The booke of the Duchesse made by Geffrey Chawcyer at ye request of ye duke of lancastar: pitiously complaynynge the deathe of ye sayd duchesse/ blanche/

I Haue grete wonder/ be this lyghte
How that I lyve/ for day ne nyghte
I may nat slepe/ wel nygh noght
I have so many/ an ydel thoght
Purely/ for defaulte of slepe
That by my trouthe/ I take no kepe
Of noo thinge/ how hyt cometh or gooth
Ne me nys no thynge/ leve nor looth
Al is ylyche goode/ to me
Ioy or sorowe/ wherso hyt be
ffor I haue felynge/ in no thynge
But as yt were/ a mased thynge
Alway in poynt/ to falle a dovun'
ffor sorwful/ ymagynacioun'
Ys alway hooly/ in my mynde
And wel ye woote/ agaynes kynde
Hyt were to lyven'/ in thys wyse
ffor nature/ wolde nat suffyse
To noon' ertherly/ creature
Nat longe tyme/ to endure
With oute slepe/ and be in sorwe
And I ne may/ no nyght ne morwe
Slepe/ and thys Melancolye
And drede I haue/ for to dye
Defaulte of slepe/ and hevynesse
Hath my spirite/ of quyknesse
That I haue loste/ al lustyhede
Suche fantasies/ ben in myn' hede
So I not what/ is best too doo
But men' myght axeme/ why soo
I may not sleepe, and what me is
But nathles, whoe aske this
Leseth his asking trewly
My seluen can not tell why
The southe, but trewly as I gesse
I hold it be a sicknes
That I haue suffred this eight yeere
And yet my boote is neuer the nere

For there is phisicien but one
That may me heale, but that is done
Passe we ouer vntill efte
That will not be, mote nedes be lefte
Our first mater is good to kepe
Soe when I sawe I might not slepe
Til now late, this other night
Vpon my bedde I sate vpright
And bade one reche me a booke
A Romaunce, and it me toke
To rede, and driue the night away
For me thought it beter play
Then play either at Chesse or tables
And in this boke were written fables
That Clerkes had in olde tyme
And other poets put in rime
To rede, and for to be in minde
While men loued the lawe in kinde
This boke ne speake, but of such thinges
Of quenes liues, and of kings
And many other things smalle
Amonge all this I fonde a tale
That me thought a wonder thing.
This was the tale: There was a king
That hight Seyes, and had a wife
The best that might beare lyfe
And this quene hight Alcyone
Soe it befill, thereafter soone
This king woll wenden ouer see
To tellen shortly, whan that he
Was in the see, thus in this wise
Soche a tempest gan to rise
That brake her maste, and made it fal
And cleft ther ship, and dreint hem all
That neuer was founde, as it telles
Borde ne man, ne nothing elles
Right thus this king Seyes loste his life
Now for to speake of Alcyone his wife
This Lady that was left at home
Hath wonder, that the king ne come
Home, for it was a long terme
Anone her herte began to yerne
And for that her thought euermo
It was not wele, her thought soe
She longed soe after the king
That certes it were a pitous thing
To tell her hartely sorowfull life
That she had, this noble wife
For him alas, she loued alderbeste
Anone she sent both eeste and weste
To seke him, but they founde nought
Alas (quoth shee) that I was wrought
And where my lord my loue be deed:
Certes I will neuer eate breede
I make a uowe to my god here
But I mowe of my Lord here.
Soche sorowe this Lady to her toke
That trewly I which made this booke

[Catchword:]Had such

Had suche pittee/ and suche rowthe
To rede hir sorwe/ that by my trowthe
I ferde the worse/ al the morwe
And aftir to thenken'/ on' hir sorwe
So whan' this lady/ koude here noo worde
That no man' myght/ fynde hir lorde
fful ofte she swovned/ and sayed alas
ffor sorwe/ ful nygh woode she was
Ne she koude/ no rede but oon'
But dovne on' knees/ she sate anoon'
And wepte/ that pittee was to here
A mercy/ swete lady dere
Quod she Iuno/ hir goddesse
Helpe me out/ of thys distresse
And yeve me grace/ my lord to se
Soone/ or wete wher so he be
Or how he fareth/ or in what wise
And I shal make/ yowe sacrifise
And hooly youres/ become I shal
With good wille/ body hert and al
And but thow wilte/ this lady swete
Sende me grace/ to slepe and mete
In my slepe/ some certeyn' sweven'
Wher thorgh that I may/ knowe even'
Whethir my lorde/ be quyke or ded
With that worde/ she henge don' the hed
And felle A swowne/ and colde as ston'
Hyr women' kaught hir/ vp anoon'
And broghten' hir/ in bed al naked
And she forweped/ and for waked
Was wery/ and thus the ded slepe
ffil on' hir/ or she tooke kepe
Throgh Iuno/ that had herde hir bone
That made hir/ to slepe sone
ffor as she prayede/ ryght so was done
In dede/ for Iuno ryght anone

Called thus/ hir messagere
To doo hir erande/ and he come nere
Whan' he was come/ she bad hym thus
Go bet quod Iuno/ to Morpheus
Thou knowest hym wel/ the god of slepe
Now vnderstonde wel/ and take kepe
Sey thus on' my halfe/ that he
Go faste/ in to the grete se
And byd hym/ that on' al thynge
That he take vp/ Seys body the kynge
That lyeth ful pale/ and no thynge rody
Bud hym crepe/ in to the body
And doo hit goon'/ to Alchione
The quene ther she/ lyeth allone
And shewe hir shortly/ hit ys no nay
How hit was dreynt/ thys other day
And do the body/ speke ryght soo
Ryght as hyt was/ woned to doo
The whiles that hit/ was a lyve
Goo now faste/ and hye the blyve
This messager/ toke leve and went
Vpon' hys wey/ and never ne stent
Til he come/ to the derke valey
That stant betwex/ Roches twey
Ther neuer yet/ grew corne ne gras
Ne tre ne noght/ that oughte was
Beste ne man'/ ne noght elles
Save ther were/ a fewe welles
Came rennynge/ fro the clyffes a don'
That made a dedely/ slepynge son'
And Ronnen' don'/ ryght by a cave
That was vnder/ a rokke y grave
Amydde the valey/ wonder depe
There these goddys/ lay and slepe
Morpheus/ and Eclympasteyre
That was the god/ of slepes eyre

That slepe and did/ noon' other werke
This cave was/ also as derke
As helle pitte/ ouer al a boute
They had good leyser/ for to route
To envye/ who myght slepe beste
Some henge her chyn/ vpon' hir breste
And slept vpryght/ hir hed y hedde
And some lay naked/ in her bedde
And slepe whiles/ the dayes laste
This messager/ come fleynge faste
And cried .O. how/ a wake anoon'
Hit was for noght/ there herde hym non'
A wake quod he/ whoo ys lythe there
And blew his horne/ ryght in here heere
And cried a waketh/ wonder hye
This god of slepe/ with hys on' ye
Caste vp and axed/ who clepeth there
Hyt am I/ quod this messagere
Iuno bad/ thow shuldest goon'
And tolde hym/ what he shulde doon'
As I have tolde yow/ here to fore
Hyt ys no nede/ reherse hyt more
And went hys wey/ whan' he had sayede
Anoon' this god/ of slepe abrayede
Out of hys slepe/ and gan' to goon'
And dyd as he/ had bede hym doon'
Tooke vp the dreynt/ body sone
And bare hyt forth/ to Alchione
Hys wife the quene/ ther as she lay
Ryght even a quarter/ before day
And stood ryght/ at hys beddys fete
And called hir/ ryght as she hete