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POETICAL WORKS

OF

GEOFFREY CHAUCER.

VOL. XIII.

CONTAINING HIS

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, viz.

BOKE OF FAME. IN THREE TOGETHER WITH TESTIMO

BOKES,

BALADES,

WORDES TO A. SCRIVENERE,

NIES OF LEARNED MEN CON-
CERNING CHAUCER AND HIS
WORKS,

Fc. &c. c.

But natheles certain

I can right now no thrifty Tale fain,

But CHAUCER, (though he can but lewedly
On metres and on riming craftily)

Hath fayd hem in fwiche English as he can

Of olde time, as knoweth many a man ;

And if he have not fayd hem, leve brother,

In o book, he hath fayd hem in another....

Who fo that wol his large Volume feke. TALES, ver. 4465.
Dan CHAUCER, well of English undefil'd,

On Fame's eternal bead-roll worthy to be fil'd-
Old Dan Geffrey, in whofe gentle fpright
The pure well-head of poetry did dwell....
He whilft he lived was the foveraigne head
Of thepherds all-------

Old CHAUCER, like the morning ftar,
To us discovers day from far;

His light thofe mifts and clouds diffolv'd
Which our dark nation long involv'd;
But he defcending to the fhades

Darkness again the age invades.

SPENSER,

DENHAM.

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THE HOUSE OF FAME.

IN THREE BOKES.

In this book is fherved how the deeds of all men and women, be they good or bad, are carry'd by report to pofterity..

THE PROLOGUE.

GOD tourne us everie dreme to gode,
For it is wondir thyng by the' rode,
To my witte, what caufith fwevines
On the morowe or on evines,

And why the' effecte foloweth of fome,
And of fome it shall nevir come,
Why that is an avision,
And this a revelacion,

Why this a dreme, why that a fweven,
And not to every man liche even,
Why this a fantome, why that oracles,
In'ot; but whofo of these miracles
The caufis knowith bet than I

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To bufie my witte for to swinke
To knowe of ther fignificacions,
The gendris, ne the distinccions
Of the tymes of 'hem, ne the caufis,«
Or why that this is more then that is,

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Or if folkis complexions

Make 'hem dreme of reflexions;

Or ellis thus, as othir faine,

For the' grete febleneffe of ther braine,

By abftinence or by fickneffe,

By prifon, ftrief, or grete diftreffe;

Or ellis by difordinaunce,
Or naturall accuítomaunce,
That fome men be to curious
In ftudie or melancolious;
Or thus, fo inly full of drede

That no man maie 'hem botè rede;
Or ellis that devocion

Of fome and contemplacion

Caufin to them foche dremis ofte;
Or that the cruill life unfofte
Of 'hem that unkind lovis leden,
That oftin hopin moche or dreden,
That purely ther impreffions
Caufin 'hem to have vifions;

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But that our fleshe ne hath no might

To understandin it aright,

For it is warnid to derkely,

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Tournin us every dreme to gode,

For nevir fithin I was borne,
Ne no man ellis me beforne,
Ymette I trowe right stedfastly
So wondirfull a dreme as I

The tenthe daie now of December,
The whiche, as I can remember,
I woll you tellin every dele:
But at beginnyng truftith wele
I woll make invocacion
With devoute speciall devocion
Unto the god of Slepe anone,
That dwellith in a cave of stone,

Upon a ftreme that cometh fro Lete,

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That is a flode of hell unfwete,
Befide a fulke men clepe Cimerie,
There slepith aye this god unmerie,
With his flepie thousande fonnis,
That alwaie to flepe ther won is;

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