Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde, Book III, ll. 1415-70.

For comparison with Donne's "The Sun Rising," see ll. 1453-70.  The scene is Troy, during the Greek seige, and Troilus, King Priam's youngest son, has just spent the first night with his beloved, Criseyde.  The poem is in rhyme royal, 7-line stanzas rhyming ababbcc.  (Though most of the spelling in this transcription is medieval, the character set has been stripped of the "edth" and "thorn," though I've left the 3 or "yough" (a "y" sound at the start of the word or a "gh" when found within or at the end of a word.)

But whan the cok, comune astrologer,
Gan on his brest to bete and after crowe,
And Lucyfer, the dayes messanger,
Gan for to rise and out hire bemes throwe,
And estward roos, to hym that koude it knowe,
ffortuna Maior, that anoon Criseyde,
With herte soor to Troilus thus seide,


"Myn hertes lif, my trist and my plesaunce,
That I was born, allas, what me is wo,
That day of vs moot make disseueraunce;
ffor tyme it is to ryse and hennes go,
Or ellis I am lost for euere mo.
O nyght, allas, why nyltow ouere vs houe,
As longe as whan Almena lay by Ioue?


"O blake nyght, as folk in bokes rede,
That shapen art by god this world to hide
At certeyn tymes wyth thi derke wede,
That vnder that men myghte in reste abide,
Wel oughten bestes pleyne and folk the chide,
That there as day wyth labour wolde vs breste,
That thow thus fleest and deynest vs nought reste.


"Thow doost, allas, to shortly thyn office,
Thow rakle nyght, ther god, maker of kynde,
The for thyn haste and thyn vnkynde vice
So faste ay to oure hemysperie bynde,
That neuere more vnder the ground thow wynde:
ffor now, for thow so hiest out of Troie,
Haue I forgon thus hastili my ioie."

This Troilus, that with tho wordes felte,
As thoughte hym tho, for pietous distresse
The blody teris from his herte melte,
As he that neuere 3et swich heuynesse
Assayed hadde, out of so gret gladnesse,
Gan ther-with-al Criseyde, his lady deere,
In armes streyne and seyde in this manere:


"O cruel day, accusour of the ioie
That nyght and loue han stole and faste i-wryen,
Acorsed be thi comyng in-to Troye,
ffor euery bore hath oon of thi bryghte yen.
Enuyous day, what list the so to spien?
What hastow lost, why sekestow this place,
Ther god thi light so quenche for his grace?


"Allas, what haue thise loueris the agylte,
Dispitous day? thyn be the peyne of helle!
ffor many a louere hastow slayn and wilte:
Thy pourynge in wol nowher lat hem dwelle.
What profrestow thi light here forto selle?
Go selle it hem that smale selys graue --
We wol the nought, vs nedeth no day haue."


And ek the sonne, Titan, gan he chide,
And seyde, "O fool, wel may men the dispise,
That hast the dawyng al nyght by thi syde,
And suffrest hire so soone vp fro the rise,
fforto disesen loueris in this wyse.
What, holde 3oure bed ther, thow, and ek thi Morwe,
I bidde god, so 3eue 3ow bothe sorwe."