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Piers Plowman
Ac on a May morwenynge on Malverne hilles
Me bifel a ferly, of Fairye me thoghte.
I was wery [of]wandred and wente me to reste
Under a brood bank by a bournes syde;
And as I lay and lenede and loked on the watres,
I slombred into a slepyng, it sweyed so murye.
 (Vv. 5-10)

Pearl
Fro spot my spyryt þer sprang in space;
My body on balke þer bod in sweuen.
My goste is gon in Godeú grace
In auenture þer meruayleú meuen.
 (Vv. 61-64)

Wynnere and Wastoure
Bot as I laye at the laste, þan lowked myn eghne,
And I was swythe in a sweuen sweped belyue.
Me thoghte I was in the werlde, I ne wiste in whate ende,
 (Vv. 36-38)

Chaucer The Parliament of Fowls
But fynally, my spirit at the laste,
For wery of my labour al the day,
Tok reste, that made me to slepe faste,
And in my slep I mette, as that I lay,
How Affrican, ryght in the selve aray
That Scipion hym say byfore that tyde,
Was come and stod right at my beddes syde.
 (Vv.92-98)

Chaucer The Legend of Good Women
And in a lytel herber that I have,
Ybenched newe with turves, fresshe ygrave,
I bad men shulde me my couche make;
For deynte of the newe someres sake,
I bad hem strowe floures on my bed.
Whan I was layd, and hadde myn eyen hed,
I fel aslepe withinne an hour or two.
Me mette how I was in the medewe tho,
And that I romede in that same gyse
 (Chaucer, LGW, Vv. G 97-105)