A.

ALMIGHTY and all merciable queene,

To whom all this world fleeth for succour
To have release of sinne, of sorrow, of tene,
Glorious Virgine of all flouris flour!
To thee I flee, confounded in errour,
Helpe and releeve, almighty debonaire !
Have mercy of mine perillous langour!
Venquist me hath my cruell adversaire.

B.

Bounty so fixe hath in my herte his tent,
That well I wote thou will my succour be,
Thou canst not warn that with good entent,
Axeth thine helpe, thine herte is aye so free:
Thou art largesse of plaine felicite,
Haven and refute of quiete and of rest;
Lo, how that thevis seven chasen me !
Helpe, lady bright, or that mine ship to brest!

C.

Comfort is none, but in you, lady dere,
For lo, mine sinne and mine confusioun,
Which ought not in thine presence for to apere,
Han taken on me a greevous actioun,
Of veray right and disperatioun,

And, as by right, they mighten well sustene
That I were worthy mine damnatioun,
Nere mercy of you, blisfull quene !

D.

Dout is there none, queen of misericord,
That thou n'art cause of grace and mercy here,
God vouchedsafe through thee with us to accord:
For certis, Christ is blisful modir dere,
Were now the bow bent in swiche manere,
As it was first of justice and of ire,
The rightfull God would of no mercy here:
But through thee han we grace as we desire.
E.

Ever hath mine hope of refute in thee be
For here beforne full oft, in many a wise,
Unto mercy hast thou received me,
But mercy, lady, at the great assise,
Whan we shall come before the high justise,
So little frute shall than in me ben found,
That but thou or that day correct me,
Of very right mine werk will me confound.

F.

Flying, I flee for succour to thine tent,
Me for to hide fro tempest full of drede,
Beseking you, that ye you not absent,
Though I be wicke: O help yet at this nede!
All have I been a beast in wit and dede,
Yet lady, thou mee close in with thine own grace!
Thine enemy and mine, lady take hede,
Unto mine death in point is me to chase.

G.

Gracious maid and modir, which that never
Were bitter nor in earth nor in see,
But full of sweetnesse and of mercy ever,
Help, that mine fader be not wroth with me!
Speake thou, for I ne dare him not see,
So have I done in earth, alas the while,
That certes but if thou mine succour be,
To sinke eterne he will mine ghost exile.

H.

He vouchedesafe, tell him, as was his will,
Become a man as for our alliaunce,
And with his blood he wrote that blisfull bill
Upon the crosse, as generall acquitaunce
To every penitent in full criaunce:
And, therefore, lady bright, thou for us prey,
Than shalt thou stent all his greevaunce,
And maken our foe to failen of his prey.

I.

I wote well thou wilt been our succour,
Thou art so full of bounty in certaine,
For whan a soule falleth in errour,
Thine pity goeth, and haleth him againe,
Than maketh thou his peace with his soverain,
And bringest him out of the crooked strete:
Who so thee loveth shall not love in vaine,
That shall he find, as he the life shall lete.

K.

Kalenderis enlumined been they,

That in this world been lighted with thine name,
And who so goeth with thee the right wey,
Him that not drede in soule to been lame.
Now, queen of comfort, sith thou art the same
To whom I seech for my medicine,

Let not mine fo no more mine wound entame,
Mine hele into thine hond all I resine.

OR

I HAVE great wonder by this light,
How I live, for day ne night
I may not sleepe welnigh nought;
I have so many an idle thought,
Purely for default of sleepe,
That, by my trouth, I take no keepe
Of nothing, how it commeth or gothe.
To me n'is nothing lefe nor lothe,
All is yliche good to me,
Joy or sorrow, where so it be:
For I have feeling in nothing,
But as it were a mased thing,
All day in point to fall adoun,
For sorrowfull imaginaicoun
Is alway wholly in my minde.

And well ye wote, against kinde
It were to liven in this wise,
For nature would not suffise
To none earthly creature,
Not long time to endure

Without sleepe, and be in sorrow :
And I ne may, ne night ne morrow,
Sleepe, and this melancolie
And drede I have for to die,
Defaut of sleepe and heavinesse
Hath slaine my spirit of quickenesse,
That I have lost all lustyhead;
Such fantasies ben in mine head,
So I n'ot what is best to do:
But men might aske me why so
I may not sleepe, and what me is ?
But nathelesse, who aske this,
Leseth his asking truely,
My selven cannot tell why
The sooth, but truly as I gesse,

I hold it be a sickenesse

That I have suffred this eight yere, And yet my boot is never the nere : For there is phisicien but one,

That may me heale, but that is done : Passe we over untill efte,

That will not be mote needs be lefte; Our first matter is good to keepe.

So whan I saw I might not sleepe, Now of late this other night Upon my bed I sate upright, And bade one reach me a booke, A romaunce, and he it me tooke To rede, and drive the night away: For me thought it better play,

v. 1-100

Than either at chesse or tables.

And in this booke were written fables,
That clerkes had in old time,
And other poets put in rime,

To rede, and for to be in mind,

While men loved the law of Kinde.

This booke ne spake but of such things,

Of queenes lives, and of kings,
And many other things smale.
Among all this I found a tale,
That me thought a wonder thing.

This was the tale: There was a king
That hight Seys, and had a wife,
The best that might beare life,
And this queene hight Alcione.
So it befell, thereafter soone
This king woll wenden over see:
To tellen shortly, whan that he
Was in the see, thus in this wise,
Such a tempest gan to rise,
That brake her mast, and made it fall,
And cleft her ship, and dreint hem all,
That never was found, as it tels,
Bord, ne man, ne nothing els.
Right thus this king Seys lost his life.

Now for to speake of Alcione his wife :
This lady that was left at home,
Hath wonder that the king ne come
Home, for it was a long terme :
Anon her herte began to yerne,
And for that her thought evermo
It was not wele, her thought so,
She longed so after the king,
That certes it were a pitous thing
To tell her heartely sorrowfull life,
That she had, this noble wife,
For him, alas! she loved alderbest,
Anon she sent both east and west

To seeke him, but they found him nought.
"Alas," (quod she)" that I was wrought,
Whether my lord my love be dead,
Certes I nill never eat bread,

I make a vow to my God here,
But I mowe of my lord here."

Such sorrow this lady to her tooke,
That truly I that made this booke,
Had such pitie and such routh

To rede her sorrow, that by my trouth,

I farde the worse all the morrow

After, to thinken on her sorrow.

So whan this lady coud here no word That no man might find her lord, Full oft she swowned, and said "Alas!” For sorrow full nigh wood she was, Ne she coud no rede but one, But downe on knees she sate anone, And wept, that pitie were to here.

"A mercy, sweet lady dere !"
(Quod she) to Juno her goddesse,
'Helpe me out of this distresse,
And yeve me grace my lord to see
Soone, or wete where so he bee,
Or how he fareth or in what wise,
And I shall make you sacrifice,
And holy yours become I shall,
With good will, body, herte, and all;
And but thou wolt this, lady swete,
Send me grace to slepe and mete
In my sleepe some certain sweven,
Where through that I may know even
Whether my lord be quicke or dead."

With that word she hing downe the head,
And fell in a swowne, as cold as stone;
Her women caught her up anone,
And brought her in bed all naked,
And she, forweped and forwaked,
Was weary, and thus the dead sleepe
Fell on her or she tooke keepe,

Through Juno, that had heard her boone,
That made her to sleepe soone;
For as she praide, right so was done
Indeed, for Juno right anone
Called thus her messengere

To do her errand, and he come nere ;
Whan he was come she bad him thus:

"Go bet" (quod Juno) "to Morpheus, "Thou knowest him well, the god of sleepe, Now understand well, and take keepe; Say thus on my halfe, that hee Go fast into the great see, And bid him that on all thing He take up Seys body the king,

That lieth full pale, and nothing rody,
Bid him creepe into the body,
And do it gone to Alcione,
The queene, there she lieth alone,
And shew her shortly, it is no nay,
How it was dreint this other day,
And do the body speake right so,
Right as it was wonted to do,
The whiles that it was alive;
Go now fast, and hye thee blive."
This messenger took leve and went
Upon his way, and never he stent
Till he came to the darke valley
That stant betweene rockes twey,
There never yet grew corne ne gras,
Ne tree, ne naught that aught was,
Beast ne man, ne naught els,
Save that there were a few wels
Came renning fro the cliffes adowne,
That made a deadly sleeping sowne,
And rennen downe right by a cave,
That was under a rocke ygrave
Amid the valley wonder deepe,
There these goddes lay asleepe,
Morpheus and Eclympasteire,
That was the god of sleepes heire,
That slept, and did none other werke.
This cave was also as derke

As Hell pitte, over all about
They had good leyser for to rout,
To vye who might sleepe best,
Some hing hir chin upon hir brest,
And slept upright hir head yhed,
And some lay naked in hir bed,
And slept whiles their daies last.

This messenger come renning fast,
And cried "Ho, ho, awake anone!"
It was for nought, there heard him none.
"Awake!" (quod he)" who lieth there!"
And blew his horne right in hir ear,
And cried" Awaketh!" wonder hye.

This god of sleepe, with his one eye,
Cast up, and asked "Who clepeth there?"
"It am I," (quod this messengere)
"Juno bade thou shouldest gone,"
And told him what he should done,
As I have told you here before,
It is no need rehearse it more,

And went his way whan he had saide :
Anone, this god of slepe abraide
Out of his sleepe and gan to go,
And did as he had bidde him do ;
Tooke up the dead body soone,
And bare it forth to Alcyone,

His wife the queene, there as she lay,
Right even a quarter before day,
And stood right at her beds fete,
And called her right as she hete
By name, and said, "My swete wife,
Awake! let be your sorrowfull life,
For in your sorrow there lyeth no rede,
For certes, sweet love, I am but dede,
Ye shall me never on live ysee.
But, good sweet herte, looke that yee
Bury my body, for such a tide
Ye mowe it find the see beside,
And farewell sweet, my worlds blisse,
I pray God your sorrow lisse;
Too little while our blisse lasteth."

With that her eyen up she casteth,
And saw naught: "Alas!" (quod she) for sorrow,
And died within the third morrow.

But what she said more in that swowe,

I may not tell it you as now,

It were too long for to dwell;

My first mattere I will you tell,
Wherefore I have told you this thing,
Of Alcione, and Seis the king.
For thus much dare I say wele,

I had be dolven every dele,

And dead, right through defaut of sleepe,
If I ne had red, and take kepe
Of this tale next before,
And I will tell you wherefore,
For I ne might for bote ne bale
Sleepe, or I had redde this tale
Of this dreint Seis the king,
And of the gods of sleeping.

Whan I had red this tale wele,
And overlooked it everydele,
Me thought wonder if it were so,
For I had never heard speake or tho
Of no gods, that coud make
Men to sleepe, ne for to wake,
For I ne knew never God but one,
And in my game I said anone,
And yet me list right evill to pley,
Rather than that I should dey

Through defaut of sleeping thus,
I would give thilke Morpheus,
Or that goddesse dame Juno,
Or some wight els, I ne rought who,
To make me slepe and have some rest,
I will give him the alther best
Yeft, that ever he abode his live,
And here onward, right now as blive,
If he woll make me sleepe alite,
Of downe of pure doves white,
I woll yeve him a featherbed,
Raied with gold, and right well cled,
In fine blacke sattin d'outremere,
And many a pillow, and every bere,
Of cloth of raines to slepe on soft,
Him there not need to turne oft,
And I woll yeve him al that fals
To his chamber and to his hals,
I woll do paint with pure gold,
And tapite hem full manyfold,
Of one sute this shall he have
If I wist where were his cave,
If he can make me sleepe soone,
As did the goddesse queene Alcyone,
And thus this ilke god Morpheus
May win of me mo fees thus
Than ever he wan: and to Juno,
That is his goddesse, I shall so do,
I trowe that she shall hold her paid.
I had unneth that word ysaid,
Right thus as I have told you,
That suddainly I n'ist how,
Such a lust anone me tooke

To sleepe, that right upon my booke
I fell a sleepe, and therewith even
Me mette so inly such a sweven,
So wonderfull, that never yet
I trowe no man had the wit
To conne well my sweven rede.
No, not Joseph without drede
Of Egypt, he that rad so
The kinges meting, Pharao,

No more than coud the least of us.

Ne nat scarcely Macrobeus,
He that wrote all the avision
That he mette of king Scipion,
The noble man, the Affrican,
Such mervailes fortuned than,
I trow arede my dreames even,
Lo, thus it was, this was my sweven.
Me thought thus, that it was May,
And in the dawning there I lay,
Me mette thus in my bed all naked,
And looked forth for I was waked,
With smale foules a great hepe,
That had afraied me out of my slepe,
Through noise and sweetnesse of hir song,
And as me mette, they sat among
Upon my chamber roofe without
Upon the tyles over all about.
And everiche song in his wise
The most solemne servise
By note, that ever man I trow

Had heard, for some of hem sung low,
Some high, and all of one accord,
To tell shortly at o word,
Was never heard so sweet steven,
But it had be a thing of Heven,
So merry a sowne, so sweet entunes,
That certes for the towne of Tewnes

I n'olde but I had heard hem sing,
For all my chamber gan to ring,
Through singing of hir ermony,
For instrument nor melody

Was no where heard yet halfe so swete,
Nor of accord halfe so mete,

For there was none of hem that fained
To sing, for ech of hem him pained
To find out many crafty notes,
They ne spared nat hir throtes;
And, sooth to saine, my chamber was
Full well depainted, and with glas
Were all the windowes well yglased
Full clere, and nat an hole ycrased,
That to behold it was great joy,
For holy all the story of Troy
Was in the glaising ywrought thus,
Of Hector, and of king Priamus,
Of Achilles, and of king Laomedon,
And eke of Medea and Jason,
Of Paris, Heleine, and of Lavine,
And all the wals with colours fine
Were paint, both text and glose,
And all the Romaunt of the Rose;
My windowes weren shit echone,
And through the glasse the Sunne shone
Upon my bed with bright bemes,
With many glad glidy stremes,
And eke the welkin was so faire,
Blew, bright, clere was the aire,
And full attempre, for sooth it was,
For neyther too cold ne hote it n'as,
Ne in all the welkin was no cloud.

And as I lay thus, wonder loud
Me thought I heard a hunte blow
T'assay his great horne, and for to know
Whether it was clere, or horse of sowne.

And I heard going both up and downe
Men, horse, hounds, and other thing,
And all men speake of hunting,

How they would slee the hart with strength,
And how the hart had upon length
So much enbosed, I n'ot now what.

Anon right whan I heard that,
How that they would on hunting gone,
I was right glad, and up anone,
Tooke my horse, and forth I went
Out of my chamber, I never stent
Till I come to the field without,
There overtooke I a great rout
Of hunters and eke forresters,
And many relaies and limers,
And highed hem to the forrest fast,
And I with hem, so at the last

I asked one lad, a lymere,

"Say, fellow, who shall hunte here !" (Quod I) and he answered ayen,

"Sir, the emperour Octavien"

(Quod he) "and is here fast by."

"A goddes halfe, in good time," (quod I)
Go we fast, and gan to ride;
Whan we come to the forrest side,
Every man did right soone,
As to hunting fell to done.

The maister hunte, anone, fote hote
With his horne blew three mote
At the uncoupling of his houndis,
Within a while the hart found is,
Yhallowed, and rechased fast
Long time, and so, at the last,