Excerpt from The Poetical Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, Vol. 6And fast I slept; and in slepyng, Me mette suche a swevenyng, That lykede me wonderous wele But in that sweven is never a dele That it nys afterwarde befalle, Eyght as this dreme wol tel us alle. Now this dreme wol I ryme aryghte, To make your hertes gaye and lyghte For Love it prayeth, and also Commaundeth me that it be so. And yf there any aske me, Whether that it be he or she, How this boke which is here Shal hatte, that I rede you here It is the Romaunce of the Rose, In which alle the art of love I close. The mater fayre is of to make God graunt me in gre that she it take For whom that it begonnen is I And that is she that hath, ywys, So mochel pris; and therto she So worthy is biloved to be, That she wel ought of pris and ryght Be cleped Rose of every Wight. That it was May me thoughts tho, It is v. Yere or more ago; That it was May, thus dremede me, In tyme of love and jolite, That al thing gynneth waxen gay, For ther is neither husk nor hay In May, that it nyl shrouded bene, And it with newe leves wrene. These wodes eek recoveren grene.

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