Geoffrey Chaucer, "Alcione and Seys," The Book of the Duchess

For as she prayede, ryght so was don

In dede; for Juno ryght anon

Called thus hir messager

To doo her erande, and he com ner.

     Whan he was come, she bad hym thus:

"Go bet," quod Juno, "to Morpheus —

Thou knowest hiym wel, the god of slep.

Now understond wel and tak kep!

Sey thus on my half: that he

Go faste into the Grete Se,

And byd him that, on alle thyng,

He take up Seys body the kyng,

That lyeth ful pale and nothyng rody.

Bid hym crepe into the body

And doo hit goon to Alcione

The quene, there she lyeth allone,

And shewe hir shortly, hit ys no nay,

How hit was dreynt thys other day;

And do the body speke ryght soo,

Ryght as hyt was woned to doo

The whiles that hit was alyve.

Goo now faste, and hye the blyve!"

     This messager tok leve and wente

Upon hys wey, and never ne stente

Til he com to the darke valeye

That stante betwixe roches tweye

There never yet grew corn ne gras,

Ne tre, ne noght that ought was,

Beste, ne man, ne noght elles,

Save ther were a fewe welles

Came rennynge from the clyves adoun,

That made a dedly slepynge soun,

And ronnen doun ryght by a cave

That was under a rokke ygrave

Amydde the valey, wonder depe. . .

     "Hyt am I," quod the messager.

"Juno bad thow shuldst gooon —

And tolde hym what he shulde doon

(As I have told yow here-to-fore;

Hyt ys no nede reherse hyt more)

And went hys wey whan he had sayd.

Anoon this god of slep abrayd

Out of hys slep, and gan to goon,

And dyde as he had bede hym doon:

Took up the dreynte body sone

And bar hyt forth to Alcione,

Hys wif the quene, there as she lay

Ryght even a quarter before day,

And stood ryght at hyr beddes fet,

And called hir right as she het

By name, and sayde, "My swete wyf,

Awake! Let be your sorwful lyf,

For in your sorwe there lyth no red;

For, certes, swete, I am but ded.

Ye shul me never on lyve yse.

But, goode swete herte, that ye

Bury my body, for such a tyde

Ye mowe hyt finde the see besyde;

And farewel, swete, my worldes blysse!

I praye God youre sorwe lysse.

To lytel while our blysse lastesth!"

     With that hir eyen up she casteth

And saw noght. "Allas!" quod she for sorwe,

And deyede within the thridde morwe.

But what she sayede more in that swow

I may not telle yow as now;

Hyt were to longe for to dwelle.

My first matere I wil yow telle,

Wherfore I have told this thyng

Of Alcione and Seys the kyng,

For thus moche dar I saye wel:

I had be dolven everydel

And ded, ryght thurgh defaute of slep,

Yif I ne had red and take kep

Of this tale next before.

And I wol telle yow wherfore:

For I ne myghte, for bote ne bale,

Slepe or I had red thys tale

Of this dreynte Seys the kyng

And of the goddes of slepying.

     When I had red thys tale wel

And overloked hyt everydel,

Me thoghte wonder yf hit were so,

For I had never herd speke or tho

Of noo goddes that koude make

Men to slepe, ne for to wake,

For I ne knew never god but oon.