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Never before the year 1597 printed, that which heretofore

bath gone under the name of his Dreame is The Book of the Ducbelle, or, The Death of Blanch Duuchilie of Lancafier.


hen Flora, the quene of Plesaunce,
Had whole achievid th'obeysaunce
Of the fresh and the new seson
'Thorow out every region,
And with her mantle whole covert
That wintir madę had discovert,
Of avinture withoutin light
In May I lay upon a night
Alone, and on my lady thought,
And how the Lord that her ywrought,

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Chaucer's Dreame] This Dreame, devised by Chaucer, remeth to be a covert report of the mariage of John of Gaunt, the king's sonne, with Blanch the daughter of Henry Duke of Lancatter, who after long love (during the time wheroi the poet faineth them to be dead) were in th: er } by conferit of friends happily maried, figured by a bird bringing in her billan hearbe which reitored them to lyfe againe. Here also is thewed Chau. cer's match with a certain gentlewoman, who although the was a Itranger was notwithstanding so well liked and loved of the Lady Blanch and her lord, as Chancer himselfe also was, ibat gladiy they concluded a marriage betweene mbem. Urry,




Couth well entayle in imagery,
And Thewid had grete maistiry,
When he in so litil a space
Made such a body and a face,
So grete beautie with swich fetures,
More than in orhir creätures;
And in my thoughtis as I lay
Within a lodge out of the way,
Beside a well in a forest,
Where aftir hunting I teke reft,
Nature and kind fo in me wrought
That halfe on slope they me ybrought,
And gan to dreme to my thinking
With mind of knowliche like making,
For what I dremid, as me thought,
I saw it, and I Deptin nought,
Wherefore is yet my full beleve
That some gode spirit that ilke eve,
By mene of some curions port,
Bare me where I saw payne and sport;
But whether it were I woke or flept
Well wot I oft I lough ånd wept;
Wherefore I wollen semembraunce
Put whole the payne'and the plesaunce,
Which was to me axin and hele;
Would God ye wist it everydele,
Or at the left ye might o night
Of fuch anothir have a fight,



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Although it were to you a payne,
Yet on the mo'row ye would be fayne,
And wish that it might long endure,
Then might ye say ye had gode cure,
For he that dremes and wenes he fe
Mochil the bettir yet maie he
Ywit what, and of whom, and where,
And eke the lasse it woll hindere
To thinke I se this with mine eene,
Iwis this may not dremè kene,
But figne or a signifiaunce
Of hafty thing souning plefaunce;
For on this wife upon a night,
As ye have herd, withoutin light,
Not all wakyng ne full on flepe,
About such hour as lovirs wepe
And crie aftir ther ladies grace,
Befell me tho this wondir cace,
Which ye shall here, and all the wise,
So wholly as I can devise:
In playne English evill writtin,
For slepe writir, well ye wittin,
Excufid is though he do mis.
More than one whiche that waking is,
Wherefore here of your gentilneffe
I you requyre my boiftousnesse
Ye lettin passe as thingè rude,
And herith what I woll conclude,




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And of the’endityng taketh no hede,
Ne of the termes, so God you spede,
But let all passe as nothing were,
For thus befell, as you fhall here. ' 1

Within an yle methought I was
Where wall and yate was all of glasse,
And so was closid round about 12.11
That leveleffe none come in ne out,
Uncouth and ftraungè to behold,
For every yate of fine gold...
A thousand fanis aie turning
Entunid had, and briddes fingiogo.
Divers, and on eche fané a paire
With opin mouth again the aire;w
And of a sute were all the toures,
Subtily corvin aftir floures, :
Of uncouth colours during ayė,
That nevir ben none sene in May,
With many a small turret hie;
But man on live could I non fie,
Ne creturis, save ladies play,
Which werin such of ther array
That as me thought of godelihed
They pafleden all and womanhed,
For to behold them daunce and ling
It semid like none crthly thing,
Such was ther uncouth countinaunce
In every play of right usauace,


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