HKB
I trowe steadfastly, dreamed So wonderful a dream as I, The tenthe day now of December; The which, as I can it remember, I will you tellen ev’ry deal. *whit
But at my beginning, truste weel,* well I will make invocation, With special devotion, Unto the god of Sleep anon, That dwelleth in a cave of stone, <3> Upon a stream that comes from Lete, That is a flood of hell unsweet, Beside a folk men call Cimmerie; There sleepeth ay this god unmerry, With his sleepy thousand sones, That alway for to sleep their won is; wont, custom And to this god, that I of read, tell of Pray I, that he will me speed My sweven for to tell aright, If ev’ry dream stands in his might. And he that Mover is of all That is, and was, and ever shall, So give them joye that it hear, Of alle that they dream to-year; this year And for to standen all in grace favour Of their loves, or in what place That them were liefest for to stand, most desired And shield them from povert’ and shand, shame And from ev’ry unhap and disease, And send them all that may them please, That take it well, and scorn it not, Nor it misdeemen in their thought, misjudge Through malicious intention; And whoso, through presumption. Or hate, or scorn, or through envy, Despite, or jape, or villainy, jesting Misdeem it, pray I Jesus God, That dream he barefoot, dream he shod, That ev’ry harm that any man Hath had since that the world began, Befall him thereof, ere he sterve, die And grant that he may it deserve, *earn, obtain Lo! with such a conclusion As had of his avision Croesus, that was the king of Lyde,<4> That high upon a gibbet died; This prayer shall he have of me; I am no bet in charity. no more charitable
Now hearken, as I have you said, What that I mette ere I abraid,* awoke Of December the tenthe day; When it was night to sleep I lay, Right as I was wont for to do’n, And fell asleepe wonder soon, As he that weary was for go<5> was weary from going On pilgrimage miles two To the corsaint Leonard, relics of <6> To make lithe that erst was hard. But, as I slept, me mette I was Within a temple made of glass; In which there were more images Of gold, standing in sundry stages, And more riche tabernacles, And with pierrie more pinnacles, gems And more curious portraitures, And quainte manner of figures strange kinds Of golde work, than I saw ever. But, certainly, I wiste never *knew Where that it was, but well wist I It was of Venus readily, This temple; for in portraiture I saw anon right her figure Naked floating in a sea, <7> And also on her head, pardie, Her rose garland white and red, And her comb to comb her head, Her doves, and Dan Cupido, Her blinde son, and Vulcano, <8> That in his face was full brown.
As he “roamed up and down,” the dreamer saw on the wall a tablet of brass inscribed with the opening lines of the Aeneid; while the whole story of Aeneas was told in the “portraitures” and gold work. About three hundred and fifty lines are devoted to the description; but they merely embody Virgil’s account of Aeneas’ adventures from the destruction of Troy to his arrival in Italy; and the only characteristic passage is the following reflection, suggested by the death of Dido for her perfidious but fate-compelled guest: