STANFORD LIBRAY (

I.

The Dethe of Blaunche the Duchesse,

(OTHERWISE CALLED

"The Booke of the Duchesse,” and after, "Chaucers Dreme.”)

(This is Chaucer's 2nd Poem. The Compleynte to Pite is his first, and should be read first. See my Trial-Forewords.)

1.59592

[Fairfax MS 16 (vellum, Bodl. Libr.), leaf 130.]

The booke of the Duchesse.

[Stowe's hand adds 'made by Geffrey Chaweyer at the request of the duke of lancastar: pitiously complaynynge the deathe of the sayd dutchesse / blanche [']

I

[t is for t with a curl over it. ñ is for n.]

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

4

Defaulte of slepe / and hevynesse

Hath [sleyne] my spirite / of quyknesse

That I haue loste / al lusty-hede

Suche fantasies / ben in myñ hede

So I not what is best too doo

But men myght axe me / why soo

28

['I may not sleepe, and what me is [From here to line 96, the writing

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 tok

To rede, and driue the night away
For me thought it beter play

is quite late.] (Where from?)

32

336

[leaf 130, back]

40

44

48

76

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 bothe 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]

96