This Terens let make his ships yare, And into Grece himselfe is forth ifare, Unto his father in law gan he pray, To vouchsafe, that for a mone h or tway, That Philomene his wives suster might On Progne his wife but ones, have a sight, "And she shall come to you again anon My selfe with her, I will both come and gon, And as my hertes life I will her kepe.'

This old Pandion, this king gan wepe
For tendernesse of herte, for to leve

His doughter gon, and for to yeve her leve,
Of all this world he loved nothing so,
But at the last, leave hath she to go,
For Philomene with salt teares eke
Gan of her father grace to beseke,
To scene her suster, that her longeth so,
And him enbraceth, with her armes two,
And there also yong and faire was she,
That whan that Tereus saw her beaute,
And of array, that there was none her liche,
And yet of beautie was she to so riche,
He cast his fierie herte vpon her so,,
That he woll have her, how so that it go,
And with his wiles kneled, and so praied,
Till at the last Pandion thus saied.

"Now sonne," (quod he) "that art to me so dere,

I thee betake my yong doughter dere,
That beareth the key of all mine hertes life,
And grete well my doughter, and thy wife,
And yeve her leave sometime for to pley,
That she may seen me ones or I deie."
And sothly he hath made him riche feast,
And to his folke, the most and eke the least,
That with him came: and yave him yefts great,
And him conveieth through the master streat
Of Athenes, and to the sea him brought,
And tourneth home, no malice he ne thought.
The ores pulleth forth the vessell fast,
And into Trace arriveth at the last,
And vp in to a forest he her led,
And to a cave prively he him sped,
And in this darke cave, if her lest
Or list nought, he had her for to rest,
Of which her herte agrose, and saied thus:
"Where is my suster, brother Tereus ?"
And therewithall she wept tenderly,
And quoke for feare, pale and pitiously,
Right as the lambe, that of the wolfe is bitten,
Or as the culver, that of the egle is smitten,
And is out of his clawes forth escaped,
Yet it is aferde, and a waped,
Lest it be hent eftsones: so sate she,
But vtterly it may none other be,

By force hath this traitour done a deede,
That he hath reft her of her maidenhede,
Maugre her head, by strength and by his might.
Lo here a deede of men, and that aright.
She crieth" Suster," with full loude steven,
And "Father dere, helpe me God in Heven:"
All helpeth not, and yet this false thefe,
Hath done this lady yet a more mischefe,
For feare lest she should his shame crie,
And done him openly a villanie,

And with his sweard her tong of kerfe he,
And in a castell made her for to be,
Full prively in prison evermore,

And kept her to her vsage and to his store,

So that she ne might never more astarte.
O sely Philomene, wo is in thine herte,
Huge been thy sorowes, and wonder smart,
God wreke thee, and sende thee thy bone,
Now is time I make an end sone,

This Tereus is to his wife icome,
And in his armes hath his wife inome,
And pitiously he wept, and shoke his hedde,
And swore her, that he found her suster dedde,
For which this selie Progne hath soch wo,
That nigh her sorow full herte brake a two.
And thus in teares let I Progne dwell,
And of her suster forth I woll you tell.

This wofull lady ilearned had in youth,
So that she worken and enbrauden couth,
And weaven in stole the rade vore,
As it of women hath be woved yore,
And sothly for to saine, she hath her fill
Of meate and drinke, of clothing at her will,
And couthe eke rede well inough and endite,
But with a penne she could not write,
But letters can she weave to and fro,
So that by the yere was all ago,
She had woven in a flames large,
How she was brought fro Athens in a barge,
And in a cave how that she was brought,
And all the thing that Tereus wrought,
She wave it wel, and wrote the storie above,
How she was served for her susters love.
And to a man a ring she yave anon,
And praied him by signes for to gon
Uuto the queene, and bearen her that clothe,
And by signe swore many an othe,
She should him yeve what she getten might.

This man anon vnto the quene him dight,
And toke it her, and all the maner told,
And whan that Progne hath this thing behold,
No worde she spake, for sorow and eke for rage,
But fained her to gon on pilgrimage

To Baccus temple, and in a little stound
Her dombe suster sitting hath she found
Weeping in the castell her selfe alone,
Alas the wo, constraint, and the mone
That Progne vpon her dombe suster maketh,
In armes everich of hem other taketh,
And thus I let hem in hir sorow dwell,
The remnaunt is no charge to tell,
For this is all and some, thus was she served
That never agilt, ne deserved

Unto this cruell man, that she of wist.
Ye may beware of men if that you list,
For all be that he woll not for shame
Doen as Tereus, to lese his name,
Ne serve you as a murtherer or a knave,
Full little while shull ye trew him have,
That wol I sain, al were he now my brother,
But it so be that he may have another.

LEGENDE OF PHILLIS.

By prove, as well as by aucthorite,
That wicked fruicte commeth of a wicked tree,
That may ye find, if that it liketh you,
But for this end, I speake this as now,

To tell you of false Demophon,
In love a falser heard I never non,
But it were his father Theseus,

God for his grace fro soch one kepe vs,
Thus these women praien, that it here,
Now to the effect tourne I of my matere.
Destroied is of Troie the citee,

This Demophon came sayling in the see
Toward Athenes, to his paleis large,

With him came many a ship, and many a barge
Full of folke, of which full many one

Is wounded sore, and sicke, and wo begone,
And they have at the seige long ilaine,
Behind him came a winde, and eke a raine,
That shofe so sore, his saile might not stonde,
Him were lever than all the world a londe,
So hunted him the tempest to and fro,
So darke it was, he could no where go,
And with a wave brusten was his stere,
His ship was rent so lowe, in such manere,
That carpenter could it not amende,
The see by night as any torche brende,
For wood, and posseth him vp and doun,
Till Neptune hath of him compassioun,
And Thetis, Chorus, Triton, and they all,
And maden him vp a londe to fall,
Wherof that Phillis lady was and queene,
Lycurgus doughter, fairer vnto seene
Than is the floure again the bright Sonne,
Unneth is Demophon to londe iwonne,
Weake and eke werie, and his folke forpined
Of werinesse, and also enfamined,
And to the death he was almost idriven,
His wise folke consaile have him yeven,
To seken helpe and succour of the queene,
And loken what his grace might benc,
And maken in that lande some chevesaunce,
And kepen him fro wo, and fro mischaunce,
For sicke he was, and almost at the death,
Unneth might he speake, or draw breath,
And lieth in Rhodopeia him for to rest,
Whan he may walk, him thought it was best
Unto the countrey to seeken for succour,
Men knew him wele, and did him honour,
For at Athenes duke and lord was he,
As Theseus his father hath ibe,
That in his time was great of renoun,
No man so great in all his regioun,
And like his father of face and of stature,
And false of love, it came him of nature,
As doth the foxe Renarde, the foxes sonne,
Of kind he could his old father wonne
Without lore, as can a drake swimme
Whan it is caught, and carried to the brimme:
This honorable queen Phillis doth him chere,
Her liketh well his sporte and his manere,
But I am agroted here beforne,

To write of bem that in love been forsworne,
And eke to haste me in my legende,
Which to performe, God me grace sende,
Therfore I passe shortly in this wise,
Ye have well heard of Theseus the gise,
In the betraiyng of faire Adriane,
That of her pite kept him fro his bane,
At short wordes, right so Demophon,

The same way, and the same pathe hath gon
That did his false father Theseus,
For vnto Phillis hath he sworne thus,
To wedden her, and her his trouth plight,
And piked of her all the good he might,

Whan he was hole and sound, and had his rest,
And doth with Phillis what so that him lest,
As well I could, if that me list so,
Tellen all his doing to and fro.

He sayd to his countrey mote him saile,
For there he would her wedding apparaile,
As fill to her honour, and his also,
And openly he tooke his leave tho,
And to her swore he would not sojourne,
But in a month again he would retourne,
And in that londe let make his ordinaunce,
As very lorde, and tooke the obeisaunce,
Well and humbly, and his shippes dight,
And home he goeth the next way he might,
For vnto Phillis yet came he nought,
And that hath she so harde and sore ibought,
Alas, as the storie doth us record,

She was her owne death with a corde,
Whan that she saw that Demophon her traied.
But first wrote she to him, and fast him praied
He would come, and deliver her of pain,
As I rehearse shall a worde or twain,
Me liste not vouchsafe on him to swinke,
Dispenden on him a penne full of ynke,
For false in love was he, right as his sire,
The Devill set hir soules both on a fire,
But of the letter of Phillis woll I write,
A worde or twain, although it be but lite.
"Thine hostesse" (quod she) "O Demophon,
Thy Phillis, which that is so wo begon,
Of Rhodopeie, vpon you mote complain,
Over the terme set betwixt vs twain,
That ye ne holden forward, as ye sayd:
Your ancre, which ye in our haven layd,
Hight vs, that ye would comen out of doubt,
Or that the Moone ones went about,
But times fower, the Moone hath hid her face
Sens thilke day ye went fro this place,
And fower times light the world again,
But for all that, yet shall I sothly sain,
Yet hath the streme of Scython not brought
From Athenes the ship, yet came it nought,
And if that ye the terme reken would,
As I or other true lovers doe should,
I plain not (God wot) before my day."
But al her letter writen I ne may,
By order, for it were to me a charge,
Her letter was right long, and therto large,
But here and there, in rime I have it layd
There as me thought that she hath wel sayd.

She sayd, "The sailes commeth not again,
Ne to the word there nis no fey certain,
But I wot why ye come not" (quod she)
"For I was of my love to you so fre,
And of the goddes that ye have swore,
That hir vengeaunce fall on you therfore,
Ye be not suffisaunt to beare the pain,
To moche trusted I, well may I sain,
Upon your linage, and your faire tong,
And on your teares falsely out wrong,
How coud ye wepe so by craft?" (quod she)
May there soche teares fained be?
"Now certes if ye would have in memory,
It ought be to you but little glory,

To have a selie maide thus betrayed,

To God" (quod she) " pray I, and oft have prayed,
That it be now the greatest price of all,
And most honour that ever you shall befall,
And whan thine old aunceters painted bee,

In which men may hir worthinesse see,

Than pray I God, thou painted be also,
That folke may reden, forth by as they go.
"Lo this is he, that with his flattery
Betraied hath, and done her villany,
That was his true love, in thought and drede.
"But sothly of o point yet may they rede,
That ye been like your father, as in this,
For he begiled Ariadne iwis,

With such an arte, and such subtelte,
As thou thy selves hast begiled me:

As in that poinct, although it be not feire,
Thou folowest certain, and art his heire.
But sens thus sinfully ye me begile,
My body mote ye sene, within a while
Right in the haven of Athenes fleeting,
Withonten sepulture and buriyng,
Though ye been harder than is any stone."

And whan this letter was forth sent anone,
And knew how brotell and how fals he was,
She for dispaire fordid her selfe, alas,
Such sorow hath she, for she beset her so.
Beware ye women of your subtill fo,
Sens yet this day men may ensample se,
And trusteth now-in love no man but me.

THE

LEGENDE OF HYPERMESTRE.

IN Grecen whilom were brethren two
Of which that one was called Danao,
That many a son hath of his body wonne,
As such false lovers ofte conne.

Emong his sonnes all there was one,
That aldermost he loved of everychone,
And whan this child was borne, this Danao
Shope him a name, and called him Lino,
That other brother called was Egiste,
That was of love as false as ever him liste,
And many a daughter gate he in his life,
Of which he gate upon his right wife,
A doughter dere, and did her for to call,
Hypermestra, yongest of hem all,
The which child of her nativite,
To all good thewes borne was she,
As liked to the goddes or she was borne,
That of the shefe she should be the corue,
The werdes that we clepen destine,
Hath shapen her, that she must needes be
Pitous, sad, wise, true as stele,

And to this woman it accordeth wele,
For though that Uenus yave her great beaute,
With Jupiter compowned so was she,
That conscience, trouth, and drede of shame,
And of her wifehode for to kepe her name,
This thought her was felicite as here,
And reed Mars, was that time of the yere
So feble, that his malice is him raft,
Repressed hath Uenus his cruell craft,
And what with Uenus, and other oppression
Of houses, Mars his venime is a don,
That Hypermestre dare not handle a knife,
In malice, though she should lese her life,
But nathelesse, as Heaven gan tho turne,
Two bad aspectes hath she of Saturne,
That made her to die in prison,
And I shall after make mencion,

Of Danao and Egistes also,

And though so be that they were brethren two,
For thilke tyme nas spared no linage,
It liked hem to maken mariage
Betwixt Hypermestre, and him Lino,
And casten soch a day it shall be so,
And full accorded was it vtterly,

The aray is wrought, the time is fast by,
And thus Lino hath of his fathers brother,
The doughter wedded, and ech of hem hath other,
The torches brennen, and the lamps bright
The sacrifice been full ready dight,

Thensence out of the fire reketh soote,
The floure, the lecfe, is rent vp by the roote,
To maken garlandes and crounes hie,
Full is the place of sound of minstralcie,
Of songes amourous of mariage,

As thilke tyme was the plain vsage,
And this was in the paleis of Egiste,
That in his bous was lord, right as him liste,
And thus that day they driven to an end,
The frendes taken leve, and home they wend,
The night is come, the bride shall go to bed,
Egiste to his chamber fast him sped,
And prively let his doughter call,
Whan that the house voided was of hem all,
He looked on his doughter with glad chere,
And to her spake, as ye shall after here.

"My right doughter, tresour of mine herte,
Sens first that day, that shapen was my shert,
Or by the fatall suster had my dome,
So nie mine herte never thing ne come,
As thou Hapermestre, doughter dere,
Take hede what thy father sayth thee here,
And werke after thy wiser ever mo,
For alderfirst doughter I love thee so,
That all the world to me nis halfe so lefe,
Ne nolde rede thee to thy mischefe,
For all the good vnder the cold Mone,
And what I meane, it shall be said right sone,
With protestacion, as sain these wise,
That but thou doe, as I shall thee devise,
Thou shalt ba ded, by him that all hath wrought,
At short wordes thou ne scapest nought
Out of my paleis, or that thou be deed,
But thou consent, and werke after my reed,
Take this to the fearfull conclusioun."
This Hypermestre cast her iyen doun,
And quoke as doth the leefe of ashe grene,
Deed wext her hew, and like ashen to sene,
And sayd: "Lord and father all your will,
After my might, God wote I will fulfill,
So it be to me no confusion."

"I nill" (quod he) "have none excepcion,"
And out he caught a knife, as rasour kene,
"Hide this" (quod he) "that it be not isene,
And whan thine husbond is to bed go,
While that he slepeth cut his throte atwo,
For in my drerae it is warned me,
How that my nevewe shall my bane be,
But which I not, wherfore I woll be siker,
If thou say nay, we two shall have a biker,
As I have sayd, by him that I have sworn."
This Hipermestre hath nigh her wit forlorn,
And for to passen harmelesse out of that place,
She graunted him, there was none other grace:
And withall a costrell taketh he tho
And sayd, "Hereof a draught or two,
Yeve him drinke, whan he goeth to rest,
And he shal slepe as long as ever thee lest,

The narcotikes and apies been so strong,
And go thy way, lest that him thinke to long."
Out cometh the bride, and with full sobre chere,
As is of maidens oft the manere,

To chamber brought with revel and with song,
And shortly, leste this tale be to long,
This Lino and she beth brought to bed,
And every wight out at the doore him sped,
The night is wasted, and he fell aslepe,
Full tenderly beginneth she to weepe,
She rist her vp, and dredfully she quaketh,
As doth the braunch, that Zephirus shaketh,
And husht were all in Aragone that citee,
As cold as any frost now wexeth shee,
For pite by the herte strained her so,
And drede of death doth her so moche wo,
That thrise doune she fill, in soche a were,
She riste her vp, and stakereth here and there,
And on her hands fast looketh she,
"Alas, shall mine hands bloudie be,
I am maide, and as by my nature,
And by my semblaunt, and by my vesture,
Mine hands been not shapen for a knife,
As for to reve no man fro his life,
What devill have I with the knife to do?
And shall I have my throte corve a two?
Than shall I blede alas, and be shende,
And nedes this thing mote have an ende,
Or he or I mote nedes lese our life,
Now certes" (quod she) "sens I am his wife,
Aud hath my faith, yet is bette for me.
For to be dedde, in wifely honeste,
Than be a traitour living in my shame,
Be as be may, for earnest or for game,
He shall awake, and rise and go his way
Out at this gutter er that it be day:"
And wept full tenderly vpon his face,
And in her armes gan him to embrace,
And him she joggeth, and awaketh soft,
And at the window lepe he fro the loft,

Whan she hath warned him, and done him bote:
This Lino swift was and light of foote,
And from her ran a full good paas.
This selie woman is so weake, alas
And helplesse, so that er she ferre went,
Her cruell father did her for to hent,
Alas Lino, why art thou so vnkind,
Why ne hast thou remembred in thy mind,
And taken her, and led her forth with thee,
For whan she saw that gone away was hee,
And that she might not so fast go,

Ne folowen him, she sate doune right tho,
Untill she was caught, and fettred in prison
This tale is sayd for this conclusion.

HERE ENDETH THE LEGENDE OF GOOD WOMEN.

A

GOODLY BALLADE OF CHAUCER.

MOTHER of norture, best beloved of all,

Most desire I, and have and ever shal,
Thing, which might your hertes ease amend :
Have me excused, my power is but small,
Nathelesse of right ye ought to commend.
My good will, which faine would entend
To do you service, for all my suffisaunce
Is holly to be vnder your governaunce.

Meulx vn, in herte, which never shall apall,
Aie freshe and new, and right glad to dispend
My time in your service, what so befall,
Beseching your excellence to defend
My simplenesse, if ignoraunce offend
In any wise, sith that mine affiaunce,
Is holly to been vnder your governaunce..

Daisie of light, very ground of comfort,
The Sunnes doughter (ye hight) as I rede,
For whan he westreth, farwell your disport,
By your nature anone right for pure drede,
Of the rude night, that with his boistous wede
Of darkenesse, shadoweth our emispere,
Than closen ye, my lives ladie dere.

Dauning the day, to his kind resort,

And Phebus your father, with his streames rede,
Adorneth the morrow, consuming the sort
Of mistie cloudes, that woulden overlede
True humble hertes, with hir mistie hede,
Nere comfort a daies, whan iyen clere,
Disclose and sprede my lives ladie dere.

Ie vouldray: but great God disposeth And maketh casuyl by his providence, Soch thing, as mans frele wit purposeth, All for the best, if that your conscience Not grutche it, but in humble pacience It receive for God saith without fable, A faithful herte ever is acceptable.

Cautels who so vseth gladly, gloseth,
To eschewe soch it is right high prudence,
What ye sayd ones, mine herte opposeth,
That my writing yapes in your absence,
Pleased you moch better than my presence:
Yet can I more, ye be not excusable,
A faithfull heste ever is acceptable.

Quaketh my penne, my spirit supposeth,
That in my writing ye find woll some offence,
Min herte welkneth thus sone, anon it riseth,
Now hotte, now colde, and eft in feruence:
That misse is, is caused of negligence,
And not of malice, therefore beth merciable,
A faithfull herte ever is acceptable,

LENUOYE.

Forth complaint, forth lacking eloquence,
Forth little letter of enditing lame,

I have besought my ladies sapience,
Of thy behalfe, to accept in game,

Your child if it luste you me so to call,
All be I vnable my selfe so to pretende,

To your discrecion I recommende

Mine herte and al, with every circumstance,

All wholly to be vnder your governance.

Abide have more yet: ie serve Jouesse, Now forth I close thee in holy Uenus name, Thee shall vnclose my hertes governeresse.

THE BOOK COMMONLY ENTITLED, CHAUCER'S DREAM.

By the person of a mourning knight sitting under au oak, is meant John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, greatly lamenting the death of one whom he entirely loved, supposed to be Blanch the dutchess.

I HAVE great woonder by this light,
How I liue, for day ne night
I may not sleepe weinigh nought,
I haue 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 nis nothing lefe nor lothe,
All is yliche good to me,
Joy or sorrow, where so it be:
For I haue feeling in nothing,
But as it were a mased thing,
All day in point to fall adoun,
For sorrowful! imaginaicoun
Is alway wholly in my mind.

And well ye wote, against kind
It were to liuen in this wise,
For nature would not suffisc,
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 haue for to die,
Defaut of sleepe and heauinesse
Hath slaine my spirit of quickenesse,
That I haue lost all lusty head,
Such fantasies ben in mine head,
So I not what is best to do:
But men might aske me why so

1 may not sleepe, and what ne is.
But nathelesse, who aske this,
Leseth his asking truely,
My seluen cannot tell why
The sooth, but truly as I gesse,
I hold it be a sickenesse

That I bane suffred this eight yere,
And yet my boot is neuer the nere:
For there is phisicien but one,
That may me heale, but that is done:
Passe we ouer vntill eft,

That will not be, mote needs be left,
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 vpright,
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,
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 loued the law of kind.

This booke ne spake but of such things,
Of queenes liues, and of kings,
Aud 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 ouer 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 neuer 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 euermo
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 loued 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 neuer 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 holly 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 sweuen,
Where through that I may know euen
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,