, That dulnesse was of hir a-drad. She nas to sobre ne to glad; In alle thinges more mesure Had never, I trowe, creature. But many oon with hir loke she herte, And that sat hir ful lyte at herte, For she knew no-thing of her thoght; But whether she knew, or knew hit noght, Algate she ne roghte of hem a stree! To gete hir love no ner was he That woned at home, than he in Inde; The formest was alway behinde. But goode folk, over al other, She loved as man may do his brother; Of whiche love she was wonder large, In skilful places that bere charge. `Which a visage had she ther-to! Allas! myn herte is wonder wo That I ne can discryven hit! Me lakketh bothe English and wit For to undo hit at the fulle; And eek my spirits be so dulle So greet a thing for to devyse. I have no wit that can suffyse To comprehenden hir beaute; But thus moche dar I seyn, that she Was rody, fresh, and lyvely hewed; And every day hir beaute newed. And negh hir face was alder-best; For certes, Nature had swich lest To make that fair, that trewly she Was hir cheef patron of beautee, And cheef ensample of al hir werke, And moustre; for, be hit never so derke, Me thinketh I see hir ever-mo. And yet more-over, thogh alle tho That ever lived were not a-lyve, They ne sholde have founde to discryve In al hir face a wikked signe; For hit was sad, simple, and benigne. `And which a goodly, softe speche Had that swete, my lyves leche! So frendly, and so wel y-grounded, Up al resoun so wel y-founded,

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And so tretable to alle gode, That I dar swere by the rode, Of eloquence was never founde So swete a sowninge facounde, Ne trewer tonged, ne scorned lasse, Ne bet coude hele; that, by the masse, I durste swere, thogh the pope hit songe, That ther was never yet through hir tonge Man ne woman gretly harmed; As for hir, ther was al harm hid; Ne lasse flatering in hir worde, That purely, hir simple recorde Was founde as trewe as any bonde, Or trouthe of any mannes honde. Ne chyde she coude never a del, That knoweth al the world ful wel. `But swich a fairnesse of a nekke Had that swete that boon nor brekke Nas ther non sene, that mis-sat. Hit was whyt, smothe, streght, and flat, Withouten hole; and canel-boon, As by seming, had she noon. Hir throte, as I have now memoire, Semed a round tour of yvoire, Of good gretnesse, and noght to grete. `And gode faire Whyte she hete, That was my lady name right. She was bothe fair and bright, She hadde not hir name wrong. Right faire shuldres, and body long She hadde, and armes; every lith Fattish, flesshy, not greet therwith; Right whyte handes, and nayles rede, Rounde brestes; and of good brede Hyr hippes were, a streight flat bake. I knew on hir non other lak That al hir limmes nere sewing, In as fer as I had knowing. `Therto she coude so wel pleye, Whan that hir liste, that I dar seye, That she was lyk to torche bright, That every man may take of light Ynogh, and hit hath never the lesse. `Of maner and of comlinesse Right so ferde my lady dere; For every wight of hir manere Might cacche ynogh, if that he wolde, If he had eyen hir to beholde. For I dar sweren, if that she

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Had among ten thousand be, She wolde have be, at the leste, A cheef mirour of al the feste, Thogh they had stonden in a rowe, To mennes eyen coude have knowe. For wher-so men had pleyd or waked, Me thoghte the felawship as naked Withouten hir, that saw I ones, As a coroune withoute stones. Trewly she was, to myn ye, The soleyn fenix of Arabye, For ther liveth never but oon; Ne swich as she ne know I noon. `To speke of goodnesse; trewly she Had as moche debonairte As ever had Hester in the bible And more, if more were possible. And, soth to seyne, therwith-al She had a wit so general, So hool enclyned to alle gode, That al hir wit was set, by the rode, Withoute malice, upon gladnesse; Therto I saw never yet a lesse Harmul, than she was in doing. I sey nat that she ne had knowing What harm was; or elles she Had coud no good, so thinketh me. `And trewly, for to speke of trouthe, But she had had, hit had be routhe. Therof she had so moche hir del -And I dar seyn and swere hit wel -That Trouthe him-self, over al and al, Had chose his maner principal In hir, that was his resting-place. Ther-to she hadde the moste grace, To have stedfast perseveraunce, And esy, atempre governaunce, That ever I knew or wiste yit; So pure suffraunt was hir wit. And reson gladly she understood, Hit folowed wel she coude good. She used gladly to do wel; These were hir maners every-del. `Therwith she loved so wel right, She wrong do wolde to no wight; No wight might do hir no shame, She loved so wel hir owne name. Hir luste to holde no wight in honde; Ne, be thou siker, she nolde fonde

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To holde no wight in balaunce, By half word ne by countenaunce, But-if men wolde upon hir lye; Ne sende men in-to Walakye, To Pruyse, and in-to Tartarye, To Alisaundre, ne in-to Turkye, And bidde him faste, anoon that he Go hoodles to the drye see, And come hoom by the Carrenare; And seye, "Sir, be now right ware That I may of yow here seyn Worship, or that ye come ageyn!' She ne used no suche knakkes smale. `But wherfor that I telle my tale? Right on this same, as I have seyd, Was hoolly al my love leyd; For certes, she was, that swete wyf, My suffisaunce, my lust, my lyf, Myn hap, myn hele, and al my blisse, My worldes welfare, and my lisse, And I hires hoolly, everydel.' `By our lord,' quod I, `I trowe yow wel! Hardely, your love was wel beset, I not how ye mighte have do bet.' `Bet? ne no wight so wel!' quod he. `I trowe hit, sir,' quod I, `parde!' `Nay, leve hit wel!' `Sir, so do I; I leve yow wel, that trewely Yow thoghte, that she was the beste, And to beholde the alderfaireste, Who so had loked hir with your eyen. ' `With myn? Nay, alle that hir seyen Seyde and sworen hit was so. And thogh they ne hadde, I wolde tho Have loved best my lady fre, Thogh I had had al the beautee That ever had Alcipyades, And al the strengthe of Ercules, And therto had the worthinesse Of Alisaundre, and al the richesse That ever was in Babiloyne, In Cartage, or in Macedoyne, Or in Rome, or in Ninive; And therto al-so hardy be As was Ector, so have I Ioye, That Achilles slow at Troye -And therfor was he slayn also In a temple, for bothe two Were slayn, he and Antilegius,

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And so seyth Dares Frigius, For love of hir Polixena -Or ben as wys as Minerva, I wolde ever, withoute drede, Have loved hir, for I moste nede! "Nede!" nay, I gabbe now, Noght "nede", and I wol telle how, For of good wille myn herte hit wolde, And eek to love hir I was holde As for the fairest and the beste. `She was as good, so have I reste, As ever was Penelope of Grece, Or as the noble wyf Lucrece, That was the beste -- he telleth thus, The Romayn Tytus Livius -She was as good, and no-thing lyke, Thogh hir stories be autentyke; Algate she was as trewe as she. `But wherfor that I telle thee Whan I first my lady say? I was right yong, the sooth to sey, And ful gret need I hadde to lerne; Whan my herte wolde yerne To love, it was a greet empryse. But as my wit coude best suffyse, After my yonge childly wit, Withoute drede, I besette hit To love hir in my beste wise, To do hir worship and servyse That I tho coude, be my trouthe, Withoute feyning outher slouthe; For wonder fayn I wolde hir see. So mochel hit amended me, That, whan I saw hir first a-morwe, I was warished of al my sorwe Of al day after, til hit were eve; Me thoghte no-thing mighte me greve, Were my sorwes never so smerte. And yit she sit so in myn herte, That, by my trouthe, I nolde noghte, For al this worlde, out of my thoght Leve my lady; no, trewly!' `Now, by my trouthe, sir,' quod I, `Me thinketh ye have such a chaunce As shrift withoute repentaunce.' `Repentaunce! nay, fy,' quod he; `Shulde I now repente me To love? nay, certes, than were I wel Wers than was Achitofel,

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Or Anthenor, so have I Ioye, The traytour that betraysed Troye, Or the false Genelon, He that purchased the treson Of Rowland and of Olivere. Nay, why! I am a-lyve here I nil foryete hir never-mo.' `Now, goode sir,' quod I right tho, `Ye han wel told me her-before. It is no need reherse hit more How ye sawe hir first, and where; But wolde ye telle me the manere, To hir which was your firste speche -Therof I wolde yow be-seche -And how she knewe first your thoght, Whether ye loved hir or noght, And telleth me eek what ye have lore; I herde yow telle her-before.' `Ye,' seyde he,`thow nost what thou menest; I have lost more than thou wenest.' `What los is that, sir?' quod I tho; `Nil she not love yow? Is hit so? Or have ye oght y-doon amis, That she hath left yow? is hit this? For goddes love, telle me al.' `Before god,' quod he, `and I shal. I saye right as I have seyd, On hir was al my love leyd; And yet she niste hit never a del Noght longe tyme, leve hit wel. For be right siker, I durste noght For al this worlde telle hir my thoght, Ne I wolde have wratthed hir, trewely. For wostow why? she was lady Of the body; she had the herte, And who hath that, may not asterte. `But, for to kepe me fro ydelnesse, Trewly I did my besinesse To make songes, as I best coude, And ofte tyme I song hem loude; And made songes a gret del, Al-thogh I coude not make so wel Songes, ne knowe the art al, As coude Lamekes sone Tubal, That fond out first the art of songe; For, as his brothers hamers ronge Upon his anvelt up and doun, Therof he took the firste soun; But Grekes seyn, Pictagoras,

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That he the firste finder was Of the art; Aurora telleth so, But therof no fors, of hem two. Algates songes thus I made Of my feling, myn herte to glade; And lo! this was the alther-firste, I not wher that hit were the werst. -"Lord, hit maketh myn herte light, Whan I thenke on that swete wight That is so semely on to see; And wisshe to god hit might so be, That she wolde holde me for hir knight, My lady, that is so fair and bright!" -`Now have I told thee, sooth to saye, My firste song. Upon a daye I bethoghte me what wo And sorwe that I suffred tho For hir, and yet she wiste hit noght, Ne telle hir durste I nat my thoght. `Allas!' thoghte I, `I can no reed; And, but I telle hir, I nam but deed; And if I telle hir, to seye sooth, I am a-dred she wol be wrooth; Allas! what shal I thanne do?" `In this debat I was so wo, Me thoghte myn herte braste a-tweyn! So atte laste, soth to sayn, I me bethoghte that nature Ne formed never in creature So moche beaute, trewely, And bounte, withouten mercy. `In hope of that, my tale I tolde, With sorwe, as that I never sholde; For nedes, and, maugree my heed, I moste have told hir or be deed. I not wel how that I began, Ful evel rehersen hit I can; And eek, as helpe me god with-al, I trowe hit was in the dismal, That was the ten woundes of Egipte; For many a word I over-skipte In my tale, for pure fere Lest my wordes mis-set were. With sorweful herte, and woundes dede, Softe and quaking for pure drede And shame, and stinting in my tale For ferde, and myn hewe al pale, Ful ofte I wex bothe pale and reed; Bowing to hir, I heng the heed;

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I durste nat ones loke hir on, For wit, manere, and al was gon. I seyde "mercy!" and no more; Hit nas no game, hit sat me sore. `So atte laste, sooth to seyn, Whan that myn herte was come ageyn, To telle shortly al my speche, With hool herte I gan hir beseche That she wolde be my lady swete; And swor, and gan hir hertely hete Ever to be stedfast and trewe, And love hir alwey freshly newe, And never other lady have, And al hir worship for to save As I best coude; I swor hir this -"For youres is al that ever ther is For evermore, myn herte swete! And never false yow, but I mete, I nil, as wis god helpe me so!" `And whan I had my tale y-do, God wot, she acounted nat a stree Of al my tale, so thoghte me. To telle shortly as hit is, Trewly hir answere, hit was this; I can not now wel counterfete Hir wordes, but this was the grete Of hir answere: she sayde, "nay" Al-outerly. Allas! that day The sorwe I suffred, and the wo! That trewly Cassandra, that so Bewayled the destruccioun. Of Troye and of Ilioun, Had never swich sorwe as I tho. I durste no more say therto For pure fere, but stal away; And thus I lived ful many a day; That trewely, I hadde no need Ferther than my beddes heed Never a day to seche sorwe; I fond hit redy every morwe, For-why I loved hir in no gere. `So hit befel, another yere, I thoughte ones I wolde fonde To do hir knowe and understonde My wo; and she wel understood That I ne wilned thing but good, And worship, and to kepe hir name Over al thing, and drede hir shame, And was so besy hir to serve; --

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And pite were I shulde sterve, Sith that I wilned noon harm, y-wis. So whan my lady knew al this, My lady yaf me al hoolly The noble yift of hir mercy, Saving hir worship, by al weyes; Dredles, I mene noon other weyes. And therwith she yaf me a ring; I trowe hit was the firste thing; But if myn herte was y-waxe Glad, that is no need to axe! As helpe me god, I was as blyve, Reysed, as fro dethe to lyve, Of alle happes the alder-beste, The gladdest and the moste at reste. For trewely, that swete wight, Whan I had wrong and she the right, She wolde alwey so goodely For-yeve me so debonairly. In alle my youthe, in alle chaunce, She took me in hir governaunce. `Therwith she was alway so trewe, Our Ioye was ever y-liche newe; Our hertes wern so even a payre, That never nas that oon contrayre To that other, for no wo. For sothe, y-liche they suffred tho Oo blisse and eek oo sorwe bothe; Y-liche they were bothe gladde and wrothe; Al was us oon, withoute were. And thus we lived ful many a yere So wel, I can nat telle how.' `Sir,' quod I, `where is she now?' `Now!' quod he, and stinte anoon. Therwith he wex as deed as stoon, And seyde, `allas! that I was bore, That was the los, that her-before I tolde thee, that I had lorn. Bethenk how I seyde her-beforn, "Thou wost ful litel what thou menest; I have lost more than thou wenest" -God wot, allas! right that was she!' `Allas! sir, how? what may that be?' `She is deed!' `Nay!' `Yis, by my trouthe!' `Is that your los? By god, hit is routhe!' And with that worde, right anoon, They gan to strake forth; al was doon, For that tyme, the hert-hunting. With that, me thoghte, that this king

1315 Gan quikly hoomward for to ryde 1316 Unto a place ther besyde, 1317 Which was from us but a lyte, 1318 A long castel with walles whyte, 1319 Be seynt Iohan! on a riche hil, 1320 As me mette; but thus it fil. 1321 Right thus me mette, as I yow telle, 1322 That in the castel was a belle, 1323 As hit had smiten houres twelve. -1324 Therwith I awook my-selve, 1325 And fond me lying in my bed; 1326 And the book that I had red, 1327 Of Alcyone and Seys the king, 1328 And of the goddes of sleping, 1329 I fond it in myn honde ful even. 1330 Thoghte I, `this is so queynt a sweven, 1331 That I wol, be processe of tyme, 1332 Fonde to putte this sweven in ryme 1333 As I can best'; and that anoon. -1334 This was my sweven; now hit is doon. Explicit the Boke of the Duchesse.

Modern English translation (source: http://wwwrohan.sdsu.edu/~amtower/duchess.htm) THE Book of the Duchess. From The Modern Reader's Chaucer, ed. John S. P. Tatlock and Percy MacKaye (New York: Free Press, 1912). By this heaven, I wonder greatly how I live, for I can scarce sleep at all, day or night; I have so many an idle fantasy only for lack of sleep, that, by my troth, I heed naught, how it comes or goes, and naught is either sweet or bitter to me. All is alike--joy or sorrow, whatsoever it be, for I have no feeling, but am, as it were, a thing stunned, ever in point to fall down; for sorry fantasies are ever wholly in my mind. And ye well know it were against nature to live in this wise; for nature would not suffer any earthly creature to abide long time without sleep, and to be in sorrow; and I cannot sleep, night or morn. And thus melancholy and dread of dying, and default of sleep and heaviness, have so slain my spirit of life, that I have lost all lustiness. Such fantasies be in my head that I wot never what is best to do. But men might ask me why I cannot sleep, and what is ailing me. Nevertheless who asks this, in truth, wastes his asking. Myself cannot tell why it is thus ; but in sooth, I trow, I hold it to be a sickness that I have suffered these eight year, and yet my remedy is never the nigher. For there is but one physician that can heal me. But that is past Pass we over until another time; what will not be, must needs be left ; it were good to hold to our first matter. So when I saw I could not sleep the other night, I sat up till late upon my bed, and bade one reach me a book, a romance, and he gave it me to read and pass the night away; for me thought it better sport than to play at either backgammon or chess. And in this book were written fables, which clerks and other poets in old days had put into rhyme, to read and to remember as long as men loved the law of nature. This book

spake only of such matters as the lives of ancient queens and kings, and many other little histories. Amongst all this I found a tale that methought was marvelous. This was the tale : There was a king who was named Ceyx, and he had a wife, the best that could live; and this queen was called Alcyone. It so befell ere long that this king would fare across the sea. To tell it shortly, when he was thus at sea, such a tempest arose that it broke the ship's mast and made it fall, and made a breach in their ship and drowned every man, so that, as the book tells, never was found board or man or aught beside. Even thus the king Ceyx met his death. Now to speak of his wife: This lady who was left at home marveled that the king came not back, for he had been gone for long. Anon her heart began to grieve bitterly; and because evermore it seemed to her that it was not well that he so tarried, she longed so after her husband that it were a piteous thing, certes, to tell the heartfelt sorrow of this noble queen, alas !, for she loved him best of all. Anon she sent north and south to seek him, but they found naught. 'Alas!' quoth she, 'Alas that ever I was born! And is my lord and my love dead? Certes, I make a vow here to my god that I will never eat bread unless I can learn tidings of my lord!' Such was the sorrow of this lady that in very sooth I who have writ this book had such pity and ruth to read of her woe, that, by my troth, I fared the worse all the morrow after, to think of her pains. So when she could learn no tidings that any man could find her lord, she swooned full oft and said, 'Alas!' For sorrow she was wellnigh mad, and knew no counsel but one; anon she set her down on her knees and so wept that it was pitiful to hear. 'Ah mercy, sweet dear lady!' quoth she to her goddess, Juno. 'Help me out of this distress, and give me grace to see my lord soon, or to know where he is or how he fares or in what state, and I shall do sacrifice to thee, and with good will become wholly thine, body, heart, and all. And except thou wilt do this, sweet lady, send me grace to sleep and to dream in my sleep some faithful dream, through which I shall know of a surety whether my lord be alive or no.' And with that word she hung down her head and fell into a swoon, as cold as stone. Her women caught her up straightway, and unclad her and carried her to bed. And she, worn out witfl weeping and watching, was weary; and thus, ere she knew it, the dead sleep fell upon her, from Juno, who had heard her prayer and caused her quickly to sleep. For as she prayed, so it was done in fact. For Juno anon called her messenger to do her errand; and when he was come near, she commanded him thus: 'Haste thee,' quoth Juno, 'to Morpheus, - thou knowest him well, the god of sleep. Now understand well and heed! Say thus on my behalf, that he go quickly into the great sea ; - and bid him by any means to take up the body of Ceyx the king, which lies full pale and all bloodless. Bid him creep into the body and cause it to go to Alcyone the queen, where she lies alone, and tell her in brief how it was verily drowned the other day. And let the body speak even as it was wont to speak whilst it was alive. Go now quickly, and hie thee!' This messenger took leave, and went his way and never stopped till he came to the dark valley that stands between two cliffs, where never yet grew corn or grass or tree, or anything that served for aught, nor beast or man or aught else; save that there were

a few springs came running down from the cliffs, and made a dead, sleepy sound, and ran down past a cave that was digged wondrous deep under a rock amid the valley. There lay these gods and slept, Morpheus and Eclympasteyre, who was heir to the god of sleep, who slept and did none other toil. This cave was as dark everywhere about as the pit of hell. They had good leisure to snore in rivalry, - who were the soundest sleeper! Some hung chin on breast and slept standing upright, their heads hidden; and some lay a-bed and slept the long days through. This messenger came flying swiftly and cried, 'O ho! Awake, and that anon!' It was in vain; none heard him. 'Awake !' quoth he. 'Who is it lies there?' And he blew his horn right in their ears, and cried wondrous loud, 'Awake!' This god of sleep opened one eye and asked, 'Who calls there?' 'It is I,' quoth this messenger. 'Juno bade thou shouldst go.' - and he told him what he was to do, as I have told you before; it needs not rehearse it again. And when he had spoken, he went his way. Anon this god of sleep started out of his slumber, and went and did as he had been bidden; he took up the drowned body straightway, and bore it forth to the wife, queen Alcyone, where she lay, a little before dawn. And it stood even at the foot of her bed, and called her by her very name, and said, 'My sweet wife, awake! Let be your sorrowful course, for in your sorrow lies no profit. For certes, sweet, I am dead; thou shalt never more see me alive. But, good sweet heart, look thou bury my body, what time thou mayst find it beside the sea. And farewell, sweet, my world's joy ! I pray God relieve thy sorrow; our happiness lasts too short while here on earth!' At that she opened her eyes and saw naught. 'Alas!' quoth she for sorrow, and died before the fourth morn. But what more she said in that delirium I may not tell you now, it were too long delay. I will tell you of my first matter, for which I have told this thing of queen Alcyone and Ceyx. For thus much I dare well say, I should have been dead and all buried, even for default of sleep, if I had not read and noted this tale. And I will tell you wherefore; because for weal or woe I could not sleep ere I had read this tale of this drowned Ceyx the king and of the gods of sleep. When I had well read this tale and looked all through it, a wonder it seemed to me if it were true; for I had never heard tell before of any gods that could cause men to sleep or wake. For I never knew any god hut one. And jesting I said anon, -and yet I list full little to make mirth, - 'Rather than die thus through default of sleep, I would give to that Morpheus, or his goddess, dame Juno, or any wight else, I reck not who, to make me sleep and have some repose, - I will give him the very best gift that ever he looked for in his life. And here into his keeping, now straightway, if he will grant me a little sleep, I will give him a feather-bed of the down of pure white doves, right well enveloped in fine black satin from overseas and striped with gold, and eke many a pillow, with every pillow-case of cloth of Rennes, to sleep on softly; he need not turn and turn. And I will give him all that behooves to a chamber; and with pure gold I will have all his halls painted, and covered with many a fold of tapestry of one pattern. This he should have (knew I where his cave is), if he could make me sleep forthwith, as the goddess did Alcyone. And thus may this god Morpheus win from me greater pay than ever he won. And Juno, who is his goddess, I shall so require that I trow she shall hold herself content.

Scarce had I said that word, even thus as I have told it you, when suddenly, but how I knew riot3 such a lust to sleep seized me anon that I fell asleep right over my book, and even therewith I dreamed a dream so rarely sweet, so wonderful, 1 trow never yet had man the wit to tell the interpretation thereof; no, verily, not Joseph of Egypt, he who so interpreted the dream of king Pharaoh, no more than could the least one of us; nor scarce Macrobius, he that writ all the vision that king Scipio dreamed, that noble man, Africanus - such marvels befell then - I trow could justly interpret my visions. Lo thus it was, this was my dream. Methought thus: it was May, and about dawn where I lay in my bed all naked, in my dream I looked forth, for I was awakened by a great crowd of small birds which had startled me out of sleep through the sound and sweetness of their song; and I dreamed they sat all the while upon the roof of my chamber outside all about upon the tiles, and they sang in tune, each in his own wise, the most solemn service that ever man heard, I trow; for some of them sang low, some high, and all in accord. To tell shortly and in brief, never was heard so sweet a voice, unless it had been from some heavenly thing, so merry a harmony, so sweet strains, that certes I would not have failed to hear them for all the town of Tunis; for my whole chamber rang through the harmony of their singing. For nowhere was ever heard instrument or melody yet half so sweet, or of half so meet accord. For there was none of them that only feigned to sing, but each of them strove to find out merry, cunning tones, and they spared not their throats. And, sooth to say, my chamber was full well covered with paintings, and all the windows were well glazed with glass full clear, and not a hole broken, that it was a great delight to behold. All the story of Troy was wrought in the glazing-of Hector and King Priam, of Achilles and Laomedon, of Jason and Medea, of Paris and Helen and Lavinia. And all the walls were painted in fine colors with all the Romance of the Rose, both text and gloss. My windows were all shut, and through the glass the sun shone upon my bed with bright beams and many glad, golden rays; and the welkin eke was full beauteous) and the air blue, bright and clear, and right mild it was in sooth, neither cold nor hot. And in all the welkin was not a cloud. And as I lay thus, methought I heard a hunter blow his horn wondrous high and clear, to try it and learn whether it were clear or hoarse in tone. I heard men, horses, hounds and other creatures going to and fro; and all men spake of hunting, how they would have mightily slain the hart, and how far the hart at length had plunged into the thicket,- I know not what it was. Straight-way when I heard that, how they would go a-hunting, I was right glad and anon was up, and went forth from my chamber, and took my horse, and never stopped till I came to the field outside. There I overtook a great rout of hunters and foresters, with many relays of hounds and dogs in leashes, and they hied them quick to the forest, and I with them. So at the last I asked one that led a dog in a leash, 'Tell me, fellow, who shall hunt here?' quoth I. And he answered, 'Sir) the emperor Octavian; and he is hard by here.' 'In God's name, well met,' quoth I, 'go we fast!' and began to ride on. When we came to the forest-side, every man did anon as it behooves to do in hunting. Anon the master of the hunt, hot-foot, blew three notes on a great horn, at the uncoupling of his hounds. In a little the hart was lighted on, hallooed, and headed back long time; at last this hart fetched a compass and stole away from all the hounds by a secret course. The hounds had all outrun the scent, and were at fault; upon that the hunter at last blew a recall wondrous loud.

I was gone walking away from my tree, and as I went there came by and fawned upon me as stood a whelp that had followed the chase but was untrained. It came and crept up to me as humbly as if it had known me, held down its head and laid back its ears, and laid its hair down all smooth. I would have caught it, and anon it fled and was gone from me. I followed it, and it went forth down by a flowery green path right thick with grass, soft and sweet with many flowers, fair under the foot, and little used, it seemed. For both Flora and Zephyr, they two that make flowers to spring, I trow had fixed their dwelling there; for it was, to behold it, as if the earth should strive to be gayer than the sky, to have seven times more flowers than the welkin has stars. It had forgotten the woes of winter and the poverty which he had made it suffer with his cold moms; all was forgotten, as men could see. For all the wood was waxed green; the sweetness of dew had made it grow. There needs not ask whether the place stood thick with trees, so full of leaves) with many a green spray. And each tree stood by itself full ten or twelve feet from the others. So great trees, of such huge strength, and forty or fifty fathoms high, and clean without bough or stick up to the tops, broad and eke so thick - they were not an inch asunder - that everywhere below there was shadow; and many a hart and hind was both before me and at my back. The wood was full of fawns, young horned deer, bucks) does, and many a roe, and many squirrels that sat full high in the trees, and ate, and made festival in their manner. In brief, it was so full of beasts that though Argus, the noble computer, set to reckoning on his abacus, and reckoned with his ten figures - by which figures all mankind, if they be skillful, may reckon and count and tell the number of everything, - yet he would fail to reckon exactly the wonders that I dreamed in my dream. But forth the beasts roamed down the wood wondrous fast; and at last I was ware of a man in black who sat and leaned against a huge oak. 'Lord!' I thought, 'Who may that be? What ails him, to sit here?' Forthwith I approached, and found sitting up straight a wondrous fine-looking knight, -- by his bearing methought so, - of good height and young, four-and-twenty years of age; there was but little hair in his beard, and he was clothed all in black. I walked softly up behind him, and stood there as still as anything, so that truly he saw me not, because he hung his head down. And with a deathlike sorrowful voice he rhymed to himself ten or twelve verses of a complaint, the most piteous, the most rueful, that ever I heard; for, by my troth, it was a great marvel that nature could suffer any living being to have such sorrow and not die. Full piteous, pale and bloodless, he recited a lay, a kind of a song, but without note or tune; and this was it, for I can well rehearse it. It began right thus: 'I am with sorrows overrun, Happiness get I never none, Now that I see my lady bright, That I have loved with all my might, Hath died and is forever gone. 'Alas, O death, what aileth thee That thou wouldst not have taken me,

When that thou tookst my lady dear; That was so fair, so fresh, so free, So good that every man may see For all goodness she had no peer?' When he had made his lament thus, his sorrowful heart began to grow very faint and his spirits dead. For very fear the blood fled down to his heart, to warm it - for well it felt that the heart was sore afflicted, - eke to learn why so horridly it shook its disposition, and to gladden it. For it is the principal member of the body, and that caused all his hue to change and wax green and pale, because no blood was seen in any limb of his. Thereat anon, when I saw how ill he fared there, I went and stood right at his feet and greeted him; but he spake not, but reasoned with his own thought and in his mind earnestly debated whether and why his life should hold out-his sorrows were so painful, and lay so cold on his heart. So his sorrow and heavy thought suffered him not to hear me; for he had well-nigh lost his mind, though Pan, whom men call the god of nature, were never so wroth against him for his melancholy. But at last, in truth, he became aware of me, how I was there before him and doffed my hood, and greeted him as best I knew how. Gently and softly he said, 'I prithee be not wroth; truly I heard you not, sir, nor saw you not.' 'Ah, good sir,' quoth I, 'no matter. I am right sorry if I have at all disturbed you out of your thought. Forgive me if I have trespassed.' 'Yea, the amends are light to make,' quoth he, 'for none are needed; there is none offense in word or deed.' Lo how goodly this knight spake, as if it had been another than he that I had troubled. He was neither over-forward nor over-distant. And I saw that, and began to consider him, and found him very ready to talk, right marvelous discreet and reasonable, as methought, for all his woe. Anon I began to devise talk with him, to look whether I could in any wise know more of his mind. 'Sir,' quoth I, 'this sport is over, I trow this hart is gone; these hunters can find him nowhere.' 'I care not therefor,' quoth he, 'my mind is never a whit on that.' 'By our Lord,' quoth I, 'I well believe you; even so me-thinks by your cheer. But, sir, will you hear one thing? Me-thinks I see you in great sorrow, but certes, sir, if you will at all discover your woe to me, I would amend it if I have the power, so may God help me! You can prove it by trial, for, by my troth, I will use all my power to make you whole. And tell me of your bitter sorrows; peradventure it may ease your heart, which seems full sick in your breast.' With that he glanced at me aside, as who should say, 'Nay, that can never be.' 'Gramercy, good friend, I thank you,' quoth he, 'that you have such a desire, but it can never the more be done. No man can gladden my sorrow, which causes my fresh look to droop and fade, and has so ruined mine understanding that woe is me that I was ever born! Nothing can make my sorrows pass; not the Remedium of Ovid, nor Orpheus god of melody, nor Dedalus with cunning devices; nor can physician heal

me, not Hippocrates or Galen. Woe is me that I live a day! But whosoever would make assay of himself, whether his heart can have pity of any sorrow, let him see me. I wretch, whom death has made naked of all bliss that was ever, who am become most miserable of all men, who hate my days and my nights! My life, my pleasures, are loathsome to me, for all welfare and I are at odds. Death itself is my enemy; though I would die, it will not so. For when I follow, it flies from me; I would have it, it will not have me. This is my cureless torment, ever dying, and never dead; so that Sisyphus lying in hell knows no more sorrow. And, by my troth, whosoever knew all my bitter sorrows, if he had not compassion for them, must have a fiendish heart. For whoso sees me first in the morn, may say he has met with sorrow, for I am sorrow, and sorrow is I. 'Alas! I will tell thee why; my song is turned into lamentation, and all my laughter to weeping, my glad thoughts to heaviness, mine ease and eke my rest into travail; my weal is woe, my good is evil; and evermore my sport is turned into ugly pain and my delight into mourning; my health is turned into sickness, all my security into dread ; all my light is become darkness, my wit is folly, my day is night, my love is hate, my sleep is waking, my mirth and eating are fasting, mine aspect is foolishness and is all confounded wheresoever I am; my peace is turned into contention and war. Alas how could I fare worse? My boldness is turned into abasement, for false Fortune has played a game of chess with me, alack the day! The traitress false and guileful, who promises everything and performs nothing, she walks upright, yet she walks lame; she looks foully and askew, yet shows fair looks; the cruel gracious one, who scorns many a creature ! An image she is, falsely portrayed ; for she will quickly swerve aside. She is the monster's head, covered; as filth strewn over with flowers. Her greatest glory and flower of honor is to lie; for that is her nature. Without faith, law or restraint, she is false; and ever laughing with one eye and weeping with the other. That which is set aloft, she puts all down. I liken her to the scorpion, a false, flattering beast; for with his head he makes cheer, but amid all his flattery he will sting and envenom with his tail, and so will she. She is the envious charity that is ever false, and seems goodly ; so she turns her false wheel about, now to one side the hall, now at the other, for it is never steadfast. Full many a man has she thus blinded. She is a delusion of enchantment, which seems the same and is not-, the false thief!' 'What has she done, trow you? By our Lord, I will tell you. She played at chess with me; with her divers false moves she stole upon me and took my queen. And when I saw my queen gone, alas! I could play no longer, but said, "Farewell, sweet, in truth, and farewell all that ever there is!" Therewith Fortune said, "Check! " and then "Checkmate!" in the middle of the board, with a roving pawn, alas! She was more skillful at play than Attalus - so he was named-, who first made the game of the chess. But would God I had once or twice known and understood the problems that the Greek Pythagoras knew thereby I had played the better at chess, and the better had guarded my queen. And yet to what end? Truly I hold that wish not worth a straw. It had been never the better for me. For Fortune knows so many a fetch that there be but few who can beguile her. And eke for another cause she is the less to blame; before God) I myself would have done likewise, had I been in her place; she ought the more to be excused. For this I say, had I been God and could have had my will, when she captured my queen, I should have made the same move; for, so God save my soul, I dare well swear she took the best!

'But I have lost my bliss through that move; alas that I was born! For evermore, I truly believe, in spite of my will, my pleasure is wholly at an end; but yet what is to be done? By our Lord, it is to die quickly! In spite of all I give not up the thought, but live and die therein. There is no planet in the firmament, or element in the air or earth, that gives me not the gift of weeping, when I am alone. For when I consider well, and bethink me how nothing is owing me in mine account with sorrow; and how there remains no gladness which may gladden me in my distress, and how I have lost content and have no pleasance left; then I may say, nought remains at all. And when all this falls into my mind, alas! then I am overwhelmed! For what is done is not still to come. I have more sorrow than Tantalus.' When I heard him tell this tale so piteously as I have told you, scarce could I abide longer, it did my heart so much grief. 'Ah, good sir!' quoth I, 'Say not so. Have some pity on that nature which makes you a living man! Remember Socrates; for he cared not three straws for aught that Fortune could do.' 'No,' quoth he, 'I cannot do thus.' 'Why so, good sir?' quoth I. 'Perdy! say not so, for in sooth, though you had lost the twelve pieces, if you murdered yourself for sorrow, you should be condemned in this case as justly as Medea was, who slew her children for Jason (and Phyllis also hanged herself for Demophon, alackaday! because he broke his appointed time to come to her). Another frenzied lover was Dido, queen of Carthage, who slew herself because Aeneas was false. Ah! what a fool she was! And Echo died because Narcissus would not love her; and even so has many another wrought folly. And Samson, who slew himself by means of a pillar, died because of Dalilah. But there is none alive on earth who would make this woe for a queen at chess!' 'Why?' quoth he. 'It is not thus. You know full little what you say. I have lost more than you ween.' 'Lo, sir,' quoth I, 'how can that be? Good sir, tell me all wholly in what wise, how, why, and wherefore you have thus lost your bliss.' 'Blithely,' quoth he, 'come sit down. I tell you upon the condition that with all your understanding you give your whole mind to hearken to it. - Yes, sir.' - 'Pledge your faith thereto.' -'Gladly.' - 'Keep to it then.' - 'So may God save me, I shall right blithely hear you, as well as I can, with all the whole wit I have.' 'In God's name!' quoth he, and began: 'Sir,' quoth he, from my youth, since first I had any manner of wit or natural understanding to comprehend in my own wit what love was in any wise, without fail I have ever been wholly subject to love, and have paid tribute with devoted mind, and by reason of his pleasantness have become his vassal with good will and body, heart and all. All this I put in his service, as to my lord, and did homage, and full devoutly prayed him that he should so bestow my heart that it were pleasance to him and worship to my dear lady. And it was long ago that I did this and knew not why, and many a year before my heart was fixed anywhere; I trow it came to me of nature. Peradventure I was ready for that impressure as a white wall or a tablet; for it is ready to catch and receive all that men will put thereon, whether they will portray or paint, be the works never so curious. And at the time I did so, I was able to have learned and understood another art or book-lore, peradventure, as well as love or better. But because love came first into my mind, therefore I forgot it

not. I chose love for my first craft, therefore it remains with me; because I received it when I was so young that evil had not then turned my mind to be nothing worth through learning too much. For then Youth, my mistress, ruled me in idleness; for it was my first youth, and I then knew full little good. All my acts were volatile, and all my thoughts varying; all that I knew then was alike good to me. But thus it was. 'On a day it happed that I came into a place where truly I saw the fairest company of ladies that ever man had seen with eye together in one spot. Shall I call it hap or grace that brought me there? Nay, but Fortune, who is full prone to lie, the false, perverse traitress! Would God I might call her by a fouler name! For now she makes me full sad; and I will tell why ere long. Amongst all these ladies I saw one, in sooth, that was like none other in the whole company; for I dare verily swear that as the summer's shining sun is fairer, clearer, and has more light for all the world than any planet which is in the sky, - the moon, or the seven stars, so she surpassed them all in beauty, in demeanor and comeliness, in stature, in seemly gladness, so well endowed with goodliness, -in brief, what more shall I say? By God and His holy apostles, it was my sweet one, her very self! She had such a steadfast aspect, such a noble port and demeanor! And Love, who had heard my prayer, had cast his eye on me thus soon; anon she was so fixed in my mind, and so suddenly, that I took no manner of counsel but from her look and from my heart; because her eyes, I trow, looked in such gladness on my heart that mine own mind only said it were better to serve her for naught than to stand well with another. And it was true, for I will straightway tell you why, every whit. 'I saw her so comely on the dance, so sweetly carol and sing, laugh and sport so girlishly, and look so gently, speak so amiably and well, that certes I trow nevermore was seen so blessed a treasure. Every hair on her head, sooth to say, was not yellow, or red, or brown; methought it was most like gold. And what eyes my lady had ! Gentle, good, glad, steadfast, simple, of good size, not too wide; and eke her look was not sideloug nor askance, but so simply direct that it drew and quite took up all that looked upon her. Anon her eyes seemed as if she would have mercy; fools thought it; but it was never the more so. It was no feigned thing, but her very own manner of looking, that the goddess, dame Nature, had made them open not too much, and gently close; for were she never so glad, her gaze was not spread wide in folly; nor wildly, though she were in mirth. But methought her eyes ever said, "By God, my wrath is all given over!" 'She had eke such joy in life that dullness was afraid of her. She was not too grave nor too glad; never creature, I trow, had more measure in all things. But she hurt many an one with her glance, and that oppressed her heart full little, for she knew naught of their thoughts; but whether she knew or not, at all events she cared for them not a straw. He who dwelt at home was no nearer to get her love than he who was in Ind; the foremost was alway in the rear. But good folk she loved before all, as a man may love his brother; of which love she was wondrous liberal, in places where reason would have it so. 'And what a visage she had! Alas, mine heart is wondrous woful that I cannot describe it! I want both the language and the wit to portray it perfectly, and eke my spirits he dull to describe so great a thing; I have no wit sufficient to comprehend her beauty. But thus much I dare say, that she was ruddy,

'Her face was nigh the best feature of all; for certes Nature had such delight to make that fair, that truly my love was her chief pattern of beauty and chief ensample and type of her work; for however dark it be, evermore methinks I see her. And moreover, though all those that ever lived were now alive, they should not have discerned one evil sign in all her face; for it was grave, simple and kind. 'And what a goodly soft language had that sweet physician of my life ! -.so friendly, so wise, so firmly based upon all reason and so inclinable to all virtue, that I dare swear by the rood that never was found such a sweet~sounding fluency of speech, nor truer-tongued, nor less scornful, nor more healing, so that I durst swear by the mass, though the pope sang it, that never was man or woman greatly hurt through her tongue; as for her, all trouble hid from her. Never was less fiattenng than in her words, so that her simple testimony was found as true as any bond or as the pledge of any man's hand. And she could not chide a whit; that all the world knows full well. And such a fair neck had that sweet one that no bone or blemish was to be seen that misbecame her. It was white, smooth and straight, without hollow; and collar-bone to all seeming had she none. Her throat, as I can recall, seemed a round tower of ivory, of proper size, not too great. 'And good, fair White she was called; that was my lady's very name. She was both fair and bright, she had not her name wrongly. She had right fair shoulders, and long body and arms, every limb plump and round but not overlarge; hands full white and pink nails, round breasts, a straight, flat back, and hips of good breadth. I knew no manner of defect in her, that her limbs were not all in accord, so far as I could know. 'And she could disport herself so well when she would, that I say she was like to a shining torch, from which every man can have light in plenty, and it has none the less. In manner and comeliness even so was it with my dear lady; for any wight, if he would and had eyes to behold her, might take joy enough in her bearing. For I dare swear if she had been amongst ten thousand, in the eyes of men that could judge she would have been at the least a chief glass of fashion of all the company, though they had stood on a row. For wheresoever folk made merry and out-watched the night, methought the fellowship barer without her, as I saw once, than a crown without gems. Truly to mine eyes she was the solitary phoenix of Araby, for there is never but one alive; and never knew I such an one as she. 'To speak of goodness, truly she had as much gentleness as ever had Esther in the Bible, and more, if more could be. And therewithal in sooth she had a wit so broad, so wholly inclined to all virtue, that by the rood all her understanding was without malice and set upon joyous things; in addition, I never yet saw one less hurtful than she in her acts. I say not that she had no knowledge what evil was; else methinks she had had no ripe judgment. 'And verily, to speak of faithfulness, it had been pity if she had not had that ! Thereof she had so full a share, I dare say it, and swear to it well, that Faith himself had chosen to set his principal manor, his abiding-place, in her above all others. Therewith she had the greatest gift of steadfast constancy and unconstrained temperate selfcontrol that I ever yet knew, so wholly long-suffering was she, and so gladly would hear reason; it well followed that she knew how to rule her life, and loved to do well. This was her disposition, every whit. Therewith she so well loved right she would do no wrong to any person; yet no wight could do her shame, she loved so well her own fair repute. She would delude no honest wight, nor by half word or look hold him in

suspense, be sure; nor send a man into Wallachia, Prussia nor Tartary, Alexandria nor Turkey, and anon bid him strictly to go bareheaded to the dry sea and come home by the Carrenare; nor say, "Sir, see now that I hear worship of you, ere you come again. " She gave rein to no such little freaks. 'But to what end tell I my tale? On this very one, as I have said, was all my love wholly placed ; for certes, that sweet woman, she was my sufficiency, my pleasure, my life, my fortune, my health, and all my bliss, my worldly welfare and comfort; and I was entirely hers, every whit.' 'By our Lord,' quoth I, 'I well believe you! In faith your love was well bestowed ; I wot not how you might have done better.' 'Better? No wight could have done so well!' quoth he. 'Perdy,' quoth I, ' I trow it, sir.' 'Nay, believe it well.' 'Sir, so I do; I well believe you that you truly thought she was the best and the very fairest to behold, for whosoever had looked with your eyes.' 'With mine? Nay, all that saw her said so, and swore to it. And though they had not, I should still have ]oved best my noble lady, though I had had all the beauty that ever Alcibiades had, and all the strength of Hercules; besides bad all the worthiness of Alexander, and all the wealth that ever was in Babylon or Carthage or Macedonia, or in Rome or Nineve; and eke, as I hope to be saved, had been as hardy as Hector, whom Achilles slew at Troy (and for that deed Achilles was slain also in a temple ; for the two were slain, both he and Archilochus, for love of Polyxena, and so says Dares Phrygius); or had I been as wise as Minerva, I should ever have loved her, without doubt, for I must needs. "Needs! " Nay, I speak idly now; not "needs. " I will tell why; it was because my heart desired it with its own free will, and eke I was bound to love her as the fairest and best. She was as good as ever was Penelope of Greece, or Lucrece, the noble wife who was the best of wives - he tells thus, the Roman Titus Livius ; she was as good as they, as I hope for salvation, and had no equal, though their stories be authentic at least she was as faithful as Lucrece. 'But wherefore tell I how I first saw my lady? I was right young, sooth to say, and had full great need to learn; when my heart longed to love, it was a great emprise. But as my wit could best, after my young, childish understanding, I set it verily to love her in my best fashion, to do her such honor and service as I then could, by my faith, without feigning or sloth; for wondrous fain I was to see her. So much it relieved me that when I saw her first in the morn, I was healed of all my sorrow for the whole day thereafter, till it were eve ; methought nothing could hurt me, were my sorrows never so bitter. And so she still holds my heart that, by my troth, I would not let niy lady out of my thought for all this world; no, in truth!' 'Now by my troth, sir,' quoth, I, 'methinks you fare as one who confesses without repentance. 'Repentance!' quoth he; 'Nay! fie! Should I now repent me of loving? Nay, certes; then I were worse than Achitophel, or Antenor, the traitor who betrayed Troy, as I

hope for bliss!-or the false Ganelon, he that procured the betrayal of Roland and Oliver. Nay! Whilst I am alive on earth I shall forget her nevermore.' 'Now, good sir,' quoth I, 'you have told it me already -there is no need to rehearse it again -, how you first saw her, and where; but if you would tell me the manner of your first words to her, for that I would beseech you; and how she first knew your mind, whether you loved her or no; and eke tell me what you have lost, which I have heard you tell of.' 'Yea,' said he, 'you know not what you say. I have lost more than you ween.' 'What loss is that ? ' quoth I. 'Will she not love you? Is it thus? Or have you done aught amiss, so that she has left you? Is this it? For God's love, tell me all.' 'Before God, so I shall,' quoth he. 'I say even as I have said: all my love was placed on her. And yet long time she knew of it never a whit, believe me well ; for be right sure, I durst not tell her my mind for all this world, nor would I have angered her, truly. Knowest thou why? She was ruler of my body; she held the heart, and he whose heart is held cannot escape. 'But to keep me from idleness, truly I busied myself in making songs, as best I knew how, and oftentimes sang them aloud. And I made many songs, though I could not make them so well, nor knew all the art, as could Tubal, Lamech's son, who first invented the art of song; for as his brother's hammers rang to and fro on his anvil, from that he took the first melody; but the Greeks say that Pythagoras was the first inventor of the art Aurora tells so. But no matter for that, as to the two of them. At all events, thus I put my feeling into songs, to gladden my heart; and lo ! this was the first - I know not whether it were the best: Lord but mine heart it maketh light When I think on that sweetest wight, A comely one to see; And wish to God it might so he That she would hold me for her knight, My lady, fair and bright 'Now, I have told you my first song. Upon a day I bethought me what woe and sorrow I was suffering for her then, and yet she knew it not, nor durst I tell her my mind. "Alas ! thought I, "I know no remedy, and unless I tell her, I am but a dead man; and if I tell her, verily I am afeared she will be wroth. Alas! what shall I do then?" In this debate I was so woful, methought mine heart would burst in twain. So at last, I bethought me in sooth that Nature never formed in a living being so much beauty and goodness without kindness. In hope of that, I told my story, from necessity, and with sorrow, as if should never have done so; maugre my head, I must needs tell her or die. I wot not well how I began ; I can repeat it but ill. And eke, so God help me, I trow it was on an unlucky day, as the days of the ten plagues of Egypt. For I missed many a word in my tale from pure fear lest my words were misplaced. With sorrowful heart and deadly wounds, timid and quaking from very fear and shame, and stopping ever

and anon in my words for dread, my hue all pale, full often I waxed both pale and red; I bent my face down before her, I durst not once look at her, for wit and assurance all were fled. I cried Mercy ! " and no more. It was no sport, it was bitter pain. At last when my courage was returned, to relate my words shortly, I besought her with my whole heart to be my sweet lady; and swore and heartily promised her ever to be steadfast and loyal, and to love her ever afresh and anew, and never to have other lady, and to protect all her honor as best I could; I swore that to her, - "because yours for evermore is all that ever there is in me, my sweet heart! And never will I be false to you, unless in a dream - so surely may God help me!" 'And when I had finished my tale, God wot she counted it all not worth a straw, methought. To tell it briefly as it was, her answer in truth was this ; I cannot now follow her words well, but this was the substance of her answer; she said " nay, utterly. Alack for the sorrow and woe I suffered then ! Truly Cassandra, who so bewailed the destruction of Ilium and Troy, had never such sorrow as I that day. For very fear I durst say no more, but stole off. And thus I lived for full many a day, so that truly I had no need any day to seek for sorrow farther than my bed's head; I found it at hand every morn, because it was in no fickleness I loved her. It so befell, in another year I thought once I would try to make her know and understand my woe, and she well perceived that I desired naught but what was good and worshipful, and above all things to guard her good name and dread any dishonor for her, and that I was full eager to serve her; and it were pity I should die, since truly I desired no evil. So when my lady knew it, she gave me all wholly the noble gift of her favor, always saving her honor, certes, I mean no otherwise. And therewith she gave me a ring; I trow it was the first gift. But whether my heart was glad is no need to ask! So God help me, I was straightway raised as from death to life, of all haps the best, the gladdest and the most peaceful. For truly, that sweet creature, when I was in the wrong and she in the right, she would ever forgive me full graciously and kindly. In all my youth, in all hazard, she took me under her rule. 'Therewith she was alway so true, our joy was ever and alike fresh. Our hearts were so perfect a pair that never for any woe was the one counter to the other. In sooth they both felt alike one joy and eke one sorrow; they were both alike glad or troubled; verily all was the same to both. And thus we lived many a year, - so well, I cannot tell how well.' 'Sir, ' quoth I, 'where is she now?' 'Now!' he said, and stopped straightway. Then he waxed as deathlike to see as a stone, then said, 'Alas that I was born! That was the loss which I before told you I had suffered. Remember how I said before, "You know full little what you say I have lost more than you ween. " God wot,alas, it was she!' 'Alack, sir, and how? What are you saying?' 'She is dead!' 'Nay !' 'Yes, by my troth!'

'Is that your loss! By God, it is a grievous thing!' And anon at that word the hunters began to range forth; it was all done, the harthunting, for that time. Upon that, methought, this king rode homeward to a place hard by, but a little distance from us, a long castle with white walls, by Saint John! On a rich hill, as I dreamed; thus it was. Right thus I dreamed, as I relate it to you, - that there was a bell in the castle, which seemed to strike the twelfth hour. At that I awoke, and found myself lying in my bed ; and the book that I had been reading, of Alcyone and king Ceyx and of the gods of sleep, I found it even in my hand. Thought I, this is so rare a dream, that as the days go by I will strive to put it into rhyme as best I can, and that anon. This was my dream; now it is ended. Explicit the Book of the Duchess.