BOOK I.

God turne us every dreem to gode! For hit is wonder, by the rode, To my wit, what causeth swevenes Either on morwes, or on evenes; 5 And why the effect folweth of somme, And of somme hit shal never come; Why that is an avisioun, And this a revelacioun; 10 Why this a dreem, why that a sweven, And nat to every man liche even; Why this a fantom, these oracles, I noot; but who-so of these miracles The causes knoweth bet than I, Devyne he; for I certeinly 15 Ne can hem noght, ne never thinke To besily my wit to swinke, To knowe of hir signifiaunce The gendres, neither the distaunce Of tymes of hem, ne the causes 20 For-why this more than that cause is; As if folkes complexiouns Make hem dreme of reflexiouns; Or elles thus, as other sayn, For to greet feblenesse of brayn, 25 By abstinence, or by seeknesse, Prison, stewe, or greet distresse; Or elles by disordinaunce Of naturel acustomaunce, That som man is to curious 30 In studie, or melancolious, Or thus, so inly ful of drede, That no man may him bote bede; Or elles, that devocioun Of somme, and contemplacioun 35 Causeth swiche dremes ofte; Or that the cruel lyf unsofte Which these ilke lovers leden That hopen over muche or dreden, That purely hir impressiouns 40 Causeth hem avisiouns; Or if that spirits have the might To make folk to dreme a-night Or if the soule, of propre kinde, Be so parfit, as men finde, 45 That hit forwot that is to come, And that hit warneth alle and somme Of everiche of hir aventures By avisiouns, or by figures, But that our flesh ne hath no might 50 To understonden hit aright, For hit is warned to derkly;— But why the cause is, noght wot I. Wel worthe, of this thing, grete clerkes, That trete of this and other werkes; 55 For I of noon opinioun Nil as now make mencioun, But only that the holy rode Turne us every dreem to gode! For never, sith that I was born, 60 Ne no man elles, me biforn, Mette, I trowe stedfastly, So wonderful a dreem as I The tenthe day [dide] of Decembre, The which, as I can now remembre, 65 I wol yow tellen every del. The Invocation. But at my ginning, trusteth wel, I wol make invocacioun, With special devocioun, Unto the god of slepe anoon, 70 That dwelleth in a cave of stoon Upon a streem that comth fro Lete, That is a flood of helle unswete; Besyde a folk men clepe Cimerie, Ther slepeth ay this god unmerie 75 With his slepy thousand sones That alway for to slepe hir wone is— And to this god, that I of rede, Preye I, that he wol me spede My sweven for to telle aright, 80 If every dreem stonde in his might. And he, that mover is of al That is and was, and ever shal, So yive hem Ioye that hit here Of alle that they dreme to-yere, 85 And for to stonden alle in grace Of hir loves, or in what place That hem wer levest for to stonde, And shelde hem fro povert and shonde, And fro unhappe and ech disese, 90 And sende hem al that may hem plese, That take hit wel, and scorne hit noght, Ne hit misdemen in her thoght Through malicious entencioun. And who-so, through presumpcioun, 95 Or hate or scorne, or through envye, Dispyt, or Iape, or vilanye, Misdeme hit, preye I Iesus god That (dreme he barfoot, dreme he shod), That every harm that any man 100 Hath had, sith [that] the world began, Befalle him therof, or he sterve, And graunte he mote hit ful deserve, Lo! with swich a conclusioun As had of his avisioun 105 Cresus, that was king of Lyde, That high upon a gebet dyde! This prayer shal he have of me; I am no bet in charite! Now herkneth, as I have you seyd, 110 What that I mette, or I abreyd. The Dream. Of Decembre the tenthe day, Whan hit was night, to slepe I lay Right ther as I was wont to done, And fil on slepe wonder sone, 115 As he that wery was for-go On pilgrimage myles two To the corseynt Leonard, To make lythe of that was hard. But as I sleep, me mette I was 120 Within a temple y-mad of glas; In whiche ther were mo images Of gold, stondinge in sondry stages, And mo riche tabernacles, And with perre mo pinacles, 125 And mo curious portreytures, And queynte maner of figures Of olde werke, then I saw ever. For certeynly, I niste never Wher that I was, but wel wiste I, 130 Hit was of Venus redely, The temple; for, in portreyture, I saw anoon-right hir figure Naked fletinge in a see. And also on hir heed, parde, 135 Hir rose-garlond whyt and reed, And hir comb to kembe hir heed, Hir dowves, and daun Cupido, Hir blinde sone, and Vulcano, That in his face was ful broun. 140 But as I romed up and doun, I fond that on a wal ther was Thus writen, on a table of bras: 'I wol now singe, if that I can, The armes, and al-so the man, 145 That first cam, through his destinee, Fugitif of Troye contree, In Itaile, with ful moche pyne, Unto the strondes of Lavyne.' And tho began the story anoon, 150 As I shal telle yow echoon. First saw I the destruccioun Of Troye, through the Greek Sinoun, [That] with his false forsweringe, And his chere and his lesinge 155 Made the hors broght into Troye, Thorgh which Troyens loste al hir Ioye. And after this was grave, allas! How Ilioun assailed was And wonne, and king Priam y-slayn, 160 And Polites his sone, certayn, Dispitously, of dan Pirrus. And next that saw I how Venus, Whan that she saw the castel brende, Doun fro the hevene gan descende, 165 And bad hir sone Eneas flee; And how he fledde, and how that he Escaped was from al the pres, And took his fader, Anchises, And bar him on his bakke away, 170 Cryinge, 'Allas, and welaway!' The whiche Anchises in his honde Bar the goddes of the londe, Thilke that unbrende were. And I saw next, in alle this fere, 175 How Creusa, daun Eneas wyf, Which that he lovede as his lyf, And hir yonge sone Iulo, And eek Ascanius also, Fledden eek with drery chere, 180 That hit was pitee for to here; And in a forest, as they wente, At a turninge of a wente, How Creusa was y-lost, allas! That deed, [but] noot I how, she was; 185 How he hir soughte, and how hir gost Bad him to flee the Grekes ost, And seyde, he moste unto Itaile, As was his destinee, sauns faille; That hit was pitee for to here, 190 Whan hir spirit gan appere, The wordes that she to him seyde, And for to kepe hir sone him preyde. Ther saw I graven eek how he, His fader eek, and his meynee, 195 With his shippes gan to sayle Toward the contree of Itaile, As streight as that they mighte go. Ther saw I thee, cruel Iuno, That art daun Iupiteres wyf, 200 That hast y-hated, al thy lyf, Al the Troyanisshe blood, Renne and crye, as thou were wood, On Eolus, the god of windes, To blowen out, of alle kindes, 205 So loude, that he shulde drenche Lord and lady, grome and wenche Of al the Troyan nacioun, Withoute any savacioun. Ther saw I swich tempeste aryse, 210 That every herte mighte agryse, To see hit peynted on the walle. Ther saw I graven eek withalle, Venus, how ye, my lady dere, Wepinge with ful woful chere, 215 Prayen Iupiter an hye To save and kepe that navye Of the Troyan Eneas, Sith that he hir sone was. Ther saw I Ioves Venus kisse, 220 And graunted of the tempest lisse. Ther saw I how the tempest stente, And how with alle pyne he wente, And prevely took arrivage In the contree of Cartage; 225 And on the morwe, how that he And a knight, hight Achatee, Metten with Venus that day, Goinge in a queynt array, As she had ben an hunteresse, 230 With wind blowinge upon hir tresse; How Eneas gan him to pleyne, Whan that he knew hir, of his peyne; And how his shippes dreynte were, Or elles lost, he niste where; 235 How she gan him comforte tho, And bad him to Cartage go, And ther he shuldë his folk finde, That in the see were left behinde. And, shortly of this thing to pace, 240 She made Eneas so in grace Of Dido, quene of that contree, That, shortly for to tellen, she Becam his love, and leet him do That that wedding longeth to. 245 What shulde I speke more queynte, Or peyne me my wordes peynte, To speke of love? hit wol not be; I can not of that facultee. And eek to telle the manere 250 How they aqueynteden in-fere, Hit were a long proces to telle, And over long for yow to dwelle. Ther saw I grave, how Eneas Tolde Dido every cas, 255 That him was tid upon the see. And after grave was, how she Made of him, shortly, at oo word, Hir lyf, hir love, hir lust, hir lord; And dide him al the reverence, 260 And leyde on him al the dispence, That any woman mighte do, Weninge hit had al be so, As he hir swoor; and her-by demed That he was good, for he swich semed. 265 Allas! what harm doth apparence, Whan hit is fals in existence! For he to hir a traitour was; Wherfor she slow hir-self, allas! Lo, how a woman doth amis, 270 To love him that unknowen is! For, by Crist, lo! thus hit fareth; 'Hit is not al gold, that glareth.' For, al-so brouke I wel myn heed, Ther may be under goodliheed 275 Kevered many a shrewed vyce; Therfor be no wight so nyce, To take a love only for chere, For speche, or for frendly manere; For this shal every woman finde 280 That som man, of his pure kinde, Wol shewen outward the faireste, Til he have caught that what him leste; And thanne wol he causes finde, And swere how that she is unkinde, 285 Or fals, or prevy, or double was. Al this seye I by Eneas And Dido, and hir nyce lest, That lovede al to sone a gest; Therfor I wol seye a proverbe, 290 That 'he that fully knoweth therbe May saufly leye hit to his yë'; Withoute dreed, this is no lye. But let us speke of Eneas, How he betrayed hir, allas! 295 And lefte hir ful unkindely. So whan she saw al-utterly, That he wolde hir of trouthe faile, And wende fro hir to Itaile, She gan to wringe hir hondes two. 300 'Allas!' quod she, 'what me is wo! Allas! is every man thus trewe, That every yere wolde have a newe, If hit so longe tyme dure, Or elles three, peraventure? 305 As thus: of oon he wolde have fame In magnifying of his name; Another for frendship, seith he; And yet ther shal the thridde be, That shal be taken for delyt, 310 Lo, or for singular profyt.' In swiche wordes gan to pleyne Dido of hir grete peyne, As me mette redely; Non other auctour alegge I. 315 'Allas!' quod she, 'my swete herte, Have pitee on my sorwes smerte, And slee me not! go noght away! O woful Dido, wel away!' Quod she to hir-selve tho. 320 'O Eneas! what wil ye do? O, that your love, ne your bonde, That ye han sworn with your right honde, Ne my cruel deeth,' quod she, 'May holde yow still heer with me! 325 O, haveth of my deeth pitee! Y-wis, my dere herte, ye Knowen ful wel that never yit, As fer-forth as I hadde wit, Agilte [I] yow in thoght ne deed. 330 O, have ye men swich goodliheed In speche, and never a deel of trouthe? Allas, that ever hadde routhe Any woman on any man! Now see I wel, and telle can, 335 We wrecched wimmen conne non art; For certeyn, for the more part, Thus we be served everichone. How sore that ye men conne grone, Anoon as we have yow receyved! 340 Certeinly we ben deceyved; For, though your love laste a sesoun, Wayte upon the conclusioun, And eek how that ye determynen, And for the more part diffynen. 345 'O, welawey that I was born! For through yow is my name lorn, And alle myn actes red and songe Over al this lond, on every tonge. O wikke Fame! for ther nis 350 Nothing so swift, lo, as she is! O, sooth is, every thing is wist, Though hit be kevered with the mist. Eek, thogh I mighte duren ever, That I have doon, rekever I never, 355 That I ne shal be seyd, allas, Y-shamed be through Eneas, And that I shal thus Iuged be— "Lo, right as she hath doon, now she Wol do eftsones, hardily;" 360 Thus seyth the peple prevely.'— But that is doon, nis not to done; Al hir compleynt ne al hir mone, Certeyn, availeth hir not a stre. And whan she wiste sothly he 365 Was forth unto his shippes goon, She in hir chambre wente anoon, And called on hir suster Anne, And gan hir to compleyne thanne; And seyde, that she cause was 370 That she first lovede [Eneas], And thus counseilled hir therto. But what! when this was seyd and do, She roof hir-selve to the herte, And deyde through the wounde smerte. 375 But al the maner how she deyde, And al the wordes that she seyde, Who-so to knowe hit hath purpos, Reed Virgile in Eneidos Or the Epistle of Ovyde, 380 What that she wroot or that she dyde; And nere hit to long to endyte, By god, I woldë hit here wryte. But, welaway! the harm, the routhe, That hath betid for swich untrouthe, 385 As men may ofte in bokes rede, And al day seen hit yet in dede, That for to thenken hit, a tene is. Lo, Demophon, duk of Athenis, How he forswor him ful falsly, 390 And trayed Phillis wikkedly, That kinges doghter was of Trace, And falsly gan his terme pace; And when she wiste that he was fals, She heng hir-self right by the hals, 395 For he had do hir swich untrouthe; Lo! was not this a wo and routhe? Eek lo! how fals and reccheles Was to Briseida Achilles, And Paris to Enone; 400 And Iason to Isiphile; And eft Iason to Medea; And Ercules to Dyanira; For he lefte hir for Iöle, That made him cacche his deeth, parde. 405 How fals eek was he, Theseus; That, as the story telleth us, How he betrayed Adriane; The devel be his soules bane! For had he laughed, had he loured, 410 He mostë have be al devoured, If Adriane ne had y-be! And, for she had of him pitee, She made him fro the dethe escape, And he made hir a ful fals Iape; 415 For after this, within a whyle He lefte hir slepinge in an yle, Deserte alone, right in the see, And stal away, and leet hir be; And took hir suster Phedra tho 420 With him, and gan to shippe go. And yet he had y-sworn to here, On al that ever he mighte swere, That, so she saved him his lyf, He wolde have take hir to his wyf; 425 For she desired nothing elles, In certein, as the book us telles. But to excusen Eneas Fulliche of al his greet trespas, The book seyth, Mercurie, sauns faile, 430 Bad him go into Itaile, And leve Auffrykes regioun, And Dido and hir faire toun. Tho saw I grave, how to Itaile Daun Eneas is go to saile; 435 And how the tempest al began, And how he loste his steresman, Which that the stere, or he took keep, Smot over-bord, lo! as he sleep. And also saw I how Sibyle 440 And Eneas, besyde an yle, To helle wente, for to see His fader, Anchises the free. How he ther fond Palinurus, And Dido, and eek Deiphebus; 445 And every tourment eek in helle Saw he, which is long to telle. Which who-so willeth for to knowe, He moste rede many a rowe On Virgile or on Claudian, 450 Or Daunte, that hit telle can. Tho saw I grave al tharivaile That Eneas had in Itaile; And with king Latine his tretee, And alle the batailles that he 455 Was at him-self, and eek his knightes, Or he had al y-wonne his rightes; And how he Turnus refte his lyf, And wan Lavyna to his wyf; And al the mervelous signals 460 Of the goddes celestials; How, maugre Iuno, Eneas, For al hir sleighte and hir compas, Acheved al his aventure; For Iupiter took of him cure 465 At the prayere of Venus; The whiche I preye alway save us, And us ay of our sorwes lighte! Whan I had seyen al this sighte In this noble temple thus, 470 'A, Lord!' thoughte I, 'that madest us, Yet saw I never swich noblesse Of images, ne swich richesse, As I saw graven in this chirche; But not woot I who dide hem wirche, 475 Ne wher I am, ne in what contree. But now wol I go out and see, Right at the wiket, if I can See o-wher stering any man, That may me telle wher I am.' 480 When I out at the dores cam, I faste aboute me beheld. Then saw I but a large feld, As fer as that I mighte see, Withouten toun, or hous, or tree, 485 Or bush, or gras, or ered lond; For al the feld nas but of sond As smal as man may see yet lye In the desert of Libye; Ne I no maner creature, 490 That is y-formed by nature, Ne saw, me [for] to rede or wisse. 'O Crist,' thoughte I, 'that art in blisse, Fro fantom and illusioun Me save!' and with devocioun 495 Myn yën to the heven I caste. Tho was I war, lo! at the laste, That faste by the sonne, as hyë As kenne mighte I with myn yë, Me thoughte I saw an egle sore, 500 But that hit semed moche more Then I had any egle seyn. But this as sooth as deeth, certeyn, Hit was of golde, and shoon so bright, That never saw men such a sighte, 505 But-if the heven hadde y-wonne Al newe of golde another sonne; So shoon the egles fethres brighte, And somwhat dounward gan hit lighte.