TROILUS AND CRISEYDE
The doublesorwe of Troilus to tellenThat wasthe king Priamus sone of TroyeInlovingehow his aventures fellenFro wo toweleand after out of IoyeMy purposiser that I parte fro ye.Thesiphonethou help me for tendyteThisewoful versthat wepen as I wryte!To theeclepe Ithou goddesse of tormentThou cruelFuriesorwing ever in peyne;Help methat am the sorwful instrumentThathelpeth loversas I canto pleyne!For welsit itthe sothe for to seyneA wofulwight to han a drery fereAndto asorwful talea sory chere.For Ithat god of Loves servaunts serveNe dar toLovefor myn unlyklinessePreyen forspeedal sholde I therfor sterveSo fer amI fro his help in derknesse;Butnatheleesif this may doon gladnesseTo anyloverand his cause avayleHave he mythankand myn be this travayle!But yeloveresthat bathen in gladnesseIf anydrope of pitee in yow beRemembrethyow on passed hevinesseThat yehan feltand on the adversiteeOf otherefolkand thenketh how that yeHan feltthat Love dorste yow displese;Or ye hanwonne hym with to greet an ese.Andpreyeth for hem that ben in the casOfTroilusas ye may after hereThat lovehem bringe in hevene to solasAnd eekfor me preyeth to god so dereThat Ihave might to shewein som manereSwichpeyne and wo as Loves folk endureIn Troilusunsely aventure.Andbiddeth eek for hem that been despeyredIn lovethat never nil recovered beAnd eekfor hem that falsly been apeyredThorughwikked tongesbe it he or she;Thusbiddeth godfor his benigniteeSo grauntehem sone out of this world to paceThat beendespeyred out of Loves grace.Andbiddeth eek for hem that been at eseThat godhem graunte ay good perseveraunceAnd sendehem might hir ladies so to pleseThat it toLove be worship and plesaunce.For sohope I my soule best avaunceTo preyefor hem that Loves servaunts beAnd wrytehir woand live in charitee.And for tohave of hem compassiounAs thoughI were hir owene brother dere.Nowherkeneth with a gode entenciounFor nowwol I gon streight to my matereIn whicheye may the double sorwes hereOfTroilusin loving of CriseydeAnd howthat she forsook him er she deyde.It is welwisthow that the Grekes strongeIn armeswith a thousand shippes wenteToTroyewardesand the citee longeAssegedenneigh ten yeer er they stenteAndindiverse wyse and oon ententeTheravisshing to wreken of EleyneBy Parisdoonthey wroughten al hir peyne.Now fil itsothat in the toun ther wasDwellingea lord of greet auctoriteeA gretdevyn that cleped was CalkasThat inscience so expert wasthat heKnew welthat Troye sholde destroyed beBy answereof his godthat highte thusDaunPhebus or Apollo Delphicus.So whanthis Calkas knew by calculingeAnd eek byanswere of this AppolloThatGrekes sholden swich a peple bringeThorughwhich that Troye moste been for-doHe casteanoon out of the toun to go;For welwiste heby sortthat Troye sholdeDestroyedbenyewolde who-so nolde.For whichfor to departen softelyTookpurpos ful this forknowinge wyseAnd to theGrekes ost ful privelyHe stalanoon; and theyin curteys wyseHym dedenbothe worship and servyseIn trustthat he hath conning hem to redeIn everyperil which that is to drede.The noyseup rooswhan it was first aspyedThorugh althe tounand generally was spokenThatCalkas traytor fled wasand allyedWith hemof Grece; and casten to ben wrokenOn himthat falsly hadde his feith so broken;Andseydenhe and al his kin at onesBen worthyfor to brennenfel and bones.Now haddeCalkas leftin this meschaunceAl unwistof this false and wikked dedeHisdoughterwhich that was in gret penaunceFor of hirlyf she was ful sore in dredeAs shethat niste what was best to rede;For bothea widowe was sheand alloneOf anyfreend to whom she dorste hir mone.Criseydewas this lady name a-right;As to mydomein al Troyes citeeNas noonso fairfor passing every wightSoaungellyk was hir natyf beauteeThat lyk athing immortal semed sheAs doth anhevenish parfit creatureThat dounwere sent in scorning of nature.This ladywhich that al-day herde at ereHir fadresshamehis falsnesse and tresounWel nighout of hir wit for sorwe and fereIn wideweshabit large of samit brounOn kneesshe fil biforn Ector a-doun;Withpitous voysand tendrely wepingeHis mercybadhir-selven excusinge.Now wasthis Ector pitous of natureAnd sawthat she was sorwfully bigoonAnd thatshe was so fair a creature;Of hisgoodnesse he gladed hir anoonAnd seyde`Lat your fadres treson goonForth withmischaunceand ye your-selfin IoyeDwellethwith uswhyl you good listin Troye.`And althonour that men may doon yow haveAsferforth as your fader dwelled hereYe shulhanand your body shal men saveAs fer asI may ought enquere or here.'And shehim thonked with ful humble chereAnd ofterwoldeand it hadde ben his willeAnd tookhir leveand hoomand held hir stille.And in hirhous she abood with swich meyneeAs to hirhonour nede was to holde;And whylshe was dwellinge in that citeeKepte hirestatand bothe of yonge and oldeFul welbelovedand wel men of hir tolde.Butwhether that she children hadde or noonI rede itnaught; therfore I late it goon.Thethinges fellenas they doon of werreBitwixenhem of Troye and Grekes ofte;For somday boughten they of Troye it derreAnd eftthe Grekes founden no thing softeThe folkof Troye; and thus fortune on-lofteAnd undereftgan hem to wheelen botheAfter hircoursay whyl they were wrothe.But howthis toun com to destrucciounNe fallethnought to purpos me to telle;For itwere a long digressiounFro mymatereand yow to longe dwelle.But theTroyane gestesas they felleIn Omeror in Daresor in DyteWho-sothat canmay rede hem as they wryte.But thoughthat Grekes hem of Troye shettenAnd hircitee bisegede al a-bouteHir oldeusage wolde they not lettenAs for tohonoure hir goddes ful devoute;Butaldermost in honourout of douteThey haddea relik hight PalladionThat washir trist a-boven everichon.And sobifelwhan comen was the tymeOf Aperilwhan clothed is the medeWith newegreneof lusty Ver the prymeAnd swotesmellen floures whyte and redeIn sondrywyses shewedas I redeThe folkof Troye hir observaunces oldePalladionesfeste for to holde.And to thetemplein al hir beste wyseIngeneralther wente many a wightTo herknenof Palladion servyse;Andnamelyso many a lusty knightSo many alady fresh and mayden brightFul welarayedbothe moste and lesteYebothefor the seson and the feste.Amongthise othere folk was CriseydaIn wideweshabite blak; but natheleesRight asour firste lettre is now an AIn beauteefirst so stood shemakelees;Hir godlylooking gladede al the prees.Nas neverseyn thing to ben preysed derreNor undercloude blak so bright a sterreAs wasCriseydeas folk seyde everichoonThat hirbehelden in hir blake wede;And yetshe stood ful lowe and stille alloonBihindenothere folkin litel bredeAnd neighthe doreay under shames dredeSimple ofa-tyrand debonaire of chereWith fulassured loking and manere.ThisTroilusas he was wont to gydeHis yongeknightesladde hem up and dounIn thilkelarge temple on every sydeBiholdingay the ladyes of the tounNow herenow therefor no devociounHadde heto noonto reven him his resteBut gan topreyse and lakken whom him leste.And in hiswalk ful fast he gan to waytenIf knightor squyer of his companyeGan for tosykeor lete his eyen baytenOn anywoman that he coude aspye;He woldesmyleand holden it folyeAnd seyehim thus`god wotshe slepeth softeFor loveof theewhan thou tornest ful ofte!`I haveherd toldpardieuxof your livingeYe loversand your lewede observauncesAnd whicha labour folk han in winningeOf loveandin the kepingwhich doutaunces;And whanyour preye is lostwo and penaunces;O verreyfoles! nyce and blinde be ye;Ther nisnot oon can war by other be.'And withthat word he gan cast up the broweAscaunces`Lo! is this nought wysly spoken?'At whichthe god of love gan loken roweRight fordespytand shoop for to ben wroken;He kiddeanoon his bowe nas not broken;Forsodeynly he hit him at the fulle;And yet asproud a pekok can he pulle.O blindeworldO blinde entencioun!How oftefalleth al theffect contraireOfsurquidrye and foul presumpcioun;For caughtis proudand caught is debonaire.ThisTroilus is clomben on the staireAnd litelweneth that he moot descenden.But al-dayfalleth thing that foles ne wenden.As proudeBayard ginneth for to skippeOut of theweyso priketh him his cornTil he alash have of the longe whippeThanthenketh he`Though I praunce al bifornFirst inthe traysful fat and newe shornYet am Ibut an horsand horses laweI mootendureand with my feres drawe.'So ferdeit by this fers and proude knight;Though hea worthy kinges sone wereAnd wendenothing hadde had swiche mightAyens hiswil that sholde his herte stereYet with alook his herte wex a-fereThat hethat now was most in pryde aboveWexsodeynly most subget un-to love.For-thyensample taketh of this manYe wyseproudeand worthy folkes alleTo scornenLovewhich that so sone canThefreedom of your hertes to him thralle;For everit wasand ever it shal bifalleThat Loveis he that alle thing may binde;For may noman for-do the lawe of kinde.That thisbe soothhath preved and doth yet;For thistrowe I ye knowenalle or someMen redennot that folk han gretter witThan theythat han be most with love y-nome;Andstrengest folk ben therwith overcomeTheworthiest and grettest of degree:This wasand isand yet men shal it see.Andtrewelich it sit wel to be so;Foralderwysest han ther-with ben plesed;And theythat han ben aldermost in woWith lovehan ben conforted most and esed;And ofteit hath the cruel herte apesedAnd worthyfolk maad worthier of nameAndcauseth most to dreden vyce and shame.Now sithit may not goodly be withstondeAnd is athing so vertuous in kindeRefusethnot to Love for to be bondeSinashim-selven listhe may yow binde.The yerdeis bet that bowen wole and windeThan thatthat brest; and therfor I yow redeTo folwenhim that so wel can yow lede.But for totellen forth in specialAs of thiskinges sone of which I toldeAnd letenother thing collateralOf himthenke I my tale for to holdeBoth ofhis Ioyeand of his cares colde;And al hiswerkas touching this matereFor I itganI wol ther-to refere.With-innethe temple he wente him forth pleyingeThisTroilusof every wight abouteOn thislady and now on that lokingeWher-soshe were of touneor of with-oute:And up-oncas bifelthat thorugh a routeHis eyepercedand so depe it wenteTil onCriseyde it smootand ther it stente.Andsodeynly he wax ther-with astonedAnd ganhire bet biholde in thrifty wyse:`O mercygod!' thoughte he`wher hastow wonedThat artso fair and goodly to devyse?'Ther-withhis herte gan to sprede and ryseAnd softesighedlest men mighte him hereAndcaughte a-yein his firste pleyinge chere.She nasnat with the leste of hir statureBut allehir limes so wel answeringeWeren towomanhodethat creatureWas neuerlasse mannish in seminge.And eekthe pure wyse of here meningeShewedewelthat men might in hir gesseHonourestatand wommanly noblesse.To Troilusright wonder wel with-alleGan for tolyke hir meninge and hir chereWhichsomdel deynous wasfor she leet falleHir look alite a-sidein swich manereAscaunces`What! May I not stonden here?'And afterthat hir loking gan she lighteThat neverthoughte him seen so good a sighte.And of hirlook in him ther gan to quikenSo greetdesirand swich affecciounThat inhis herte botme gan to stikenOf hir hisfixe and depe impressioun:And thoughhe erst hadde poured up and dounHe was thoglad his hornes in to shrinke;Unnetheswiste he how to loke or winke.Lohethat leet him-selven so konningeAndscorned hem that loves peynes dryenWas fulunwar that love hadde his dwellingeWith-innethe subtile stremes of hir yen;Thatsodeynly him thoughte he felte dyenRight withhir lookthe spirit in his herte;Blissed belovethat thus can folk converte!Shethisin blaklikinge to TroylusOver allethynghe stood for to biholde;Ne hisdesirne wherfor he stood thusHe neitherchere madene worde tolde;But froma-ferhis maner for to holdeOn otherthing his look som-tyme he casteAnd eft onhirwhyl that servyse laste.And afterthisnot fulliche al awhapedOut of thetemple al esiliche he wenteRepentingehim that he hadde ever y-iapedOf lovesfolklest fully the descenteOf scornfille on him-self; butwhat he menteLest itwere wist on any maner sydeHis wo hegan dissimulen and hyde.Whan hewas fro the temple thus departedHestreyght anoon un-to his paleys tornethRight withhir look thurgh-shoten and thurgh-dartedAl feynethhe in lust that he soiorneth;And al hischere and speche also he borneth;And ayofloves servants every whyleHim-selfto wryeat hem he gan to smyle.And seyde`Lordso ye live al in lestYeloveres! For the conningest of yowThatserveth most ententiflich and bestHim tit asoften harm ther-of as prow;Your hyreis quit ayeinyegod wot how!Nought welfor welbut scorn for good servyse;In feithyour ordre is ruled in good wyse!`Innoun-certeyn ben alle your observauncesBut it asely fewe poyntes be;Neno-thing asketh so grete attendauncesAs dothyoure layand that knowe alle ye;But thatis not the worsteas mote I thee;ButtoldeI yow the worste poyntI leveAl seyde Isoothye wolden at me greve!`But takthisthat ye loveres ofte eschuweOr ellesdoon of good entenciounFul oftethy lady wole it misconstrueAnd demeit harm in hir opinioun;And yet ifshefor other enchesounBe wrooththan shalt thou han a groyn anoon:Lord! welis him that may be of yow oon!'But for althiswhan that he say his tymeHe heldhis peesnon other bote him gayned;For lovebigan his fetheres so to lymeThat welunnethe un-to his folk he faynedThatothere besye nedes him destrayned;For wo washimthat what to doon he nisteBut badhis folk to goon wher that hem liste.And whanthat he in chaumbre was alloneHe dounup-on his beddes feet him setteAnd firstbe gan to sykeand eft to groneAndthoughte ay on hir sowith-outen letteThatashe sat and wookhis spirit metteThat hehir saw a templeand al the wyseRight ofhir lokeand gan it newe avyse.Thus ganhe make a mirour of his mindeIn whichhe saugh al hoolly hir figure;And thathe wel coude in his herte findeIt was tohim a right good aventureTo loveswich oonand if he dide his cureTo servenhiryet mighte he falle in graceOr ellesfor oon of hir servaunts pace.Imaginingethat travaille nor grameNe mightefor so goodly oonbe lornAs shenehim for his desir ne shameAl were itwistbut in prys and up-bornOf allelovers wel more than biforn;Thusargumented he in his ginningeFulunavysed of his wo cominge.Thus tookhe purpos loves craft to suweAndthoughte he wolde werken privelyFirsttohyden his desir in muweFrom everywight y-bornal-outrelyBut hemighte ought recovered be therby;Remembringhimthat love to wyde y-bloweYeltbittre fruytthough swete seed be sowe.And overal thisyet muchel more he thoughteWhat forto spekeand what to holden inneAnd whatto arten hir to love he soughteAnd on asong anoon-right to biginneAnd ganloude on his sorwe for to winne;For withgood hope he gan fully assenteCriseydefor to loveand nought repente.And of hissong nought only the sentenceAs writmyn autour called LolliusButpleynlysave our tonges differenceI dar welsaynin al that TroilusSeyde inhis songlo! every word right thusAs I shalseyn; and who-so list it hereLo! nextthis vershe may it finden here.
`If nolove isO godwhat fele I so?And iflove iswhat thing and whiche is he!If love begoodfrom whennes comth my wo?If it bewikkea wonder thinketh meWhenneevery torment and adversiteeThatcometh of himmay to me savory thinke;For aythurst Ithe more that I it drinke.`And ifthat at myn owene lust I brenneFrowhennes cometh my wailing and my pleynte?If harmeagree mewher-to pleyne I thenne?I nootnewhy unwery that I feynte.O quikedeethO swete harm so queynteHow may ofthee in me swich quantiteeBut-ifthat I consente that it be?`And ifthat I consenteI wrongfullyCompleyney-wis; thus possed to and froAlsterelees with inne a boot am IA-mid theseeby-twixen windes twoThat incontrarie stonden ever-mo.Allas!what is this wonder maladye?For heteof coldfor cold of heteI deye.'And to thegod of love thus seyde heWithpitous voys`O lordnow youres isMy spiritwhich that oughte youres be.Yow thankeIlordthat han me brought to this;Butwhether goddesse or wommany-wisShe beInootwhich that ye do me serve;But as hirman I wole ay live and sterve.`Yestonden in hire eyen mightilyAs in aplace un-to youre vertu digne;Wherforelordif my servyse or IMay lykeyowso beth to me benigne;For mynestat royal here I resigneIn-to hirhondand with ful humble chereBicome hirmanas to my lady dere.'In him nedeyned sparen blood royalThe fyr oflovewher-fro god me blesseNe himforbar in no degreefor alHis vertuor his excellent prowesse;But heldhim as his thral lowe in distresseAnd brendehim so in sondry wyse ay neweThat sixtytyme a day he loste his hewe.So mucheday by dayhis owene thoughtFor lustto hirgan quiken and encreseThat everyother charge he sette at nought;For-thyful oftehis hote fyr to ceseTo seenhir goodly look he gan to prese;Forther-by to ben esed wel he wendeAnd ay thener he wasthe more he brende.For ay thener the fyrthe hotter isThistrowe Iknoweth al this companye.But werehe fer or neerI dar seye thisBy nightor dayfor wisdom or folyeHis hertewhich that is his brestes yeWas ay onhirthat fairer was to seneThan everwere Eleyne or Polixene.Eek of theday ther passed nought an houreThat tohim-self a thousand tyme he seyde`Goodgoodlyto whom serve I and laboureAs I bestcannow wolde godCriseydeYe woldenon me rewe er that I deyde!My dereherteallas! myn hele and heweAnd lyf islostbut ye wole on me rewe.'Alleothere dredes weren from him fleddeBoth ofthe assege and his savacioun;Ne in himdesyr noon othere fownes breddeButargumentes to his conclusiounThat sheon him wolde han compassiounAnd he tobe hir manwhyl he may dure;Loherehis lyfand from the deeth his cure!The sharpeshoures felle of armes preveThat Ectoror his othere bretheren didenNe madehim only ther-fore ones meve;And yetwas hewher-so men wente or ridenFounde oonthe besteand lengest tyme abidenTher perilwasand dide eek such travayleIn armesthat to thenke it was mervayle.But fornon hate he to the Grekes haddeNe alsofor the rescous of the tounNe madehim thus in armes for to maddeBut onlylofor this conclusiounTo lykenhir the bet for his renoun;Fro day today in armes so he speddeThat allethe Grekes as the deeth him dredde.And frothis forth tho refte him love his sleepAnd madehis mete his foo; and eek his sorweGanmultiplyethatwho-so toke keepIt shewedin his hewebothe eve and morwe;Therfor atitle he gan him for to borweOf othersyknesselest of him men wendeThat thehote fyr of love him brendeAnd seydehe hadde a fever and ferde amis;But how itwascertayncan I not seyeIf thathis lady understood not thisOr feynedhir she nisteoon of the tweye;But wel Irede thatby no maner weyeNe semedit as that she of him roughteNor of hispeyneor what-so-ever he thoughte.But thanfel to this Troylus such woThat hewas wel neigh wood; for ay his dredeWas thisthat she som wight had loved soThat neverof him she wolde have taken hede;For whichehim thoughte he felte his herte blede.Ne of hiswo ne dorste he not biginneTo tellenitfor al this world to winne.But whannehe hadde a space fro his careThus tohim-self ful ofte he gan to pleyne;He sayde`O foolnow art thou in the snareThatwhilom Iapedest at loves peyne;Now artowhentnow gnaw thyn owene cheyne;Thou wereay wont eche lovere reprehendeOf thingfro which thou canst thee nat defende.`What wolnow every lover seyn of theeIf this bewistbut ever in thyn absenceLaughen inscornand seyn`Lother gooth heThat isthe man of so gret sapienceThat heldus lovers leest in reverence!Nowthonked be godhe may goon in the daunceOf hemthat Love list febly for to avaunce!'`ButOthou woful Troilusgod woldeSin thoumost loven thurgh thi destineeThat thowbeset were on swich oon that sholdeKnowe althy woal lakkede hir pitee:But al socold in lovetowardes theeThy ladyisas frost in winter moneAnd thoufordoonas snow in fyr is sone.'`God woldeI were aryved in the portOf dethto which my sorwe wil me lede!Alordto me it were a gret comfort;Than wereI quit of languisshing in drede.For by mynhidde sorwe y-blowe on bredeI shalbi-Iaped been a thousand tymeMore thanthat fool of whos folye men ryme.`But nowhelp godand yeswetefor whomI pleyney-caughtyenever wight so faste!O mercydere herteand help me fromThe deethfor Iwhyl that my lyf may lasteMore thanmy-self wol love yow to my laste.And withsom freendly look gladeth mesweteThoughnever more thing ye me bi-hete!'Thiswordes and ful manye an-other toHe spakand called ever in his compleynteHir namefor to tellen hir his woTil neighthat he in salte teres dreynte.Al was fornoughtshe herde nought his pleynte;And whanthat he bithoughte on that folyeA thousandfold his wo gan multiplye.Bi-waylingin his chambre thus alloneA freendof histhat called was PandareCom onesin unwarand herde him groneAnd sayhis freend in swich distresse and care:`Allas!'quod he`who causeth al this fare?O mercygod! What unhap may this mene?Han nowthus sone Grekes maad yow lene?`Or hastowsom remors of conscienceAnd artnow falle in som devociounAndwaylest for thy sinne and thyn offenceAnd hastfor ferde caught attricioun?God savehem that bi-seged han our tounAnd so canleye our Iolyte on presseAnd bringour lusty folk to holinesse!'Thesewordes seyde he for the nones alleThat withswich thing he mighte him angry makenAnd withan angre don his sorwe falleAs for thetymeand his corage awaken;But wel hewistas fer as tonges spakenTher nas aman of gretter hardinesseThan hene more desired worthinesse.`Whatcas' quod Troilus`or what aventureHath gydedthee to see my languisshingeThat amrefus of euery creature?But forthe love of godat my preyingeGo hennea-wayfor certesmy deyingeWol theediseseand I mot nedes deye;Ther-forgo weyther is no more to seye.`But ifthou wene I be thus sik for dredeIt is notsoand ther-for scorne nought;Ther isa-nother thing I take of hedeWel morethan ought the Grekes han y-wroughtWhichcause is of my deethfor sorwe and thought.But thoughthat I now telle thee it ne lesteBe thounought wrooth; I hyde it for the beste.'ThisPandarethat neigh malt for wo and routheFul oftenseyde`Allas! what may this be?Nowfreend' quod he`if ever love or troutheHath beenor isbi-twixen thee and meNe do thounever swiche a cruelteeTo hydefro thy freend so greet a care;Wostownought wel that it am IPandare?`I woleparten with thee al thy peyneIf it beso I do thee no comfortAs it isfreendes rightsooth for to seyneToentreparten woas glad desport.I haveand shalfor trewe or fals reportIn wrongand right y-loved thee al my lyve;Hyd notthy wo fro mebut telle it blyve.'Than ganthis sorwful Troilus to sykeAnd seydehim thus"God leve it be my besteTo telleit thee; for sith it may thee lykeYet wole Itelle itthough myn herte breste;And welwot I thou mayst do me no reste.But lestthow deme I truste not to theeNowherknefreendfor thus it stant with me.`Lovea-yeins the which who-so defendethHim-selvenmosthim alder-lest avaylethWithdisespeir so sorwfully me offendethThatstreyght un-to the deeth myn herte sayleth.Ther-todesyr so brenningly me assayllethThat toben slayn it were a gretter IoyeTo me thanking of Grece been and Troye!`Suffiseththismy fulle freend PandareThat Ihave seydfor now wostow my wo;And forthe love of godmy colde careSo hyd itwelI telle it never to mo;For harmesmighte folwenmo than twoIf it werewist; but be thou in gladnesseAnd lat mesterveunknoweof my distresse.'`Howhastow thus unkindely and longeHid thisfro methou fool?' quod Pandarus;`Paraunterthou might after swich oon longeThat mynavys anoon may helpen us.'`This werea wonder thing' quod Troylus`Thoucoudest never in love thy-selven wisse;How develmaystow bringen me to blisse?'`YeTroilusnow herke' quod Pandare`Though Ibe nyce; it happeth ofte soThat oonthat exces doth ful yvele fareBy goodcounseyl can kepe his freend ther-fro.I havemy-self eek seyn a blind man goTher-as hefel that coude loke wyde;A fool mayeek a wys man ofte gyde.`Awhetston is no kerving instrumentAnd yet itmaketh sharpe kerving-tolis.And therthou woost that I have ought miswentEschewethou thatfor swich thing to thee scole is;Thus oftewyse men ben war by folis.If thou dosothy wit is wel biwared;By hiscontrarie is every thing declared.`For howmight ever sweetnesse have be knoweTo himthat never tasted bitternesse?Ne no manmay be inly gladI troweThat neverwas in sorwe or som distresse;Eek whytby blakby shame eek worthinesseEch set byothermore for other semeth;As men maysee; and so the wyse it demeth.`Sith thusof two contraries is a loreIthathave in love so ofte assayedGrevauncesoughte conneand wel the moreCounsayllenthee of that thou art amayed.Eek theene oughte nat ben yvel apayedThough Idesyre with thee for to bereThyn hevycharge; it shal the lasse dere.`I wootwel that it fareth thus by meAs to thybrother Parys an herdesseWhich thaty-cleped was OenoneWrot in acompleynte of hir hevinesse:Ye say thelettre that she wrooty gesse?'`Naynever yety-wis' quod Troilus.`Now'quod Pandare`herknethit was thus. --"Phebusthat first fond art of medicyne'Quod she`and coude in every wightes careRemede andreedby herbes he knew fyneYet tohim-self his conning was ful bare;For lovehadde him so bounden in a snareAl for thedoughter of the kinge AdmeteThat alhis craft ne coude his sorwe bete." --`Right sofare Iunhappily for me;I love oonbestand that me smerteth sore;And yetparauntercan I rede theeAnd notmy-self; repreve me no more.I have nocauseI woot welfor to soreAs doth anhauk that listeth for to pleyeBut tothyn help yet somwhat can I seye.`And of othing right siker maystow beThatcertaynfor to deyen in the peyneThat Ishal never-mo discoveren thee;Neby mytroutheI kepe nat restreyneThee frothy lovethogh that it were EleyneThat isthy brotheres wifif ich it wiste;Be whatshe beand love hir as thee liste.`Therforeas freend fullich in me assureAnd tel meplat what is thyn enchesounAnd finalcause of wo that ye endure;Fordouteth no-thingmyn entenciounNis noughtto yow of reprehenciounTo spekeas nowfor no wight may bireveA man tolovetil that him list to leve.`Andwiteth welthat bothe two ben vycesMistrustenalleor elles alle leve;But wel Iwootthe mene of it no vyce isFor totrusten sum wight is a preveOftroutheand for-thy wolde I fayn remeveThy wrongconseyteand do thee som wight tristeThy wo totelle; and tel meif thee liste.`The wyseseyth"Wo him that is alloneForandhe fallehe hath noon help to ryse;"And siththou hast a felawetel thy mone;For thisnis notcerteynthe nexte wyseTo winnenloveas techen us the wyseTo walweand wepe as Niobe the queneWhos teresyet in marbel been y-sene.`Lat bethy weping and thi drerinesseAnd lat uslissen wo with other speche;So may thywoful tyme seme lesse.Delyte notin wo thy wo to secheAs doonthise foles that hir sorwes echeWithsorwewhan they han misaventureAnd listennought to seche hem other cure.`Men seyn"To wrecche is consolaciounTo havean-other felawe in his peyne;"Thatoughte wel ben our opiniounForbothethou and Iof love we pleyne;So ful ofsorwe am Isoth for to seyneThatcerteynly no more harde graceMay sitteon mefor-why ther is no space.`If godwole thou art not agast of meLest Iwolde of thy lady thee bigyleThow wostthy-self whom that I lovepardeeAs I bestcangon sithen longe whyle.And siththou wost I do it for no wyleAnd sith Iam he that thou tristest mostTel mesumwhatsin al my wo thou wost.'YetTroilusfor al thisno word seydeBut longehe ley as stille as he ded were;And afterthis with sykinge he abreydeAnd toPandarus voys he lente his ereAnd up hiseyen caste hethat in fereWasPandaruslest that in frenesyeHe sholdefalleor elles sone dye;And cryde`A-wake' ful wonderly and sharpe;`What?Slombrestow as in a lytargye?Or artowlyk an asse to the harpeThathereth sounwhan men the strenges plyeBut in hisminde of that no melodyeMaysinkenhim to gladefor that heSo dul isof his bestialitee?'And withthatPandare of his wordes stente;AndTroilus yet him no word answerdeFor-why totelle nas not his ententeTo neverno manfor whom that he so ferde.For it isseyd`Man maketh ofte a yerdeWith whichthe maker is him-self y-betenIn sondrymaner' as thise wyse tretenAndnamelyin his counseyl tellingeThattoucheth love that oughte be secree;For ofhim-self it wolde y-nough out-springeBut-ifthat it the bet governed be.Eeksom-tyme it is craft to seme fleeFro thingwhich in effect men hunte faste;Al thisgan Troilus in his herte caste.Butnatheleeswhan he had herd him crye`Awake!'he gan to syke wonder soreAnd seyde`Freendthough that I stille lyeI am notdeef; now peesand cry no more;For I haveherd thy wordes and thy lore;But suffreme my mischef to biwayleFor thyproverbes may me nought avayle.`Nor othercure canstow noon for me.Eek I nilnot be curedI wol deye;What knoweI of the quene Niobe?Lat bethyne olde ensaumplesI thee preye.'`No' quodtho Pandarus`therfore I seyeSwich isdelyt of foles to biwepeHir wobut seken bote they ne kepe.`Now knoweI that ther reson in the fayleth.But telmeif I wiste what she wereFor whomthat thee al this misaunter ayleth?Dorstestowthat I tolde hir in hir ereThy wosith thou darst not thy-self for fereAnd hirbisoughte on thee to han som routhe?'`Whynay' quod he`by god and by my trouthe!'`WhatNotas bisily' quod Pandarus`As thoughmyn owene lyf lay on this nede?'`Nocertesbrother' quod this Troilus`And why?'-- `For that thou sholdest never spede.'`Wostowthat wel?' -- `Yethat is out of drede'QuodTroilus`for al that ever ye conneShe nil tonoon swich wrecche as I be wonne.'QuodPandarus`Allas! What may this beThat thoudispeyred art thus causelees?What?Liveth not thy lady? Benedicite!How wostowso that thou art gracelees?Swich yvelis nat alwey botelees.Whyputnot impossible thus thy cureSin thingto come is ofte in aventure.`I grauntewel that thou endurest woAs sharpas doth heTiciusin helleWhosstomak foules tyren ever-moThathighte volturisas bokes telle.But I maynot endure that thou dwelleIn sounskilful an opiniounThat ofthy wo is no curacioun.`But onesniltowfor thy coward herteAnd forthyn ire and folish wilfulnesseForwantrusttellen of thy sorwes smerteNe to thynowene help do bisinesseAs mucheas speke a resoun more or lesseBut lyestas he that list of no-thing recche.Whatwomman coude love swich a wrecche?`What mayshe demen other of thy deethIf thouthus deyeand she not why it isBut thatfor fere is yolden up thy breethFor Grekeshan biseged usy-wis?Lordwhich a thank than shaltow han of this!Thus wolshe seynand al the toun at ones"Thewrecche is deedthe devel have his bones!"`Thoumayst allone here wepe and crye and knele;Butlovea woman that she woot it noughtAnd shewol quyte that thou shalt not fele;Unknoweunkistand lost that is un-sought.What! Manya man hath love ful dere y-boughtTwentywinter that his lady wisteThat neveryet his lady mouth he kiste.`What?Shulde be therfor fallen in despeyrOr berecreaunt for his owene teneOr sleenhim-selfal be his lady fayr?Naynaybut ever in oon be fresh and greneTo serveand love his dere hertes queneAnd thenkeit is a guerdoun hir to serveAthousand-fold more than he can deserve.'Of thatword took hede TroilusAndthoughte anoon what folye he was inneAnd howthat sooth him seyde PandarusThat forto sleen him-self mighte he not winneBut bothedoon unmanhod and a sinneAnd of hisdeeth his lady nought to wyte;For of hiswogod wootshe knew ful lyte.And withthat thought he gan ful sore sykeAnd seyde`Allas! What is me best to do?'To whomPandare answered`If thee lykeThe bestis that thou telle me thy wo;And havemy trouthebut thou it finde soI be thyboteor that it be ful longeTo pecesdo me draweand sithen honge!'`Yesothou seyst' quod Troilus tho`allas!Butgodwotit is not the rather so;Ful hardwere it to helpen in this casFor welfinde I that Fortune is my foNe allethe men that ryden conne or goMay of hircruel wheel the harm withstonde;Forashir listshe pleyeth with free and bonde.'QuodPandarus`Than blamestow FortuneFor thouart wroothyenow at erst I see;Wostow natwel that Fortune is communeTo everymaner wight in som degree?And yetthou hast this comfortlopardee!Thatashir Ioyes moten over-goonSo motehir sorwes passen everichoon.`For ifhir wheel stinte any-thing to torneThancessed she Fortune anoon to be:Nowsithhir wheel by no wey may soiorneWhatwostow if hir mutabiliteeRight asthy-selven listwol doon by theeOr thatshe be not fer fro thyn helpinge?Paraunterthou hast cause for to singe!`Andtherfor wostow what I thee beseche?Lat be thywo and turning to the grounde;For who-solist have helping of his lecheTo himbihoveth first unwrye his wounde.ToCerberus in helle ay be I boundeWere itfor my susteral thy sorweBy my wilshe sholde al be thyn to-morwe.`Loke upI seyeand tel me what she isAnoonthat I may goon aboute thy nede;Knowe ichhir ought? For my lovetel me this;Than woldeI hopen rather for to spede.'Tho ganthe veyne of Troilus to bledeFor he washitand wex al reed for shame;`A ha!'quod Pandare`Here biginneth game!'And withthat word he gan him for to shakeAnd seyde`Theefthou shalt hir name telle.'But thogan sely Troilus for to quakeAs thoughmen sholde han led him in-to helleAnd seyde`Allas! Of al my wo the welleThan is myswete fo called Criseyde!'And welnigh with the word for fere he deyde.And whanthat Pandare herde hir name neveneLordhewas gladand seyde`Freend so dereNow farea-rightfor Ioves name in heveneLove hathbiset the welbe of good chere;For ofgood name and wysdom and manereShe hathy-noughand eek of gentilesse;If she befayrthou wost thy-selfI gesse`Ne Inever saw a more bountevousOf hirestatne a gladderne of specheAfreendlierne a more graciousFor to dowelne lasse hadde nede to secheWhat forto doon; and al this bet to echeIn honourto as fer as she may streccheA kingesherte semeth by hirs a wrecche.`Andfor-thy loke of good comfort thou be;Forcerteinlythe firste poynt is thisOf noblecorage and wel ordeyneA man tohave pees with him-selfy-wis;Sooughtest thoufor nought but good it isTo lovenweland in a worthy place;Thee oghtenot to clepe it hapbut grace.`And alsothenkand ther-with glade theeThat siththy lady vertuous is alSo folwethit that ther is som piteeAmongesalle thise othere in general;Andfor-thy see that thouin specialRequerenought that is ayein hir name;For vertuestreccheth not him-self to shame.`But welis me that ever that I was bornThat thoubiset art in so good a place;For by mytrouthein love I dorste have swornTheesholde never han tid thus fayr a grace;And wostowwhy? For thou were wont to chaceAt Love inscornand for despyt him calle"SeyntIdiotlord of thise foles alle."`How oftenhastow maad thy nyce IapesAnd seydthat loves servants everichoneOf nyceteebeen verray goddes apes;And somewolde monche hir mete aloneLigginga-beddeand make hem for to grone;And somthou seydesthadde a blaunche fevereAndpreydest god he sholde never kevere.`And somof hem tok on hemfor the coldeMore thany-noughso seydestow ful ofte;And somhan feyned ofte tymeand toldeHow thatthey wakewhan they slepen softe;And thusthey wolde han brought hem-self a-lofteAndnathelees were under at the laste;Thusseydestowand Iapedest ful faste.`Yetseydestowthatfor the more partTheseloveres wolden speke in generalAndthoughten that it was a siker artForfaylingfor to assayen over-al.Now may Iiape of theeif that I shal!Butnatheleesthough that I sholde deyeThat thouart noon of thothat dorste I seye.`Now beetthy brestand sey to god of love"Thygracelord! For now I me repenteIf I misspakfor now my-self I love:"Thus seywith al thyn herte in good entente.'QuodTroilus`A! Lord! I me consenteAnd preyto thee my Iapes thou foryiveAnd I shalnever-more whyl I live.'`Thouseyst wel' quod Pandare`and now I hopeThat thouthe goddes wraththe hast al apesed;And sithenthou hast wepen many a dropeAnd seydswich thing wher-with thy god is plesedNow woldenever god but thou were esed;And thinkwelshe of whom rist al thy woHere-aftermay thy comfort been al-so.`Forthilke groundthat bereth the wedes wikkeBereth eekthise holsom herbesas ful ofteNext thefoule netlerough and thikkeThe rosewaxeth swote and smothe and softe;And nextthe valey is the hil a-lofte;And nextthe derke night the glade morwe;And alsoIoye is next the fyn of sorwe.`Now lokethat atempre be thy brydelAndforthe besteay suffre to the tydeOr ellesal our labour is on ydel;He hastethwel that wysly can abyde;Bediligentand treweand ay wel hyde.Be lustyfreepersevere in thy servyseAnd al iswelif thou werke in this wyse.`But hethat parted is in every placeIs no-wherhoolas writen clerkes wyse;Whatwonder isthough swich oon have no grace?Eek wostowhow it fareth of som servyse?As plauntea tre or herbein sondry wyseAnd on themorwe pulle it up as blyveNo wonderisthough it may never thryve.`And siththat god of love hath thee bistowedIn placedigne un-to thy worthinesseStondfastefor to good port hastow rowed;And ofthy-selffor any hevinesseHope alweywel; forbut-if drerinesseOrover-haste our bothe labour shendeI hope ofthis to maken a good ende.`Andwostow why I am the lasse a-feredOf thismatere with my nece trete?For thishave I herd seyd of wyse y-lered"Wasnever man ne woman yet bigeteThat wasunapt to suffren loves heteCelestialor elles love of kinde;"For-thysom grace I hope in hir to finde.`And forto speke of hir in specialHirbeautee to bithinken and hir youtheIt sit hirnought to be celestialAs yetthough that hir liste bothe and couthe;Buttrewelyit sete hir wel right noutheA worthyknight to loven and cheryceAnd butshe doI holde it for a vyce.`WherforeI amand wol beay redyTo peyneme to do yow this servyse;For botheyow to plese thus hope IHer-afterward;for ye beth bothe wyseAnd conneit counseyl kepe in swich a wyseThat noman shal the wyser of it be;And so wemay be gladed alle three.`Andbymy troutheI have right now of theeA goodconceyt in my witas I gesseAnd whatit isI wol now that thou see.I thenkesith that loveof his goodnesseHath theeconverted out of wikkednesseThat thoushalt be the beste postI leveOf al hislayand most his foos to-greve.`Ensamplewhysee now these wyse clerkesThat errenaldermost a-yein a laweAnd benconverted from hir wikked werkesThorughgrace of godthat list hem to him draweThan arnthey folk that han most god in aweAndstrengest-feythed beenI understondeAnd connean errour alder-best withstonde.'WhanTroilus had herd Pandare assentedTo beenhis help in loving of CriseydeWex of hiswoas who seythuntormentedBut hotterwex his loveand thus he seydeWith sobrechereal-though his herte pleyde`Nowblisful Venus helpeer that I sterveOf theePandareI may som thank deserve.`Butderefrendhow shal myn wo ben lesseTil thisbe doon? And goodeeek tel me thisHow wiltowseyn of me and my destresse?Lest shebe wrooththis drede I mosty-wysOr nil nothere or trowen how it is.Al thisdrede Iand eek for the manereOf theehir eemshe nil no swich thing here.'QuodPandarus`Thou hast a ful gret careLest thatthe cherl may falle out of the mone!Whylord!I hate of the thy nyce fare!Whyentremete of that thou hast to done!For goddesloveI bidde thee a boneSo lat mealoneand it shal be thy beste.' --`Whyfreend' quod he`now do right as the leste.`ButherkePandareo wordfor I noldeThat thouin me wendest so greet folyeThat to mylady I desiren sholdeThattoucheth harm or any vilenye;Fordredeleesme were lever dyeThan sheof me ought elles understodeBut thatthat mighte sounen in-to gode.'Tho loughthis Pandareand anoon answerde`And I thyborw? Fy! No wight dooth but so;I roughtenought though that she stode and herdeHow thatthou seyst; but fare-welI wol go.A-dieu! Beglad! God spede us bothe two!Yif methis labour and this besinesseAnd of myspeed be thyn al that swetnesse.'ThoTroilus gan doun on knees to falleAndPandare in his armes hente fasteAnd seyde`Nowfy on the Grekes alle!Yetpardeegod shal helpe us at the laste;Anddredeleesif that my lyf may lasteAnd godto-fornlosom of hem shal smerte;And yet meathinketh that this avaunt me asterte!`NowPandareI can no more seyeBut thouwysthou wostthou maystthou art al!My lyfmydeethhool in thyn bonde I leye;Help now'Quod he`Yisby my troutheI shal.'`God yeldetheefreendand this in special'QuodTroilus`that thou me recomaundeTo hirthat to the deeth me may comaunde.'ThisPandarus thodesirous to serveHis fullefreendthan seyde in this manere`Far-weland thenk I wol thy thank deserve;Have heremy troutheand that thou shalt wel here.' --And wentehis weythenking on this matereAnd how hebest mighte hir beseche of graceAnd findea tyme ther-toand a place.For everywight that hath an hous to foundeNe rennethnought the werk for to biginneWith rakelhondbut he wol byde a stoundeAnd sendehis hertes lyne out fro with-inneAlderfirsthis purpos for to winne.Al thisPandare in his herte thoughteAnd castehis werk ful wyslyor he wroughte.ButTroilus lay tho no lenger dounBut upanoon up-on his stede bayAnd in thefeld he pleyde tho leoun;Wo wasthat Greek that with him mette that day.And in thetoun his maner tho forth aySo goodlywasand gat him so in graceThat echhim lovede that loked on his face.For hebicom the frendlyeste wightThegentilesteand eek the moste freeThethriftieste and oon the beste knightThat inhis tyme wasor mighte be.Dede werehis Iapes and his cruelteeHis heigheport and his manere estraungeAnd ech oftho gan for a vertu chaunge.Now lat usstinte of Troilus a stoundeThatfareth lyk a man that hurt is soreAnd issomdel of akinge of his woundeY-lissedwelbut heled no del more:Andas anesy pacientthe lore 1090Abit ofhim that gooth aboute his cure;And thushe dryveth forth his aventure.
IncipitProhemium Secundi Libri.Out ofthese blake wawes for to sayleO windOwindthe weder ginneth clere;For inthis see the boot hath swich travayleOf myconningthat unnethe I it stere:This seeclepe I the tempestous matereOfdesespeyr that Troilus was inne:But now ofhope the calendes biginne.O ladymynthat called art CleoThou be myspeed fro this forthand my museTo rymewel this booktil I have do;Me nedethhere noon other art to use.For-why toevery lovere I me excuseThat of nosentement I this endyteBut out ofLatin in my tonge it wryte.Wherfore Inil have neither thank ne blameOf al thiswerkbut prey yow mekelyDisblamethme if any word be lameFor as mynauctor seydeso seye I.Eek thoughI speke of love unfelinglyNo wondreisfor it no-thing of newe is;A blindman can nat Iuggen wel in hewis.Ye knoweeekthat in forme of speche is chaungeWith-innea thousand yeerand wordes thoThathadden prysnow wonder nyce and straungeUsthinketh hem; and yet they spake hem soAnd speddeas wel in love as men now do;Eek for towinne love in sondry agesIn sondrylondessondry ben usages.Andfor-thy if it happe in any wyseThat herebe any lovere in this placeThatherknethas the storie wol devyseHowTroilus com to his lady graceAndthenkethso nolde I nat love purchaceOrwondreth on his speche or his doingeI noot;but it is me no wonderinge;For everywight which that to Rome wentHalt nat opathor alwey o manere;Eek in somlond were al the gamen shentIf thatthey ferde in love as men don hereAs thusin open doing or in chereInvisitingein formeor seyde hire sawes;For-thymen seynech contree hath his lawes.Eekscarsly been ther in this place threeThat hanin love seid lyk and doon in al;For to thypurpos this may lyken theeAnd theeright noughtyet al is seyd or shal;Eek sommen grave in treesom in stoon walAs itbitit; but sin I have begonneMyn auctorshal I folwenif I conne.Exclipitprohemium Secundi Libri.
In Maythat moder is of monthes gladeThatfresshe flouresbleweand whyteand redeBen quikeagaynthat winter dede madeAnd ful ofbawme is fleting every mede;WhanPhebus doth his brighte bemes spredeRight inthe whyte Boleit so bitiddeAs I shalsingeon Mayes day the thriddeThatPandarusfor al his wyse specheFelt eekhis part of loves shottes keneThatcoude he never so wel of loving precheIt madehis hewe a-day ful ofte grene;So shoopitthat hym fil that day a teneIn lovefor which in wo to bedde he wenteAnd madeer it was dayful many a wente.The swalweProignewith a sorwful layWhan morwecomgan make hir waymentingeWhy sheforshapen was; and ever layPandarea-beddehalf in a slomeringeTil she soneigh him made hir chiteringeHow Tereusgan forth hir suster takeThat withthe noyse of hir he gan a-wake;And gan tocalleand dresse him up to ryseRemembringehim his erand was to doneFromTroilusand eek his greet empryse;And casteand knew in good plyt was the moneTo doonviageand took his wey ful soneUn-to hisneces paleys ther bi-syde;Now Ianusgod of entreethou him gyde!Whan hewas come un-to his neces place`Wher ismy lady?' to hir folk seyde he;And theyhim tolde; and he forth in gan paceAnd fondtwo othere ladyes sete and sheWith-innea paved parlour; and they threeHerden amayden reden hem the gesteOf theSege of Thebeswhyl hem leste.QuodPandarus`Ma damegod yow seeWith alyour book and al the companye!'`Eyunclemynwelcome y-wis' quod sheAnd up sheroosand by the hond in hyeShe tookhim fasteand seyde`This night thryeTo goodemote it turneof yow I mette!'And withthat word she doun on bench him sette.`Yeneceye shal fare wel the betIf godwoleal this yeer' quod Pandarus;`But I amsory that I have yow letTo herknenof your book ye preysen thus;For goddeslovewhat seith it? tel it us.Is it oflove? Osom good ye me lere!'`Uncle'quod she`your maistresse is not here!'With thatthey gonnen laugheand tho she seyde`Thisromaunce is of Thebesthat we rede;And we hanherd how that king Laius deydeThurghEdippus his soneand al that dede;And herewe stenten at these lettres redeHow thebisshopas the book can telleAmphioraxfil thurgh the ground to helle.'QuodPandarus`Al this knowe I my-selveAnd al theassege of Thebes and the care;For her-ofbeen ther maked bokes twelve: --But lat bethisand tel me how ye fare;Do weyyour barbeand shew your face bare;Do weyyour bookrys upand lat us daunceAnd lat usdon to May som observaunce.'`A! Godforbede!' quod she. `Be ye mad?Is that awidewes lyfso god you save?By godyemaken me right sore a-dradYe ben sowildeit semeth as ye rave!It sete mewel bet ay in a caveTo biddeand rede on holy seyntes lyves;Latmaydens gon to daunceand yonge wyves.'`As everthryve I' quod this Pandarus`Yet coudeI telle a thing to doon you pleye.'`Nowuncle dere' quod she`tel it usFor goddeslove; is than the assege aweye?I am ofGrekes so ferd that I deye.'`Naynay' quod he`as ever mote I thryve!It is athing wel bet than swiche fyve.'`Yeholygod' quod she`what thing is that?What! Betthan swiche fyve? Eynayy-wis!For althis world ne can I reden whatIt sholdebeen; som IapeI troweis this;And butyour-selven telle us what it isMy wit isfor to arede it al to lene;As help megodI noot nat what ye meene.'`And Iyour borowne never shalfor meThis thingbe told to yowas mote I thryve!'`And whysouncle myn? Why so?' quod she.`By god'quod he`that wole I telle as blyve;Forprouder womman were ther noon on-lyveAnd ye itwistein al the toun of Troye;I iapenoughtas ever have I Ioye!'Tho ganshe wondren more than bifornA thousandfoldand doun hir eyen caste;For neversith the tyme that she was bornTo knowething desired she so faste;And with asyk she seyde him at the laste`Nowuncle mynI nil yow nought displeseNor axenmorethat may do yow disese.'So afterthiswith many wordes gladeAndfreendly talesand with mery chereOf thisand that they pleydeand gunnen wadeIn many anunkouth glad and deep matereAsfreendes doonwhan they ben met y-fere;Til shegan axen him how Ector ferdeThat wasthe tounes wal and Grekes yerde.`Ful welI thanke it god' quod Pandarus`Save inhis arm he hath a litel wounde;And eekhis fresshe brother TroilusThe wyseworthy Ector the secoundeIn whomthat ever vertu list aboundeAs alletrouthe and alle gentillesseWysdomhonourfredomand worthinesse.'`In goodfeitheem' quod she`that lyketh me;They farenwelgod save hem bothe two!Fortrewely I holde it greet deynteeA kingessone in armes wel to doAnd beenof good condiciouns ther-to;For greetpower and moral vertu hereIs seldey-seye in o persone y-fere.'`In goodfeiththat is sooth' quod Pandarus;`Butbymy trouthethe king hath sones tweyeThat is tomeneEctor and TroilusThatcertainlythough that I sholde deyeThey beenas voyde of vycesdar I seyeAs any menthat liveth under the sonneHir mightis wyde y-knoweand what they conne.`Of Ectornedeth it nought for to telle:In al thisworld ther nis a bettre knightThan hethat is of worthinesse welle;And he welmore vertu hath than might.Thisknoweth many a wys and worthy wight.The sameprys of Troilus I seyeGod helpme soI knowe not swiche tweye.'`By god'quod she`of Ector that is sooth;Of Troilusthe same thing trowe I;Fordredeleesmen tellen that he doothIn armesday by day so worthilyAnd berethhim here at hoom so gentillyTo everywightthat al the prys hath heOf hemthat me were levest preysed be.'`Ye seyright soothy-wis' quod Pandarus;`Foryesterdaywho-so hadde with him beenHe mighthave wondred up-on Troilus;For neveryet so thikke a swarm of beenNe fleighas Grekes fro him gonne fleen;Andthorugh the feldin everi wightes ereTher nasno cry but "Troilus is there!"`Now herenow therehe hunted hem so fasteTher nasbut Grekes blood; and TroilusNow hem hehurteand hem alle doun he caste;Ay wherehe wenteit was arayed thus:He was hirdeethand sheld and lyf for us;That asthat day ther dorste noon with-stondeWhyl thathe held his blody swerd in honde.`Therto heis the freendlieste manOf greteestatthat ever I saw my lyve;And wherhim listbest felawshipe canTo sucheas him thinketh able for to thryve.'And withthat word tho Pandarusas blyveHe tookhis leveand seyde`I wol go henne.'`Nayblame have Imyn uncle' quod she thenne.`Whateyleth yow to be thus wery soneAndnamelich of wommen? Wol ye so?Naysitteth down; by godI have to doneWith yowto speke of wisdom er ye go.'And everywight that was a-boute hem thoThat herdethatgan fer a-wey to stondeWhyl theytwo hadde al that hem liste in honde.Whan thathir tale al brought was to an endeOf hireestat and of hir governaunceQuodPandarus`Now is it tyme I wende;But yetIseyearysethlat us daunceAnd castyour widwes habit to mischaunce:What listyow thus your-self to disfigureSith yowis tid thus fair an aventure?'`A! Welbithought! For love of god' quod she`Shal Inot witen what ye mene of this?'`Nothisthing axeth layser' tho quod he`And eekme wolde muche grevey-wisIf I ittoldeand ye it toke amis.Yet wereit bet my tonge for to stilleThan seyea sooth that were ayeins your wille.`Forneceby the goddesse MinerveAndIuppiterthat maketh the thonder ringeAnd by theblisful Venus that I serveYe beenthe womman in this world livingeWith-outeparamoursto my wittingeThat Ibest loveand lothest am to greveAnd thatye witen wel your-selfI leve.'`Y-wismyn uncle' quod she`grant mercy;Yourfreendship have I founden ever yit;I am to noman holden trewelySo mucheas yowand have so litel quit;Andwiththe grace of godemforth my witAs in mygilt I shal you never offende;And if Ihave er thisI wol amende.`Butforthe love of godI yow besecheAs ye benhe that I love most and tristeLat be tome your fremde manere specheAnd sey tomeyour necewhat yow liste:'And withthat word hir uncle anoon hir kisteAnd seyde`Gladlyleve nece dereTak it forgood that I shal seye yow here.'With thatshe gan hir eiyen doun to casteAndPandarus to coghe gan a lyteAnd seyde`Necealweylo! To the lasteHow-so itbe that som men hem delyteWithsubtil art hir tales for to endyteYet for althatin hir entenciounHir taleis al for som conclusioun.`Andsithen thende is every tales strengtheAnd thismatere is so bihovelyWhatsholde I peynte or drawen it on lengtheTo yowthat been my freend so feithfully?'And withthat word he gan right inwardlyBiholdenhirand loken on hir faceAnd seyde`On suche a mirour goode grace!'Thanthoughte he thus: `If I my tale endyteOughthardor make a proces any whyleShe shalno savour han ther-in but lyteAnd troweI wolde hir in my wil bigyle.For tendrewittes wenen al be wyleTher-asthey can nat pleynly understonde;For-thyhir wit to serven wol I fonde --'And lokedon hir in a besy wyseAnd shewas war that he byheld hir soAnd seyde`Lord! So faste ye me avyse!Sey ye menever er now? What sey yeno?'`Yesyes' quod he`and bet wole er I go;Butby mytroutheI thoughte now if yeBefortunatfor now men shal it see.`For toevery wight som goodly aventureSom tymeis shapeif he it can receyven;And ifthat he wol take of it no cureWhan thatit commethbut wilfully it weyvenLoneither cas nor fortune him deceyvenBut righthis verray slouthe and wrecchednesse;And swicha wight is for to blameI gesse.`GoodaventureO bele necehave yeFullightly foundenand ye conne it take;Andforthe love of godand eek of meCacche itanoonlest aventure slake.Whatsholde I lenger proces of it make?Yif meyour hondfor in this world is noonIf thatyow lista wight so wel begoon.`And sithI speke of good entenciounAs I toyow have told wel here-bifornAnd loveas wel your honour and renounAscreature in al this world y-born;By allethe othes that I have yow swornAnd ye bewrooth therforeor wene I lyeNe shal Inever seen yow eft with ye.`Bethnought agastne quaketh nat; wher-to?Nechaungeth nat for fere so your hewe;Forhardely the werste of this is do;And thoughmy tale as now be to yow neweYet tristalweyye shal me finde trewe;And wereit thing that me thoughte unsittingeTo yownolde I no swiche tales bringe.'`Nowmygood eemfor goddes loveI preye'Quod she`com ofand tel me what it is;For botheI am agast what ye wol seyeAnd eek melongeth it to witey-wis.Forwhether it be wel or be amisSay onlat me not in this fere dwelle:'`So wol Idoon; now herknethI shal telle:`Nownecemynthe kinges dere soneThe goodewyseworthyfressheand freeWhichalwey for to do wel is his woneThe nobleTroilusso loveth theeThatbotye helpeit wol his bane be.Lohereis alwhat sholde I more seye?Doth whatyow listto make him live or deye.`But if yelete him deyeI wol sterve;Have hermy troutheneceI nil not lyen;Al sholdeI with this knyf my throte kerve --'With thatthe teres braste out of his yenAnd seyde`If that ye doon us bothe dyenThusgilteleesthan have ye fisshed faire;What mendeyethough that we bothe apeyre?`Allas! Hewhich that is my lord so dereThat trewemanthat noble gentil knightThatnought desireth but your freendly chereI see himdeyether he goth up-rightAndhasteth himwith al his fulle mightFor to beslaynif fortune wol assente;Allas!That god yow swich a beautee sente!`If it beso that ye so cruel beThat ofhis deeth yow liste nought to reccheThat is sotrewe and worthyas ye seeNo morethan of a Iapere or a wreccheIf ye beswichyour beautee may not streccheTo makeamendes of so cruel a dede;Avysementis good bifore the nede.`Wo worththe faire gemme vertulees!Wo worththat herbe also that dooth no bote!Wo worththat beautee that is routhelees!Wo worththat wight that tret ech under fote!And yethat been of beautee crop and roteIftherwith-al in you ther be no routheThan is itharm ye livenby my trouthe!`And alsothenk wel that this is no gaude;For mewere leverthou and I and heWerehangedthan I sholde been his baudeAs heygheas men mighte on us alle y-see:I am thyneemthe shame were to meAs wel astheeif that I sholde assenteThorughmyn abetthat he thyn honour shente.`Nowunderstondfor I yow nought requereTo bindeyow to him thorugh no behesteBut onlythat ye make him bettre chereThan yehan doon er thisand more festeSo thathis lyf be savedat the leste;This aland somand playnly our entente;God helpme soI never other mente.`Lothisrequest is not but skiley-wisNe douteof resonpardeeis ther noon.I settethe worste that ye dredden thisMen woldenwondren seen him come or goon:Ther-ayeinsanswere I thus a-noonThat everywightbut he be fool of kindeWol demeit love of freendship in his minde.`What? Whowol demethough he see a manTo templegothat he the images eteth?Thenk eekhow wel and wysly that he canGovernehim-selfthat he no-thing foryetethThatwherhe comethhe prys and thank him geteth;And eekther-tohe shal come here so seldeWhat forswere it though al the toun behelde?`Swichlove of freendes regneth al this toun;And wryeyow in that mantel ever-mo;And god sowis be my savaciounAs I haveseydyour beste is to do so.But alweygoode neceto stinte his woSo latyour daunger sucred ben a lyteThat ofhis deeth ye be nought for to wyte.'Criseydewhich that herde him in this wyseThoughte`I shal fele what he menethy-wis.'`Noweem' quod she`what wolde ye devyse?What isyour reed I sholde doon of this?'`That iswel seyd' quod be. `certaynbest isThat yehim love ayein for his lovingeAs lovefor love is skilful guerdoninge.`Thenkeekhow elde wasteth every houreIn eche ofyow a party of beautee;Andtherforeer that age thee devoureGo loveforoldether wol no wight of thee.Lat thisproverbe a lore un-to yow be;"Tolate y-warquod Beauteewhan it paste;"And eldedaunteth daunger at the laste.`Thekinges fool is woned to cryen loudeWhan thathim thinketh a womman bereth hir hye"Solonge mote ye liveand alle proudeTil crowesfeet be growe under your yeAnd sendeyow thanne a mirour in to pryeIn whichethat ye may see your face a-morwe!"NeceIbidde wisshe yow no more sorwe.'With thishe stenteand caste adoun the heedAnd shebigan to breste a-wepe anoonAnd seyde`Allasfor wo! Why nere I deed?For ofthis world the feith is al agoon!Allas!What sholden straunge to me doonWhan hethat for my beste freend I wendeRet me toloveand sholde it me defende?`Allas! Iwolde han trusteddouteleesThat ifthat Ithurgh my disaventureHad lovedother him or AchillesEctororany mannes creatureYe noldehan had no mercy ne mesureOn mebutalwey had me in repreve;This falseworldallas! Who may it leve?`What? Isthis al the Ioye and al the feste?Is thisyour reedis this my blisful cas?Is thisthe verray mede of your beheste?Is al thispeynted proces seydallas!Right forthis fyn? O lady mynPallas!Thou inthis dredful cas for me purveye;For soastonied am I that I deye!'With thatshe gan ful sorwfully to syke;`A! May itbe no bet?' quod Pandarus;`By godIshal no-more come here this wykeAnd godto-fornthat am mistrusted thus;I see fulwel that ye sette lyte of usOr of ourdeeth! Allas! I woful wrecche!Mighte heyet liveof me is nought to recche.`O cruelgodO dispitouse MarteO Furiesthree of helleon yow I crye!So lat menever out of this hous departeIf that Imente harm or vilanye!But sith Isee my lord mot nedes dyeAnd I withhimhere I me shryveand seyeThatwikkedly ye doon us bothe deye.`But sithit lyketh yow that I be deedByNeptunusthat god is of the seeFro thisforth shal I never eten breedTil I mynowene herte blood may see;ForcertaynI wole deye as sone as he --'And up hesterteand on his wey he raughteTil sheagayn him by the lappe caughte.Criseydewhich that wel neigh starf for fereSo as shewas the ferfulleste wightThatmighte beand herde eek with hir ereAnd sawthe sorwful ernest of the knightAnd in hispreyere eek saw noon unrightAnd forthe harm that mighte eek fallen moreShe gan torewe and dredde hir wonder sore;Andthoughte thus`Unhappes fallen thikkeAlday forloveand in swich maner casAs men bencruel in hem-self and wikke;And ifthis man slee here him-selfallas!In mypresenceit wol be no solas.What menwolde of hit deme I can nat seye;It nedethme ful sleyly for to pleye.'And with asorwful syk she seyde thrye`A! Lord!What me is tid a sory chaunce!For mynestat lyth in IupartyeAnd eekmyn emes lyf lyth in balaunce;Butnatheleeswith goddes governaunceI shal sodoonmyn honour shal I kepeAnd eekhis lyf;' and stinte for to wepe.`Of harmestwothe lesse is for to chese;Yet have Ilever maken him good chereIn honourthan myn emes lyf to lese;Ye seynye no-thing elles me requere?'`Nowis'quod he`myn owene nece dere.'`Now wel'quod she`and I wol doon my peyne;I shal mynherte ayeins my lust constreyne.`But thatI nil not holden him in hondeNe love amanne can I notne mayAyeins mywil; but elles wol I fondeMyn honoursaufplese him fro day to day;Ther-tonolde I nought ones have seyd nayBut that Idreddeas in my fantasye;But cessecauseay cesseth maladye.`And hereI make a protestaciounThat inthis proces if ye depper goThatcertaynlyfor no savaciounOf yowthough that ye sterve bothe twoThough althe world on o day be my foNe shal Inever on him han other routhe. --'`I grauntewel' quod Pandare`by my trouthe.`But may Itruste wel ther-to' quod he`That ofthis thing that ye han hight me hereYe wol itholden trewly un-to me?'`Yedoutelees' quod she`myn uncle dere.'`Ne that Ishal han cause in this matere'Quod he`to pleyneor after yow to preche?'`Whynoparde; what nedeth more speche?'Tho fillenthey in othere tales gladeTil at thelaste`O good eem' quod she tho`For loveof godwhich that us bothe madeTel me howfirst ye wisten of his wo:Wot noonof hit but ye?' He seyde`No.'`Can hewel speke of love?' quod she`I preyeTel mefor I the bet me shal purveye.'ThoPandarus a litel gan to smyleAnd seyde`By my troutheI shal yow telle.This otherdaynought gon ful longe whyleIn-withthe paleys-gardynby a welleGan he andI wel half a day to dwelleRight forto speken of an ordenaunceHow we theGrekes myghte disavaunce.`Soneafter that bigonne we to lepeAnd castenwith our dartes to and froTil at thelaste he seyde he wolde slepeAnd on thegres a-doun he leyde him tho;And Iafter gan rome to and froTil that Iherdeas that I welk alloneHow hebigan ful wofully to grone.`Tho gan Istalke him softely bihindeAndsikerlythe sothe for to seyneAs I canclepe ayein now to my mindeRight thusto Love he gan him for to pleyne;He seyde"Lord! Have routhe up-on my peyneAl have Ibeen rebel in myn entente;NowMEACULPAlord! I me repente.`"Ogodthat at thy disposiciounLedest thefyn by Iuste purveyaunceOf everywightmy lowe confessiounAccepte ingreeand send me swich penaunceAs lykeththeebut from desesperaunceThat maymy goost departe awey fro theeThou be mysheldfor thy benignitee.`"Forcerteslordso soore hath she me woundedThat stodin blakwith loking of hir yenThat tomyn hertes botme it is y-soundedThorughwhich I woot that I mot nedes dyen;This isthe worsteI dar me not bi-wryen;And welthe hotter been the gledes redeThat menhem wryen with asshen pale and dede."`With thathe smoot his heed adoun anoonAnd gan tomotreI noot whattrewely.And I withthat gan stille awey to goonAnd leetther-of as no-thing wist hadde IAnd comeayein anoon and stood him byAnd seyde"A-wakeye slepen al to longe;It semethnat that love dooth yow longe`"Thatslepen so that no man may yow wake.Who seyever or this so dul a man?""Yefreend" quod he"do ye your hedes akeFor loveand lat me liven as I can."But thoughthat he for wo was pale and wanYet madehe tho as freshe a countenaunceAs thoughhe shulde have led the newe daunce.`Thispassed forthtil nowthis other dayIt felthat I com roming al alloneInto hischaumbreand fond how that he layUp-on hisbed; but man so sore groneNe herde Ineverand what that was his moneNe wist Inought; foras I was comingeAlsodeynly he lefte his compleyninge.`Of whichI took somwat suspeciounAnd neer Icomand fond he wepte sore;And god sowis be my savaciounAs neverof thing hadde I no routhe more.Forneither with engynne with no loreUnethesmighte I fro the deeth him kepe;That yetfele I myn herte for him wepe.`And godwotneversith that I was bornWas I sobisy no man for to precheNe neverwas to wight so depe y-swornOr he metolde who mighte been his leche.But now toyow rehersen al his specheOr allehis woful wordes for to souneNe bid menotbut ye wol see me swowne.`But forto save his lyfand elles noughtAnd to nonharm of yowthus am I driven;And forthe love of god that us hath wroughtSwichchere him dooththat he and I may liven.Now have Iplat to yow myn herte shriven;And sin yewoot that myn entente is cleneTak hedether-offor I non yvel mene.`And rightgood thriftI prey to godhave yeThat hanswich oon y-caught with-oute net;And be yewysas ye ben fair to seeWel in thering than is the ruby set.Ther werenever two so wel y-metWhan yeben his al hoolas he is youre:Thermighty god yet graunte us see that houre!'`Naytherof spak I notaha!' quod she`As helpeme godye shenden every deel!'`O mercydere nece' anoon quod he`What-so IspakI mente nought but weelBy Marsthe godthat helmed is of steel;Now bethnought wroothmy bloodmy nece dere.'`Now wel'quod she`foryeven be it here!'With thishe took his leveand hoom he wente;And lordhe was glad and wel bigoon!Criseydearoosno lenger she ne stenteButstraught in-to hir closet wente anoonAnd settehere doun as stille as any stoonAnd everyword gan up and doun to windeThat hehadde seydas it com hir to minde;And wexsomdel astonied in hir thoughtRight forthe newe cas; but whan that sheWas fulavysedtho fond she right noughtOf perilwhy she oughte afered be.For manmay loveof possibiliteeA wommansohis herte may to-bresteAnd shenought love ayeinbut-if hir leste.But as shesat allone and thoughte thusThascryaroos at skarmish al with-outeAnd mencryde in the strete`SeeTroilusHath rightnow put to flight the Grekes route!'With thatgan al hir meynee for to shoute`A! Go weseecaste up the latis wyde;For thurghthis strete he moot to palays ryde;`For otherwey is fro the yate noonOfDardanusther open is the cheyne.'With thatcom he and al his folk anoonAn esy pasrydingein routes tweyneRight ashis happy day wassooth to seyneFor whichmen saymay nought disturbed beThat shalbityden of necessitee.ThisTroilus sat on his baye stedeAl armedsave his heedful richelyAndwounded was his horsand gan to bledeOn whichehe rood a pasful softely;But swycha knightly sightetrewelyAs was onhimwas noughtwith-outen faileTo loke onMarsthat god is of batayle.So lyk aman of armes and a knightHe was toseenfulfild of heigh prowesse;For bothehe hadde a body and a mightTo doonthat thingas wel as hardinesse;And eek toseen him in his gere him dresseSo freshso yongso weldy semed heIt was anheven up-on him for to see.His helmto-hewen was in twenty placesThat by atissew henghis bak bihindeHis sheldto-dasshed was with swerdes and macesIn whichmen mighte many an arwe findeThatthirled hadde horn and nerf and rinde;And ay thepeple cryde`Here cometh our IoyeAndnexthis brotherholdere up of Troye!'For whichhe wex a litel reed for shameWhan hethe peple up-on him herde cryenThat tobiholde it was a noble gameHowsobreliche he caste doun his yen.Cryseydagan al his chere aspyenAnd leetso softe it in hir herte sinkeThat tohir-self she seyde`Who yaf me drinke?'For of hirowene thought she wex al reedRemembringehir right thus`Lothis is heWhich thatmyn uncle swereth he moot be deedBut I onhim have mercy and pitee;'And withthat thoughtfor pure a-shamedsheGan in hirheed to pulleand that as fasteWhyl heand al the peple for-by pasteAnd gan tocaste and rollen up and dounWith-innehir thought his excellent prowesseAnd hisestatand also his renounHis withis shapand eek his gentillesse;But mosthir favour wasfor his distresseWas al forhirand thoughte it was a routheTo sleenswich oonif that he mente trouthe.Now mightesom envyous Iangle thus`This wasa sodeyn love; how mighte it beThat sheso lightly lovede TroilusRight forthe firste sighte; yepardee?'Now who-soseyth somote he never thee!For everythinga ginning hath it nedeEr al bewroughtwith-outen any drede.For I seynought that she so sodeynlyYaf himhir lovebut that she gan enclyneTo lykehim firstand I have told yow why;And afterthathis manhod and his pyneMade lovewith-inne hir for to myneFor whichby proces and by good servyseHe gat hirloveand in no sodeyn wyse.And alsoblisful Venuswel arayedSat in hirseventhe hous of hevene thoDisposedweland with aspectes payedTo helpensely Troilus of his wo.Andsoothto seynshe nas not al a foTo Troilusin his nativitee;God wootthat wel the soner spedde he.Now lat usstinte of Troilus a throweThatrydeth forthand lat us tourne fasteUn-toCriseydethat heng hir heed ful loweTher-asshe sat alloneand gan to casteWher-onshe wolde apoynte hir at the lasteIf it sowere hir eem ne wolde cesseForTroilusup-on hir for to presse.Andlord!So she gan in hir thought argueIn thismatere of which I have yow toldAnd whatto doon best wereand what eschueThatplyted she ful ofte in many fold.Now washir herte warmnow was it coldAnd whatshe thoughte somwhat shal I wryteAs to mynauctor listeth for to endyte.Shethoughte wel that Troilus personeShe knewby sighte and eek his gentillesseAnd thusshe seyde`Al were it nought to doneTo grauntehim loveyetfor his worthinesseIt werehonourwith pley and with gladnesseInhonesteewith swich a lord to deleFor mynestatand also for his hele.`Eekwelwot I my kinges sone is he;And sithhe hath to see me swich delytIf I woldeutterly his sighte fleePeraunterhe mighte have me in dispytThurghwhich I mighte stonde in worse plyt;Now were Iwysme hate to purchaceWith-outennedether I may stonde in grace?`In everythingI wootther lyth mesure.For thougha man forbede dronkenesseHe noughtfor-bet that every creatureBedrinkelees for alweyas I gesse;Eek sith Iwoot for me is his distresseI neoughte not for that thing him despyseSith it issohe meneth in good wyse.`And eek Iknoweof longe tyme agoonHis thewesgoodeand that he is not nyce.Neavauntourseyth mencerteinhe is noon;To wys ishe to do so gret a vyce;Ne als Inel him never so cheryceThat hemay make avauntby Iuste cause;He shal menever binde in swiche a clause.`Now set acasthe hardest isy-wisMenmighten deme that he loveth me;Whatdishonour were it un-to methis?May I himlette of that? Why naypardee!I knowealsoand alday here and seeMen lovenwommen al this toun aboute;Be theythe wers? Whynaywith-outen doute.`I thenkeek how he able is for to haveOf al thisnoble toun the thriftiesteTo beenhis loveso she hir honour save;For outand out he is the worthiesteSave onlyEctorwhich that is the beste.And yethis lyf al lyth now in my cureBut swichis loveand eek myn aventure.`Ne me tolovea wonder is it nought;For welwot I my-selfso god me spedeAl wolde Ithat noon wiste of this thoughtI am oonthe fayresteout of dredeAndgoodliestewho-so taketh hede;And so menseyn in al the toun of Troye.Whatwonder is it though he of me have Ioye?`I am mynowene womanwel at eseI thank itgodas after myn estat;Rightyongand stonde unteyd in lusty leseWith-outenIalousye or swich debat;Shal noonhousbonde seyn to me "Chekmat!"For eitherthey ben ful of IalousyeOrmaisterfulor loven novelrye.`What shalI doon? To what fyn live I thus?Shal I natlovenin cas if that me leste?Whatpardieux! I am nought religious!And thoughthat I myn herte sette at resteUpon thisknightthat is the worthiesteAnd kepealwey myn honour and my nameBy allerightit may do me no shame.'But rightas whan the sonne shyneth brighteIn Marchthat chaungeth ofte tyme his faceAnd that acloud is put with wind to flighteWhichover-sprat the sonne as for a spaceA cloudythought gan thorugh hir soule paceThatover-spradde hir brighte thoughtes alleSo thatfor fere almost she gan to falle.Thatthought was this: `Allas! Sin I am freeSholde Inow loveand putte in IupartyeMysikernesseand thrallen libertee?Allas! Howdorste I thenken that folye?May Inought wel in other folk aspyeHirdredful Ioyehir constreyntand hir peyne?Therloveth noonthat she nath why to pleyne.`For loveis yet the moste stormy lyfRight ofhim-selfthat ever was bigonne;For eversom mistrustor nyce stryfTher is inlovesom cloud is over that sonne:Ther-to wewrecched wommen no-thing conneWhan us iswobut wepe and sitte and thinke;Our wrecheis thisour owene wo to drinke.`Alsothese wikked tonges been so prestTo spekeus harmeek men be so untreweThatright anoon as cessed is hir lestSo cessethloveand forth to love a newe:But harmy-doonis doonwho-so it rewe.For thoughthese men for love hem first to-rendeFul sharpbiginning breketh ofte at ende.`How oftetyme hath it y-knowen beThetresonthat to womman hath be do?To whatfyn is swich loveI can nat seeOr wherbicometh itwhan it is ago;Ther is nowight that wootI trowe soWher itbycomth; lono wight on it sporneth;That erstwas no-thingin-to nought it torneth.`How bisyif I loveeek moste I beTo plesenhem that Iangle of loveand demenAnd coyehemthat they sey non harm of me?For thoughther be no causeyet hem semenAl be forharm that folk hir freendes quemen;And whomay stoppen every wikked tongeOr soun ofbelles whyl that they be ronge?'And afterthathir thought bigan to clereAnd seyde`He which that no-thing under-takethNo thingne achevethbe him looth or dere.'And withan other thought hir herte quaketh;Thanslepeth hopeand after dreed awaketh;Now hootnow cold; but thusbi-twixen tweyeShe risthir upand went hir for to pleye.Adoun thesteyre anoon-right tho she wenteIn-to thegardinwith hir neces threeAnd up anddoun ther made many a wenteFlexippesheTharbeand AntigoneTo pleyenthat it Ioye was to see;And othereof hir wommena gret routehirfolwede in the gardin al aboute.This yerdwas largeand rayled alle the aleyesAndshadwed wel with blosmy bowes greneAndbenched neweand sonded alle the weyesIn whichshe walketh arm in arm bi-twene;Til at thelaste Antigone the sheneGan on aTroian song to singe clereThat it anheven was hir voys to here. --She seyde`O loveto whom I have and shalBen humblesubgittrewe in myn ententeAs I bestcanto yowlordyeve ich alForever-moremyn hertes lust to rente.For neveryet thy grace no wight senteSo blisfulcause as memy lyf to ledeIn alleIoye and seurteeout of drede.`Yeblisful godhan me so wel besetIn lovey-wisthat al that bereth lyfImaginenne cowde how to ben bet;Forlordwith-outen Ialousye or stryfI love oonwhich that is most ententyfTo servenwelunwery or unfeynedThat everwasand leest with harm distreyned.`As hethat is the welle of worthinesseOf trouthegroundmirour of goodliheedOf witAppollostoon of sikernesseOf verturoteof lust findere and heedThurghwhich is alle sorwe fro me deedY-wisIlove him bestso doth he me;Now goodthrift have hewher-so that he be!`Whomsholde I thanke but yowgod of loveOf al thisblissein which to bathe I ginne?Andthanked be yelordfor that I love!This isthe righte lyf that I am inneTo flemenalle manere vyce and sinne:This dothme so to vertu for to entendeThat dayby day I in my wil amende.`Andwho-so seyth that for to love is vyceOrthraldomthough he fele in it distresseHe outheris envyousor right nyceOr isunmightyfor his shrewednesseTo loven;for swich maner folkI gesseDefamenloveas no-thing of him knowe;Theispekenbut they bente never his bowe.`What isthe sonne wersof kinde righteThoughthat a manfor feblesse of his yenMay noughtendure on it to see for brighte?Or lovethe wersthough wrecches on it cryen?No wele isworththat may no sorwe dryen.Andfor-thywho that hath an heed of verreFro castof stones war him in the werre!`But Iwith al myn herte and al my mightAs I haveseydwol loveun-to my lasteMy dereherteand al myn owene knightIn whichmyn herte growen is so fasteAnd his inmethat it shal ever laste.Al dreddeI first to love him to biginneNow woot Iwelther is no peril inne.'And of hirsong right with that word she stenteAndtherwith-al`Nownece' quod Criseyde`Who madethis song with so good entente?'Antigoneanswerde anoonand seyde`Ma damey-wisthe goodlieste maydeOf greetestat in al the toun of Troye;And lethir lyf in most honour and Ioye.'`Forsotheso it semeth by hir song'Quod thoCriseydeand gan ther-with to sykeAnd seyde`Lordis there swich blisse amongTheseloversas they conne faire endyte?'`Yewis'quod freshe Antigone the whyte`For allethe folk that han or been on lyveNe connewel the blisse of love discryve.`But weneye that every wrecche wootThe parfitblisse of love? Whynayy-wis;They wenenal be loveif oon be hoot;Do weydoweythey woot no-thing of this!Men mostenaxe at seyntes if it isAught fairin hevene; Why? For they conne telle;And axenfendesis it foul in helle.'Criseydeun-to that purpos nought answerdeBut seyde`Y-wisit wol be night as faste.'But everyword which that she of hir herdeShe gan toprenten in hir herte faste;And ay ganlove hir lasse for to agasteThan itdide erstand sinken in hir herteThat shewex somwhat able to converte.The dayeshonourand the hevenes yeThenightes foal this clepe I the sonneGanwestren fasteand dounward for to wryeAs he thathadde his dayes cours y-ronne;And whytethinges wexen dimme and donneFor lak oflightand sterres for to appereThat sheand al hir folk in wente y-fere.So whan itlyked hir to goon to resteAnd voydedweren they that voyden oughteShe seydethat to slepe wel hir leste.Hir wommensone til hir bed hir broughte.Whan alwas hustthan lay she stilleand thoughteOf al thisthing the manere and the wyse.Reherce itnedeth noughtfor ye ben wyse.Anightingaleupon a cedre greneUnder thechambre-wal ther as she layFul loudesang ayein the mone sheneParaunterin his briddes wysea layOf lovethat made hir herte fresh and gay.Thatherkned she so longe in good ententeTil at thelaste the dede sleep hir hente.And as shesleepanoon-right tho hir metteHow thatan eglefethered whyt as boonUnder hirbrest his longe clawes setteAnd outhir herte he renteand that a-noonAnd didehis herte in-to hir brest to goonOf whichshe nought agroosne no-thing smerteAnd forthhe fleighwith herte left for herte.Now lathir slepeand we our tales holdeOfTroilusthat is to paleys ridenFro thescarmuchof the whiche I toldeAnd in hischaumbre sitand hath abidenTil two orthree of his messages yedenForPandarusand soughten him ful fasteTil theyhim founde and broughte him at the laste.ThisPandarus com leping in at onesAnd seiydethus: `Who hath ben wel y-beteTo-daywith swerdesand with slinge-stonesButTroilusthat hath caught him an hete?'And gan toIapeand seyde`Lordso ye swete!But rysand lat us soupe and go to reste;'And heanswerde him`Do we as thee leste.'With althe haste goodly that they mighteTheyspedde hem fro the souper un-to bedde;And everywight out at the dore him dighteAnd wherhim liste upon his wey him spedde;ButTroilusthat thoughte his herte bleddeFor wotil that he herde som tydingeHe seyde`Freendshal I now wepe or singe?'QuodPandarus`Ly stille and lat me slepeAnd donthyn hoodthy nedes spedde be;And cheseif thou wolt singe or daunce or lepe;At shortewordesthow shal trowe me. --Siremynece wol do wel by theeAnd lovethee bestby god and by my troutheBut lak ofpursuit make it in thy slouthe.`For thusferforth I have thy work bigonneFro day todaytil this dayby the morweHir loveof freendship have I to thee wonneAnd alsohath she leyd hir feyth to borwe.Algate afoot is hameled of thy sorwe.'Whatsholde I lenger sermon of it holde?As ye hanherd biforeal he him tolde.But rightas flouresthorugh the colde of nightY-closedstoupen on hir stalke loweRedressenhem a-yein the sonne brightAndspreden on hir kinde cours by roweRight sogan tho his eyen up to throweThisTroilusand seyde`O Venus dereThy mightthy gracey-heried be it here!'And toPandare he held up bothe his hondesAnd seyde`Lordal thyn be that I have;For I amhoolal brosten been my bondes;A thousandTroians who so that me yaveEche afterothergod so wis me saveNe mighteme so gladen; lomyn herteItspredeth so for Ioyeit wol to-sterte!`But Lordhow shal I doonhow shal I liven?Whan shalI next my dere herte see?How shalthis longe tyme a-wey be drivenTil thatthou be ayein at hir fro me?Thou maystanswere"A-byda-byd" but heThathangeth by the nekkesooth to seyneIn gretedisese abydeth for the peyne.'`Al esilynowfor the love of Marte'QuodPandarus`for every thing hath tyme;So longeabyd til that the night departe;For al sosiker as thow lyst here by meAnd godtofornI wol be there at prymeAnd forthy werk somwhat as I shal seyeOr on somother wight this charge leye.`Forpardeegod wotI have ever yit 995Ben redythee to serveand to this nightHave Inought faynedbut emforth my witDon al thylustand shal with al my might.Do now asI shal seyeand fare a-right;And ifthou niltwyte al thy-self thy careOn me isnought along thyn yvel fare.`I wootwel that thow wyser art than IA thousandfoldbut if I were as thouGod helpme soas I wolde outrelyRight ofmyn owene hondwryte hir right nowA lettrein which I wolde hir tellen howI ferdeamisand hir beseche of routhe;Now helpthy-selfand leve it not for slouthe.`And Imy-self shal ther-with to hir goon;And whanthou wost that I am with hir thereWorth thouup-on a courser right anoonYehardilyright in thy beste gereAnd rydforth by the placeas nought ne wereAnd thoushalt finde usif I maysittingeAt somwindowein-to the strete lokinge.`And ifthee listthan maystow us saluweAnd up-onme make thy contenaunce;Butbythy lyfbe war and faste eschuweTo tarienoughtgod shilde us fro mischaunce!Ryd forththy weyand hold thy governaunce;And weshal speke of thee som-whatI troweWhan Thouart goonto do thyne eres glowe!`Touchingthy lettrethou art wys y-noughI wootthow nilt it digneliche endyte;As make itwith thise argumentes tough;Nescrivenish or craftily thou it wryte;Beblotteit with thy teres eek a lyte;And ifthou wryte a goodly word al softeThough itbe goodreherce it not to ofte.`Forthough the beste harpour upon lyveWolde onthe beste souned Ioly harpeThat everwaswith alle his fingres fyveTouche ayo strengor ay o werbul harpeWere hisnayles poynted never so sharpeIt shuldemaken every wight to dulleTo herehis gleeand of his strokes fulle.`Ne Iompreeek no discordaunt thing y-fereAs thusto usen termes of phisyk;In lovestermeshold of thy matereThe formealweyand do that it be lyk;For if apeyntour wolde peynte a pykWith assesfeetand hede it as an apeIt cordethnought; so nere it but a Iape.'Thiscounseyl lyked wel to Troilus;Butas adreedful loverhe seyde this: --`Allasmydere brother PandarusI amashamed for to wrytey-wisLest ofmyn innocence I seyde a-misOr thatshe nolde it for despyt receyve;Thannewere I deedther mighte it no-thing weyve.'To thatPandare answerde`If thee lestDo that Iseyeand lat me therwith goon;For bythat lord that formed est and westI hope ofit to bringe answere anoonRight ofhir hondand if that thou nilt noonLat be;and sory mote he been his lyveAyeins thylust that helpeth thee to thryve.'QuodTroilus`DepardieuxI assente;Sin thatthee listI will aryse and wryte;Andblisful god preye ichwith good ententeThe vyageand the lettre I shal endyteSo spedeit; and thouMinervathe whyteYif thoume wit my lettre to devyse:'And settehim dounand wroot right in this wyse. --First hegan hir his righte lady calle1065His herteslyfhis lusthis sorwes lecheHisblisseand eek these othere termes alleThat inswich cas these loveres alle seche;And in fulhumble wyseas in his specheHe gan himrecomaunde un-to hir grace;To telleal howit axeth muchel space.And afterthisful lowly he hir praydeTo benought wrooththough heof his folyeSo hardywas to hir to wryteand seydeThat loveit madeor elles moste he dyeAndpitously gan mercy for to crye;And afterthat he seydeand ley ful loudeHim-selfwas litel worthand lesse he coude;And thatshe sholde han his conning excusedThat litelwasand eek he dredde hir soAnd hisunworthinesse he ay acused;And afterthatthan gan he telle his woo;But thatwas endeleswith-outen ho;And seydehe wolde in trouthe alwey him holde; --And raddeit overand gan the lettre folde.And withhis salte teres gan he batheThe rubyin his signetand it setteUpon thewex deliverliche and rathe;Ther-witha thousand tymeser he letteHe kistetho the lettre that he shetteAnd seyde`Lettrea blisful desteneeTheeshapen ismy lady shal thee see.'ThisPandare took the lettreand that by tymeA-morweand to his neces paleys sterteAnd fastehe swoorthat it was passed prymeAnd gan toIapeand seyde`Y-wismyn herteSo freshit isal-though it sore smerteI may notslepe never a Mayes morwe;I have aIoly woa lusty sorwe.'Criseydewhan that she hir uncle herdeWithdreedful herteand desirous to hereThe causeof his comingethus answerde:`Now byyour feythmyn uncle' quod she`dereWhat manerwindes gydeth yow now here?Tel usyour Ioly wo and your penaunceHowferforth be ye put in loves daunce.'`By god'quod he`I hoppe alwey bihinde!'And sheto-laughit thoughte hir herte breste.QuodPandarus`Loke alwey that ye findeGame inmyn hoodbut herknethif yow leste;Ther isright now come in-to toune a gesteA Greekespyeand telleth newe thingesFor whichI come to telle yow tydinges.`Into thegardin go weand we shal hereAlprevelyof this a long sermoun.'With thatthey wenten arm in arm y-fereIn-to thegardin from the chaumbre doun.And whanthat he so fer was that the sounOf that hespekeno man here mighteHe seydehir thusand out the lettre plighte`Lohethat is al hoolly youres freeHimrecomaundeth lowly to your graceAnd sentto you this lettre here by me;Avysethyou on itwhan ye han spaceAnd of somgoodly answere yow purchace;Orhelpeme godso pleynly for to seyneHe may notlonge liven for his peyne.'Fuldredfully tho gan she stonde stilleAnd tookit noughtbut al hir humble chereGan for tochaungeand seyde`Scrit ne billeFor loveof godthat toucheth swich matereNe bringme noon; and alsouncle dereTo mynestat have more rewardI preyeThan tohis lust; what sholde I more seye?`Andloketh now if this be resonableAndletteth noughtfor favour ne for sloutheTo seyn asooth; now were it covenableTo mynestatby godand by your troutheTo takenitor to han of him routheIn harmingof my-self or in repreve?Ber ita-yeinfor him that ye on leve!'ThisPandarus gan on hir for to stareAnd seyde`Now is this the grettest wonderThat everI sey! Lat be this nyce fare!To deethemote I smiten be with thonderIfforthe citee which that stondeth yonderWolde I alettre un-to yow bringe or takeTo harm ofyow; what list yow thus it make?`But thusye farenwel neigh alle and someThat hethat most desireth yow to serveOf him yerecche leest wher he bicomeAndwhether that he live or elles sterve.But for althat that ever I may deserveRefuse itnought' quod heand hente hir fasteAnd in hirbosom the lettre doun he thrasteAnd seydehire`Now cast it awey anoonThat folkmay seen and gauren on us tweye.'Quod she`I can abyde til they be goon'And gan tosmyleand seyde hym`EemI preyeSwichanswere as yow listyour-self purveyeFortrewely I nil no lettre wryte.'`No? thanwol I' quod he`so ye endyte.'Therwithshe loughand seyde`Go we dyne.'And he ganat him-self to iape fasteAnd seyde`NeceI have so greet a pyneFor lovethat every other day I faste' --And ganhis beste Iapes forth to caste;And madehir so to laughe at his folyeThat shefor laughter wende for to dye.And whanthat she was comen in-to halle`Noweem' quod she`we wol go dine anoon;'And gansome of hir women to hir calleAndstreyght in-to hir chaumbre gan she goon;But of hirbesinessesthis was oonA-mongesothere thingesout of dredeFulprively this lettre for to rede;Avysedword by word in every lyneAnd fondno lakshe thoughte he coude good;And up itputteand went hir in to dyne.ButPandarusthat in a study stoodEr he waswarshe took him by the hoodAnd seyde`Ye were caught er that ye wiste;'`I vouchesauf' quod he. `do what yow liste.'Thowesshen theyand sette hem doun and ete;And afternoon ful sleyly PandarusGan drawehim to the window next the streteAnd seyde`Necewho hath arayed thusThe yonderhousthat stant afor-yeyn us?'`Whichhous?' quod sheand gan for to biholdeAnd knewit weland whos it was him toldeAnd fillenforth in speche of thinges smaleAnd setenin the window bothe tweye.WhanPandarus saw tyme un-to his taleAnd sawwel that hir folk were alle aweye`Nownecemyntel on' quod he; `I seyeHow likethyow the lettre that ye woot?Can hether-on? Forby my troutheI noot.'Therwithal rosy hewed tho wex sheAnd gan tohummeand seyde`So I trowe.'`Aquytehim welfor goddes love' quod he;`My-selfto medes wol the lettre sowe.'And heldhis hondes upand sat on knowe`Nowgoode necebe it never so lyteYif me thelabourit to sowe and plyte.'`Yefor Ican so wryte' quod she tho;`And eek Inoot what I sholde to him seye.'`Naynece' quod Pandare`sey nat so;Yet at theleste thanketh himI preyeOf hisgood wiland doth him not to deye.Now forthe love of memy nece dereRefusethnot at this tyme my preyere.'`Depar-dieux'quod she`God leve al be wel!God helpme sothis is the firste lettreThat everI wrootyeal or any del.'And in-toa closetfor to avyse hir bettreShe wentealloneand gan hir herte unfettreOut ofdisdaynes prison but a lyte;And settehir dounand gan a lettre wryteOf whichto telle in short is myn ententeTheffectas fer as I can understonde: --Shethonked him of al that he wel menteTowardeshirbut holden him in hondeShe noldenoughtne make hir-selven bondeIn lovebut as his susterhim to pleseShe woldefayn to doon his herte an ese.She shetteitand to Pandarus in gan goonThere ashe sat and loked in-to the streteAnd dounshe sette hir by him on a stoonOf Iaspreup-on a quisshin gold y-beteAnd seyde`As wisly helpe me god the greteI neverdide a thing with more peyneThan wrytethisto which ye me constreyne;'And tookit him: He thonked hir and seyde`God wootof thing ful ofte looth bigonneComethende good; and nece mynCriseydeThat ye tohim of hard now ben y-wonneOughte hebe gladby god and yonder sonne!For-whymen seyth"Impressiounes lighteFullightly been ay redy to the flighte.'`But yehan pleyed tyraunt neigh to longeAnd hardwas it your herte for to grave;Now stintthat ye no longer on it hongeAl woldeye the forme of daunger save.Buthasteth yow to doon him Ioye have;Fortrusteth welto longe y-doon hardnesseCausethdespyt ful oftenfor destresse.'And rightas they declamed this matereLoTroilusright at the stretes endeCom rydingwith his tenthe some y-fereAlsoftelyand thiderward gan bendeTher-asthey seteas was his way to wendeTopaleys-ward; and Pandare him aspydeAnd seyde`Necey-see who cometh here ryde!`O fleenot inhe seeth usI suppose;Lest hemay thinke that ye him eschuwe.'`Naynay' quod sheand wex as reed as rose.With thathe gan hir humbly to saluweWithdreedful chereand oft his hewes muwe;And up hislook debonairly he casteAnd bekkedon Pandareand forth he paste.God wootif he sat on his hors a-rightOr goodlywas beseynthat ilke day!God wootwher he was lyk a manly knight!Whatsholde I dreccheor telle of his aray?Criseydewhich that alle these thinges sayTo tellein shorthir lyked al y-fereHispersonehis arayhis lookhis chereHis goodlymanereand his gentillesseSo welthat neversith that she was bornNe haddeshe swich routhe of his distresse;And how-soshe hath hard ben her-bifornTo godhope Ishe hath now caught a thornShe shalnot pulle it out this nexte wyke;God sendemo swich thornes on to pyke!Pandarewhich that stood hir faste byFelte irenhootand he bigan to smyteAnd seyde`NeceI pray yow hertelyTel methat I shal axen yow a lyte:A wommanthat were of his deeth to wyteWith-outenhis giltbut for hir lakked routheWere itwel doon?' Quod she`Nayby my trouthe!'`God helpme so' quod he`ye sey me sooth.Ye felenwel your-self that I not lye;Loyondhe rit!' Quod she`Yeso he dooth!'`Wel'quod Pandare`as I have told yow thryeLat beyoure nyce shame and youre folyeAnd spekwith him in esing of his herte;Latnycetee not do yow bothe smerte.'Butther-on was to heven and to done;Consideredal thingit may not be;And whyfor shame; and it were eek to soneTograunten him so greet a libertee.`Forplaynly hir entente' as seyde she`Was forto love him unwistif she mighteAndguerdon him with no-thing but with sighte.'ButPandarus thoughte`It shal not be soIf that Imay; this nyce opiniounShal notbe holden fully yeres two.'Whatsholde I make of this a long sermoun?He mosteassente on that conclusiounAs for thetyme; and whan that it was eveAnd al waswelhe roos and took his leve.And on hiswey ful faste homward he speddeAnd rightfor Ioye he felte his herte daunce;AndTroilus he fond alone a-beddeThat layas dooth these loveresin a traunceBitwixenhope and derk desesperaunce.ButPandarusright at his in-comingeHe songas who seyth`Lo! Sumwhat I bringe'And seyde`Who is in his bed so soneY-buriedthus?' `It am Ifreend' quod he.`WhoTroilus? Nayhelpe me so the mone'QuodPandarus`Thou shalt aryse and seeA charmethat was sent right now to theeThe whichcan helen thee of thyn accesseIf thou doforth-with al thy besinesse.'`Yethrough the might of god!' quod Troilus.AndPandarus gan him the lettre takeAnd seyde`Pardeegod hath holpen us;Have herea lightand loke on al this blake.'But oftegan the herte glade and quakeOfTroiluswhyl that he gan it redeSo as thewordes yave him hope or drede.Butfynallyhe took al for the besteThat shehim wrootfor somwhat he biheldOn whichhim thoughtehe mighte his herte resteAl coveredshe the wordes under sheld.Thus tothe more worthy part he heldThatwhatfor hope and Pandarus bihesteHis gretewo for-yede he at the leste.But as wemay alday our-selven seeThroughmore wode or colthe more fyr;Right soencrees hopeof what it beTherwithful ofte encreseth eek desyr;Oras anook cometh of a litel spyrSo throughthis lettrewhich that she him senteEncresengan desyrof which he brente.Wherfore Iseye alweythat day and nightThisTroilus gan to desiren moreThan hedide erstthurgh hopeand dide his mightTo pressenonas by Pandarus loreAnd wrytento hir of his sorwes soreFro day today; he leet it not refreydeThat byPandare he wroot somwhat or seyde;And didealso his othere observauncesThat to alovere longeth in this cas;Andafterthat these dees turnede on chauncesSo was heouther glad or seyde `Allas!'And heldafter his gestes ay his pas;And aftirswiche answeres as he haddeSo werehis dayes sory outher gladde.But toPandare alwey was his recoursAndpitously gan ay til him to pleyneAnd himbisoughte of rede and som socours;AndPandarusthat sey his wode peyneWex welneigh deed for routhesooth to seyneAnd bisilywith al his herte casteSom of hiswo to sleenand that as faste;And seyde`Lordand freendand brother dereGod wootthat thy disese dooth me wo.But woltowstinten al this woful chereAndby mytroutheor it be dayes twoAnd godto-fornyet shal I shape it soThat thoushalt come in-to a certayn placeTher-asthou mayst thy-self hir preye of grace.`AndcertainlyI noot if thou it wostBut thothat been expert in love it seyeIt is oonof the thinges that furthereth mostA man tohave a leyser for to preyeAnd sikerplace his wo for to biwreye;For ingood herte it moot som routhe impresseTo hereand see the giltles in distresse.`Paraunterthenkestow: though it be soThat kindewolde doon hir to biginneTo han amaner routhe up-on my woSeythDaunger"Naythou shalt me never winne;So reulethhir hir hertes goost with-inneThatthough she bendeyet she stant on rote;What ineffect is this un-to my bote?"`Thenkhere-ayeinswhan that the sturdy ookOn whichmen hakketh oftefor the nonesReceyvedhath the happy falling strookThe gretesweigh doth it come al at onesAs doonthese rokkes or these milne-stones.Forswifter cours cometh thing that is of wighteWhan itdescendeththan don thinges lighte.`And reedthat boweth doun for every blastFullightlycesse windit wol aryse;But so nilnot an ook whan it is cast;It nedethme nought thee longe to forbyse.Men shalreioysen of a greet empryseAchevedweland stant with-outen douteAl han menbeen the lenger ther-aboute.`ButTroilusyet tel meif thee lestA thingnow which that I shal axen thee;Which isthy brother that thou lovest bestAs in thyverray hertes privetee?'`Y-wismybrother Deiphebus' quod he.`Now'quod Pandare`er houres twyes twelveHe shalthee eseunwist of it him-selve.`Now latme alloneand werken as I may'Quod he;and to Deiphebus wente he thoWhichhadde his lord and grete freend ben ay;SaveTroilusno man he lovede so.To tellein shortwith-outen wordes moQuodPandarus`I pray yow that ye beFreend toa cause which that toucheth me.'`Yispardee' quod Deiphebus`wel thow wostIn al thatever I mayand god to-foreAl nere itbut for man I love mostMy brotherTroilus; but sey wherforeIt is; forsith that day that I was boreI nasnenever-mo to been I thinkeAyeins athing that mighte thee for-thinke.'Pandaregan him thonkeand to him seyde`LosireI have a lady in this tounThat is myneceand called is CriseydeWhich somemen wolden doon oppressiounAndwrongfully have hir possessioun:Wherfor Iof your lordship yow bisecheTo beenour freendwith-oute more speche.'Deiphebushim answerde`Ois not thisThat thowspekest of to me thus straungelyCriseydamy freend?' He seyde`Yis.'`Thannedeth' quod Deiphebus`hardelyNa-more tospekefor trusteth welthat IWol be hirchampioun with spore and yerde;I roughtenought though alle hir foos it herde.`But telme howthou that woost al this matereHow Imight best avaylen? Now lat see.'QuodPandarus; `If yemy lord so dereWolden asnow don this honour to meTo preyenhir to-morwelothat sheCome un-toyow hir pleyntes to devyseHiradversaries wolde of it agryse.`And if Imore dorste preye as nowAndchargen yow to have so greet travayleTo han somof your bretheren here with yowThatmighten to hir cause bet avayleThanwootI welshe mighte never fayleFor to beholpenwhat at your instaunceWhat withhir othere freendes governaunce.'Deiphebuswhich that comen wasof kindeTo alhonour and bountee to consenteAnswerde`It shal be doon; and I can findeYetgretter help to this in myn entente.What woltthow seynif I for Eleyne senteTo spekeof this? I trowe it be the beste;For shemay leden Paris as hir leste.`Of Ectorwhich that is my lordmy brotherIt nedethnought to preye him freend to be;For I haveherd himo tyme and eek otherSpeke ofCriseyde swich honourthat heMay seynno betswich hap to him hath she.It nedethnought his helpes for to crave;He shal beswichright as we wole him have.`Spek thouthy-self also to TroilusOn mybihalveand pray him with us dyne.'`Sirealthis shal be doon' quod Pandarus;And tookhis leveand never gan to fyneBut to hisneces housas streyt as lyneHe com;and fond hir fro the mete aryse;And settehim dounand spak right in this wyse.He seyde`O veray godso have I ronne!Lonecemynsee ye nought how I swete?I nootwhether ye the more thank me conne.Be yenought war how that fals PolipheteIs nowaboute eft-sones for to pleteAnd bringeon yow advocacyes newe?'`I? No'quod sheand chaunged al hir hewe.`What ishe more abouteme to dreccheAnd doonme wrong? What shal I doallas?Yet ofhim-self no-thing ne wolde I reccheNere itfor Antenor and EneasThat beenhis freendes in swich maner cas;Butforthe love of godmyn uncle dereNo fors ofthat; lat him have al y-fere;`With-outenthat I have ynough for us.'`Nay'quod Pandare`it shal no-thing be so.For I havebeen right now at DeiphebusAnd Ectorand myne othere lordes moAndshortly maked eche of hem his fo;Thatbymy thrifthe shal it never winneFor oughthe canwhan that so he biginne.'And asthey casten what was best to doneDeiphebusof his owene curtasyeCom hir topreyein his propre personeTo holdehim on the morwe companyeAt dinerwhich she nolde not denyeBut goodlygan to his preyere obeye.He thonkedhirand wente up-on his weye.Whannethis was doonthis Pandare up a-noonTo tellein shortand forth gan for to wendeToTroilusas stille as any stoon;And althis thing he tolde himword and ende;And howthat he Deiphebus gan to blende;And seydehim`Now is tymeif that thou conneTo berethee wel to-morweand al is wonne.`Now speknow preynow pitously compleyne;Lat notfor nyce shameor dredeor slouthe;Som-tyme aman mot telle his owene peyne;Bileve itand she shal han on thee routhe;Thou shaltbe saved by thy feythin trouthe.But welwot Ithou art now in a drede;And whatit isI leyeI can arede.`Thowthinkest now"How sholde I doon al this?For by mycheres mosten folk aspyeThat forhir love is that I fare a-mis;Yet haddeI lever unwist for sorwe dye."Now thenknot sofor thou dost greet folye.For Iright now have founden o manereOfsleightefor to coveren al thy chere.`Thowshalt gon over nightand that as blyveUn-toDeiphebus housas thee to pleyeThymaladye a-wey the bet to dryveFor-whythou semest syksoth for to seye.Sone afterthatdoun in thy bed thee leyeAnd seythow mayst no lenger up endureAnd lyright thereand byde thyn aventure.`Sey thatthy fever is wont thee for to takeThe sametymeand lasten til a-morwe;And latsee now how wel thou canst it makeForpar-deesyk is he that is in sorwe.Go nowfarwel! AndVenus here to borweI hopeand thou this purpos holde fermeThy graceshe shal fully ther conferme.'QuodTroilus`Y-wisthou nedeleesConseylestmethat sykliche I me feyneFor I amsyk in ernestdouteleesSo thatwel neigh I sterve for the peyne.'QuodPandarus`Thou shalt the bettre pleyneAnd hastthe lasse need to countrefete;For himmen demen hoot that men seen swete.`Loholdethee at thy triste cloosand IShal welthe deer un-to thy bowe dryve.'Therwithhe took his leve al softelyAndTroilus to paleys wente blyve.So glad newas he never in al his lyve;And toPandarus reed gan al assenteAnd toDeiphebus hous at night he wente.Whatnedeth yow to tellen al the chereThatDeiphebus un-to his brother madeOr hisaccesseor his siklych manereHow mengan him with clothes for to ladeWhan hewas leydand how men wolde him glade?But al fornought; he held forth ay the wyseThat yehan herd Pandare er this devyse.Butcerteyn iser Troilus him leydeDeiphebushad him prayedover nightTo been afreend and helping to Criseyde.God wootthat he it grauntede anon-rightTo beenhir fulle freend with al his might.But swicha nede was to preye him thenneAs for tobidde a wood man for to renne.The morwencomand neighen gan the tymeOfmeel-tydthat the faire quene EleyneShoop hirto beenan houre after the prymeWithDeiphebusto whom she nolde feyne;But as hissusterhoomlysooth to seyneShe com todiner in hir playn entente.But godand Pandare wiste al what this mente.Com eekCriseydeal innocent of thisAntigonehir sister Tarbe also;But fleewe now prolixitee best isFor loveof godand lat us faste goRight tothe effectwith-oute tales moWhy althis folk assembled in this place;And lat usof hir saluinges pace.Grethonour dide hem DeiphebuscerteynAnd feddehem wel with al that mighte lyke.Butever-more`Allas!' was his refreyn`My goodebrother Troilusthe sykeLythyet"--and therwith-al he gan to syke;And afterthathe peyned him to gladeHem as hemighteand chere good he made.Compleynedeek Eleyne of his syknesseSofeithfullythat pitee was to hereAnd everywight gan waxen for accesseA lecheanoonand seyde`In this manereMen curenfolk; this charme I wol yow lere.'But thersat oonal list hir nought to techeThatthoughtebest coude I yet been his leche.Aftercompleynthim gonnen they to preyseAs folkdon yetwhan som wight hath bigonneTo preysea manand up with prys him reyseA thousandfold yet hyer than the sonne: --`He ishecanthat fewe lordes conne.'AndPandarusof that they wolde affermeHe notfor-gat hir preysing to conferme.Herde althis thing Criseyde wel y-noughAnd everyword gan for to notifye;For whichwith sobre chere hir herte lough;For who isthat ne wolde hir glorifyeTo mowenswich a knight don live or dye?But alpasse Ilest ye to longe dwelle;For for ofyn is al that ever I telle.The tymecomfro diner for to ryseAndashem oughtearisen everychoonAnd gonnea while of this and that devyse.ButPandarus brak al this speche anoonAnd seydeto Deiphebus`Wole ye goonIf yourewille beas I yow preydeTo spekehere of the nedes of Criseyde?'Eleynewhich that by the hond hir heldTook firstthe taleand seyde`Go we blyve;'And goodlyon Criseyde she biheldAnd seyde`Ioves lat him never thryveThat doothyow harmand bringe him sone of lyve!And yeveme sorwebut he shal it reweIf that Imayand alle folk be trewe.'`Tel thouthy neces cas' quod DeiphebusToPandarus`for thou canst best it telle.' --`My lordesand my ladyesit stant thus;Whatsholde I lenger' quod he`do yow dwelle?'He ronghem out a proces lyk a belleUp-on hirfothat highte PolipheteSoheynousthat men mighte on it spete.Answerdeof this ech worse of hem than otherAndPoliphete they gonnen thus to warien`An-hongedbe swich oonwere he my brother;And so heshalfor it ne may not varien.'Whatsholde I lenger in this tale tarien?Pleynlyalle at onesthey hir hightenTo beenhir helpe in al that ever they mighten.Spak thanEleyneand seyde`PandarusWoot oughtmy lordmy brotherthis matereI meneEctor? Or woot it Troilus?'He seyde`Yebut wole ye now me here?Methinketh thissith Troilus is hereIt weregoodif that ye wolde assenteShe toldehir-self him al thiser she wente.`For hewole have the more hir grief at herteBy causelothat she a lady is;Andbyyour leveI wol but right in sterteAnd do yowwiteand that anoony-wisIf that heslepeor wole ought here of this.'And in helepteand seyde him in his ere`God havethy souley-brought have I thy bere!'To smylenof this gan tho TroilusAndPandaruswith-oute rekeningeOut wenteanoon to Eleyne and DeiphebusAnd seydehem`So there be no taryingeNe morepreshe wol wel that ye bringeCriseydamy ladythat is here;And as hemay endurenhe wole here.`But welye wootthe chaumbre is but lyteAnd fewefolk may lightly make it warm;Now lokethye(for I wol have no wyteTo bringein prees that mighte doon him harmOr himdisesenfor my bettre arm)Wher it bebet she byde til eft-sones;Now lokethyethat knowen what to doon is.`I sey formebest isas I can knoweThat nowight in ne wente but ye tweyeBut itwere Ifor I canin a throweRehercehir cas unlyk that she can seye;And afterthisshe may him ones preyeTo bengood lordin shortand take hir leve;This maynot muchel of his ese him reve.`And eekfor she is straungehe wol forbereHis esewhich that him thar nought for yow;Eek otherthing that toucheth not to hereHe wol metelleI woot it wel right nowThatsecret isand for the tounes prow.'And theythat no-thing knewe of his ententeWith-outemoreto Troilus in they wente.Eleyneinal hir goodly softe wyseGan himsaluweand womanly to pleyeAnd seyde`Ywisye moste alweyes aryse!Now fayrebrotherbeth al hoolI preye!'And ganhir arm right over his sholder leyeAnd himwith al hir wit to recomforte;As shebest coudeshe gan him to disporte.So afterthis quod she`We yow bisekeMy derebrotherDeiphebus and IFor loveof godand so doth Pandare ekeTo beengood lord and freendright hertelyUn-toCriseydewhich that certeinlyReceyvethwrongas woot wel here PandareThat canhir cas wel bet than I declare.'ThisPandarus gan newe his tunge affyleAnd al hircas reherceand that anoon;Whan itwas seydsone afterin a whyleQuodTroilus`As sone as I may goonI wolright fayn with al my might ben oonHave godmy trouthehir cause to sustene.'`Goodthrift have ye' quod Eleyne the quene.QuodPandarus`And it your wille beThat shemay take hir leveer that she go?'`Oellesgod for-bede' tho quod he`If thatshe vouche sauf for to do so.'And withthat word quod Troilus`Ye twoDeiphebusand my suster leef and dereTo yowhave I to speke of o matere`To beenavysed by your reed the bettre': --And fondas hap wasat his beddes heedThe copieof a tretis and a lettreThat Ectorhadde him sent to axen reedIf swich aman was worthy to ben deedWoot Inought who; but in a grisly wyseHe preyedehem anoon on it avyse.Deiphebusgan this lettre to unfoldeIn ernestgreet; so did Eleyne the quene;Androminge outwardfast it gan biholdeDownward asteyrein-to an herber grene.This ilkething they redden hem bi-twene;Andlargelythe mountaunce of an houreThei gonneon it to reden and to poure.Now lathem redeand turne we anoonToPandarusthat gan ful faste pryeThat alwas weland out he gan to goonIn-to thegrete chambreand that in hyeAnd seyde`God save al this companye!Comnecemyn; my lady quene EleyneAbydethyowand eek my lordes tweyne.`Rystakewith yow your nece AntigoneOr whomyow listor no forshardily;The lessepreesthe bet; com forth with meAnd lokethat ye thonke humblelyHem allethreeandwhan ye may goodlyYour tymey-seetaketh of hem your leveLest we tolonge his restes him bireve.'Alinnocent of Pandarus ententeQuod thoCriseyde`Go weuncle dere';And arm inarm inward with him she wenteAvysed welhir wordes and hir chere;AndPandarusin ernestful manereSeyde`Alle folkfor goddes loveI preyeStintethright hereand softely yow pleye.`Avisethyow what folk ben here with-inneAnd inwhat plyt oon isgod him amende!And inwardthus ful softely biginne;NeceIconjure and heighly yow defendeOn hishalfwhich that sowle us alle sendeAnd in thevertue of corounes tweyneSleenought this manthat hath for yow this peyne!`Fy on thedevel! Thenk which oon he isAnd inwhat plyt he lyth; com of anoon;Thenk alswich taried tydbut lost it nis!That wolye bothe seynwhan ye ben oon.Secoundelichther yet devyneth noonUp-on yowtwo; come of nowif ye conne;Whyl folkis blentloal the tyme is wonne!`Intiteringand pursuiteand delayesThe folkdevyne at wagginge of a stree;And thoughye wolde han after merye dayesThan darye noughtand why? For sheand sheSpak swicha word; thus loked heand he;Lest tymeI losteI dar not with yow dele;Com oftherforeand bringeth him to hele.'But now toyowye lovers that ben hereWasTroilus nought in a cankedortThat layand mighte whispringe of hem hereAndthoughte`O lordright now renneth my sortFully todyeor han anoon comfort';And wasthe firste tyme he shulde hir preyeOf love; Omighty godwhat shal he seye?
Incipitprohemium tercii libri
O blisfullight of whiche the bemes clere 1Adornethal the thridde hevene faire!O sonnesliefO Ioves doughter derePlesaunceof loveO goodly debonaireIn gentilhertes ay redy to repaire!O verraycause of hele and of gladnesseY-heriedbe thy might and thy goodnesse!In heveneand hellein erthe and salte seeIs feltthy mightif that I wel descerne;As manbridbestfishherbe and grene treeThee felein tymes with vapour eterne.Godlovethand to love wol nought werne;And inthis world no lyves creatureWith-outenloveis worthor may endure.Ye Iovesfirst to thilke effectes gladeThorughwhich that thinges liven alle and beComevedenand amorous him madeOn mortalthingand as yow listay yeYeve himin love ese or adversitee;And in athousand formes doun him senteFor lovein ertheand whom yow listehe hente.Ye fierseMars apeysen of his ireAndasyow listye maken hertes digne;Algateshem that ye wol sette a-fyreTheydreden shameand vices they resigne;Ye do hemcorteys befresshe and benigneAnd hye orloweafter a wight entendeth;The Ioyesthat he hathyour might him sendeth.Ye holdenregne and hous in unitee;Yesoothfast cause of frendship been also;Ye knoweal thilke covered qualiteeOf thingeswhich that folk on wondren soWhan theycan not construe how it may ioShe lovethhimor why he loveth here;As whythis fishand nought thatcomth to were.Ye folk alawe han set in universeAnd thisknowe I by hem that loveres beThatwho-so stryveth with yow hath the werse:Nowladybrightfor thy benigniteeAtreverence of hem that serven theeWhos clerkI amso techeth me devyseSom Ioyeof that is felt in thy servyse.Ye in mynaked herte sentementInheldeand do me shewe of thy swetnesse. --Caliopethy vois be now presentFor now isnede; sestow not my destresseHow I mottelle anon-right the gladnesseOfTroilusto Venus heryinge?To whichgladneswho nede hathgod him bringe!
Explicitprohemium Tercii Libri
Lay althis mene whyle TroilusRecordingehis lessoun in this manere`Ma fey!'thought he`Thus wole I seye and thus;Thus woleI pleyne unto my lady dere;That wordis goodand this shal be my chere;This nil Inot foryeten in no wyse.'God levehim werken as he can devyse!Andlordso that his herte gan to quappeHeringehir comeand shorte for to syke!AndPandarusthat ledde hir by the lappeCom nerand gan in at the curtin pykeAnd seyde`God do bote on alle syke!Seewhois here yow comen to visyte;Lohereis she that is your deeth to wyte.'Ther-withit semed as he wepte almost;`A ha'quod Troilus so rewfully`Wher mebe woO mighty godthow wost!Who is althere? I se nought trewely.'`Sire'quod Criseyde`it is Pandare and I.'`Yesweteherte? AllasI may nought ryseTo kneleand do yow honour in som wyse.'Anddressede him upwardand she right thoGan bothehere hondes softe upon him leye`Oforthe love of goddo ye not soTo me'quod she`Ey! What is this to seye?Sirecomeam I to yow for causes tweye;Firstyowto thonkeand of your lordshipe ekeContinuanceI wolde yow biseke.'ThisTroilusthat herde his lady preyeOflordship himwex neither quik ne deedNe mightea word for shame to it seyeAl-thoughmen sholde smyten of his heed.But lordso he wex sodeinliche reedAnd sirehis lessonthat he wende conneTo preyenhiris thurgh his wit y-ronne.Cryseydeal this aspyede wel y-noughFor shewas wysand lovede him never-the-lasseAl nere hemalapertor made it toughOr was toboldto singe a fool a masse.But whanhis shame gan somwhat to passeHisresonsas I may my rymes holdeI yow woletelleas techen bokes olde.Inchaunged voisright for his verray dredeWhich voiseek quookand ther-to his manereGoodlyabaystand now his hewes redeNow paleun-to Criseydehis lady dereWith lookdoun cast and humble yolden chereLothealderfirste word that him asterteWastwyes`Mercymercyswete herte!'And stintea whyland whan he mighte out-bringeThe nexteword was`God wotfor I haveAsfeyfully as I have had konningeBenyouresalso god so my sowle save;And shaltil that Iwoful wightbe grave.And thoughI dar ne can un-to yow pleyneY-wisIsuffre nought the lasse peyne.`Thusmuche as nowO wommanliche wyfI mayout-bringeand if this yow displeseThat shalI wreke upon myn owne lyfRightsoneI troweand doon your herte an eseIf with mydeeth your herte I may apese.But sinthat ye han herd me som-what seyeNow reccheI never how sone that I deye.'Ther-withhis manly sorwe to biholdeIt mightehan maad an herte of stoon to rewe;AndPandare weep as he to watre woldeAnd pokedever his nece newe and neweAnd seyde`Wo bigon ben hertes trewe!For loveof godmake of this thing an endeOr slee usbothe at oneser that ye wende.'`I? What?'quod she`By god and by my troutheI nootnought what ye wilne that I seye.'`I? What?'quod he`That ye han on him routheFor goddesloveand doth him nought to deye.'`Nowthanne thus' quod she`I wolde him preyeTo telleme the fyn of his entente;Yet wist Inever wel what that he mente.'`What thatI meneO swete herte dere?'QuodTroilus`O goodlyfresshe free!Thatwiththe stremes of your eyen clereYe woldesom-tyme freendly on me seeAnd thanneagreen that I may ben heWith-outebraunche of vyce on any wyseIn trouthealwey to doon yow my servyse`As to mylady right and chief resortWith al mywit and al my diligenceAnd I tohanright as yow listcomfortUnder youryerdeegal to myn offenceAs deethif that I breke your defence;And thatye deigne me so muche honoureMe tocomaunden ought in any houre.`And I toben your verray humble treweSecretand in my paynes pacientAndever-mo desire freshly neweTo servenand been y-lyke ay diligentAndwithgood herteal holly your talentReceyvenwelhow sore that me smerteLothismene Imyn owene swete herte.'QuodPandarus`Lohere an hard requestAndresonablea lady for to werne!Nownecemynby natal Ioves festWere I agodye sholde sterve as yerneThat herenwelthis man wol no-thing yerneBut yourhonourand seen him almost sterveAnd beenso looth to suffren him yow serve.'With thatshe gan hir eyen on him casteFul esilyand ful debonairlyAvysinghirand hyed not to fasteWith nevera wordbut seyde him softely`Mynhonour saufI wol wel trewelyAnd inswich forme as he can now devyseReceyvenhim fully to my servyse`Bisechinghimfor goddes lovethat heWoldeinhonour of trouthe and gentilesseAs I welmeneeek mene wel to meAnd mynhonourwith wit and besinesseAy kepe;and if I may don him gladnesseFromhennes-forthy-wisI nil not feyne:Now beethal hool; no lenger ye ne pleyne.`Butnatheleesthis warne I yow' quod she`A kingessone al-though ye bey-wisYe shalna-more have soveraineteeOf me inlovethan right in that cas is;Ne I nilforbereif that ye doon a-misTo wrathenyow; and whyl that ye me serveCherycenyow right after ye deserve.`Andshortlydere herte and al my knightBeth gladand draweth yow to lustinesseAnd I shaltrewelywith al my mightYourbittre tornen al in-to swetenesse.If I beshe that may yow do gladnesseFor everywo ye shal recovere a blisse';And him inarmes tookand gan him kisse.FilPandarus on kneesand up his eyenTo hevenethrewand held his hondes hye`Immortalgod!' quod he`That mayst nought dyenCupide Imeneof this mayst glorifye;And Venusthou mayst maken melodye;With-outenhondme semeth that in the towneFor thismerveyleI here ech belle sowne.`But ho!No more as now of this matereFor-whythis folk wol comen up anoonThat hanthe lettre red; loI hem here.But Iconiure theeCriseydeand oonAnd twothou Troiluswhan thow mayst goonThat atmyn hous ye been at my warningeFor I fulwel shal shape youre cominge;`And esethther your hertes right y-nough;And latsee which of yow shal bere the belleTo spekeof love a-right!' ther-with he lough`For therhave ye a layser for to telle.'QuodTroilus`How longe shal I dwelleEr this bedoon?' Quod he`Whan thou mayst ryseThis thingshal be right as I yow devyse.'With thatEleyne and also DeiphebusTho comenupwardright at the steyres ende;And Lordso than gan grone TroilusHisbrother and his suster for to blende.QuodPandarus`It tyme is that we wende;Taknecemynyour leve at alle threeAnd lathem spekeand cometh forth with me.'She tookhir leve at hem ful thriftilyAs she welcoudeand they hir reverenceUn-to thefulle diden hardelyAnd spekenwonder welin hir absenceOf hirinpreysing of hir excellenceHirgovernauncehir wit; and hir manereCommendedenit Ioye was to here.Now lathir wende un-to hir owne placeAnd tornewe to Troilus a-yeinThat ganful lightly of the lettre passeThatDeiphebus hadde in the gardin seyn.And ofEleyne and him he wolde faynDeliveredbeenand seyde that him lesteTo slepeand after tales have reste.Eleyne himkisteand took hir leve blyveDeiphebuseekand hoom wente every wight;AndPandarusas faste as he may dryveTo Troilustho comas lyne right;And on apailletal that glade nightBy Troilushe laywith mery chereTo tale;and wel was hem they were y-fere.Whan everywight was voided but they twoAnd allethe dores were faste y-shetteTo tellein shortwith-oute wordes moThisPandaruswith-outen any letteUp roosand on his beddes syde him setteAnd gan tospeken in a sobre wyseToTroilusas I shal yow devyse:`Mynalderlevest lordand brother dereGod wootand thouthat it sat me so soreWhen Ithee saw so languisshing to-yereFor loveof which thy wo wex alwey more;That Iwith al my might and al my loreHave eversithen doon my bisinesseTo bringethee to Ioye out of distresse`And haveit brought to swich plyt as thou wostSo thatthorugh methow stondest now in weyeTo farewelI seye it for no bostAnd wostowwhich? For shame it is to seyeFor theehave I bigonne a gamen pleyeWhich thatI never doon shal eft for otherAl-thoughhe were a thousand fold my brother.`That isto seyefor thee am I bicomenBitwixengame and ernestswich a meneAs makenwommen un-to men to comen;Al sey Inoughtthou wost wel what I mene.For theehave I my neceof vyces cleneSo fullymaad thy gentilesse tristeThat alshal been right as thy-selve liste.`But godthat al wottake I to witnesseThat neverI this for coveityse wroughteBut onlyfor to abregge that distresseFor whichwel nygh thou deydestas me thoughte.Butgodebrotherdo now as thee oughteFor goddesloveand kep hir out of blameSin thouart wysand save alwey hir name.`For welthou wostthe name as yet of hereAmong thepepleas who seythhalwed is;For thatman is unboreI dar wel swereThat everwiste that she dide amis.But wo ismethat Ithat cause al thisMaythenken that she is my nece dereAnd I hireemand trattor eek y-fere!`And wereit wist that Ithrough myn engynHadde inmy nece y-put this fantasyeTo do thylustand hoolly to be thynWhyalthe world up-on it wolde cryeAnd seyethat I the worste trecheryeDide inthis casthat ever was bigonneAnd shefor-lostand thou right nought y-wonne.`Wher-foreer I wol ferther goon a pasYet eft Ithee biseche and fully seyeThatprivetee go with us in this cas;That is toseyethat thou us never wreye;And benought wrooththough I thee ofte preyeTo holdensecree swich an heigh matere;Forskilful isthow wost welmy preyere.`And thenkwhat wo ther hath bitid er thisFormakinge of avantesas men rede;And whatmischaunce in this world yet ther isFro day todayright for that wikked dede;For whichthese wyse clerkes that ben dedeHan everyet proverbed to us yongeThat"Firste vertu is to kepe tonge."`Andnereit that I wilne as now tabreggeDiffusiounof specheI coude almostA thousandolde stories thee aleggeOf wommenlostthorugh fals and foles bost;Proverbescanst thy-self y-noweand wostAyeinsthat vycefor to been a labbeAl seydemen sooth as often as they gabbe.`O tongeallas! So often here-bifornHastowmade many a lady bright of heweSeyd"Welawey! The day that I was born!"And many amaydes sorwes for to newe;Andforthe more partal is untreweThat menof yelpeand it were brought to preve;Of kindenon avauntour is to leve.`Avauntourand a lyereal is on;As thus: Iposea womman graunte meHir loveand seyth that other wol she nonAnd I amsworn to holden it secreeAnd afterI go telle it two or three;Y-wisIam avauntour at the lesteAnd lyerefor I breke my biheste.`Now lokethanneif they be nought to blameSwichmaner folk; what shal I clepe hemwhatThat hemavaunte of wommenand by nameThat neveryet bihighte hem this ne thatNe knewehem more than myn olde hat?No wonderisso god me sende heleThoughwommen drede with us men to dele.`I sey notthis for no mistrust of yowNe for nowys manbut for foles nyceAnd forthe harm that in the world is nowAs wel forfoly ofte as for malyce;For welwot Iin wyse folkthat vyceNo wommandratif she be wel avysed;For wyseben by foles harm chastysed.`But nowto purpos; leve brother dereHave althis thing that I have seyd in mindeAnd keepthee closand be now of good chereFor at thyday thou shalt me trewe finde.I shal thyproces sette in swich a kindeAnd godto-fornthat it shall thee suffyseFor itshal been right as thou wolt devyse.`For wel Iwootthou menest welparde;Therfore Idar this fully undertake.Thou wosteek what thy lady graunted theeAnd day issetthe chartres up to make.Have nowgood nightI may no lenger wake;And bidfor mesin thou art now in blisseThat godme sende deeth or sone lisse.'Who mightetelle half the Ioye or festeWhich thatthe sowle of Troilus tho felteHeringetheffect of Pandarus biheste?His oldewothat made his herte swelteGan thofor Ioye wasten and to-melteAnd al therichesse of his sykes soreAt onesfleddehe felte of hem no more.But rightso as these holtes and these hayesThat hanin winter dede been and dreyeRevestenhem in grenewhan that May isWhan everylusty lyketh best to pleye;Right inthat selve wysesooth to seyeWaxsodeynliche his herte ful of IoyeThatgladder was ther never man in Troye.And ganhis look on Pandarus up casteFulsobrelyand frendly for to seeAnd seyde`Freendin Aprille the lasteAs welthou wostif it remembre theeHow neighthe deeth for wo thou founde me;And howthou didest al thy bisinesseTo knoweof me the cause of my distresse.`Thou wosthow longe I it for-bar to seyeTo theethat art the man that I best triste;And perilwas it noon to thee by-wreyeThat wisteI wel; but tel meif thee listeSith I solooth was that thy-self it wisteHow dorstI mo tellen of this matereThat quakenowand no wight may us here?`Butnathelesby that god I thee swereThatashim listmay al this world governeAndif IlyeAchilles with his spereMyn hertecleveal were my lyf eterneAs I ammortalif I late or yerneWolde itbiwreyeor dorsteor sholde conneFor al thegood that god made under sonne;`Thatrather deye I woldeand determyneAsthinketh menow stokked in presounInwrecchednessein filtheand in vermyneCaytif tocruel king Agamenoun;And thisin alle the temples of this tounUpon thegoddes alleI wol thee swereTo-morwedayif that thee lyketh here.`And thatthou hast so muche y-doon for meThat I nemay it never-more deserveThis knoweI welal mighte I now for theeA thousandtymes on a morwen sterve.I can nomorebut that I wol thee serveRight asthy sclavewhider-so thou wendeForever-moreun-to my lyves ende!`But herewith al myn herteI thee bisecheThat neverin me thou deme swich folyeAs I shalseyn; me thoughteby thy specheThat thiswhich thou me dost for companyeI sholdewene it were a bauderye;I amnought woodal-if I lewed be;It is notsothat woot I welpardee.`But hethat gothfor gold or for richesseOn swichmessagecalle him what thee list;And thisthat thou dostcalle it gentilesseCompassiounand felawshipand trist;Departe itsofor wyde-where is wistHow thatthere is dyversitee requeredBitwixenthinges lykeas I have lered.`Andthatthou knowe I thenke nought ne weneThat thisservyse a shame be or IapeI have myfaire suster PolixeneCassandreEleyneor any of the frape;Be shenever so faire or wel y-shapeTel mewhich thou wilt of everichoneTo han forthynand lat me thanne allone.`Butsiththat thou hast don me this servyseMy lyf tosaveand for noon hope of medeSoforthe love of godthis grete emprysePerformeit out; for now is moste nede.For highand lowwith-outen any dredeI wolalwey thyne hestes alle kepe;Have nowgood nightand lat us bothe slepe.'Thus heldhim ech of other wel apayedThat althe world ne mighte it bet amende;Andonthe morwewhan they were arayedEch to hisowene nedes gan entende.ButTroilusthough as the fyr he brendeFor sharpdesyr of hope and of plesaunceHe notfor-gat his gode governaunce.But inhim-self with manhod gan restreyneEch rakeldede and ech unbrydled chereThat alletho that livensooth to seyneNe sholdehan wistby word or by manereWhat thathe menteas touching this matere.From everywight as fer as is the cloudeHe wassowel dissimulen he coude.And al thewhyl which that I yow devyseThis washis lyf; with al his fulle mightBy day hewas in Martes high servyseThis is toseynin armes as a knight;And forthe more partthe longe nightHe layand thoughte how that he mighte serveHis ladybesthir thank for to deserve.Nil Inought swereal-though he lay softeThat inhis thought he nas sumwhat disesedNe that hetornede on his pilwes ofteAnd woldeof that him missed han ben sesed;But inswich cas men is nought alwey plesedFor oughtI wotno more than was he;That can Ideme of possibilitee.Butcerteyn isto purpos for to goThat inthis whyleas writen is in gesteHe say hislady som-tyme; and alsoShe withhim spakwhan that she dorste or lesteAnd by hirbothe avysas was the besteApoyntedenful warly in this nedeSo as theydorstehow they wolde procede.But it wasspoken in so short a wyseIn swichawayt alweyand in swich fereLest anywyght devynen or devyseWolde ofhem twoor to it leye an ereThat althis world so leef to hem ne wereAs thatCupido wolde hem grace sendeTo makenof hir speche aright an ende.But thilkelitel that they spake or wroughteHis wysegoost took ay of al swich hedeIt semedhirhe wiste what she thoughteWith-outenwordso that it was no nedeTo biddehim ought to doneor ought for-bede;For whichshe thought that loveal come it lateOf alleIoye hadde opned hir the yate.Andshortly of this proces for to paceSo wel hiswerk and wordes he bisetteThat he soful stood in his lady graceThattwenty thousand tymesor she letteShethonked god she ever with him mette;So coudehe him governe in swich servyseThat althe world ne might it bet devyse.For-whyshe fond him so discreet in alSo secretand of swich obeisaunceThat welshe felte he was to hir a walOf steeland sheld from every displesaunce;Thattoben in his gode governaunceSo wys hewasshe was no more aferedI meneasfer as oughte ben requered.AndPandarusto quike alwey the fyrWas everey-lyke prest and diligent;To ese hisfrend was set al his desyr.He shof ayonhe to and fro was sent;He lettresbar whan Troilus was absent.That nevermanas in his freendes nedeNe bar himbet than hewith-outen drede.But nowparauntersom man wayten woldeThat everywordor sondeor lookor chereOf Troilusthat I rehersen sholdeIn al thiswhyle un-to his lady dere;I trowe itwere a long thing for to here;Or of whatwight that stant in swich disioynteHis wordesalleor every lookto poynte.For sotheI have not herd it doon er thisIn storyenoonne no man hereI wene;And thoughI wolde I coude noty-wis;For therwas som epistel hem bitweneThatwoldeas seyth myn auctorwel conteneNeigh halfthis bookof which him list not wryte;How sholdeI thanne a lyne of it endyte?But to thegrete effect: than sey I thusThatstonding in concord and in quieteThise ilketwoCriseyde and TroilusAs I havetoldand in this tyme sweteSave onlyoften mighte they not meteNe layserhave hir speches to fulfelleThat itbefel right as I shal yow telle.ThatPandarusthat ever dide his mightRight forthe fyn that I shal speke of hereAs for tobringe to his hous som nightHis faireneceand Troilus y-fereWher-as atleyser al this heigh matereTouchinghir lovewere at the fulle up-boundeHadde outof doute a tyme to it founde.For hewith greet deliberaciounHaddeevery thing that her-to mighte avayleForn-castand put in execucioun.Andneither laftfor cost ne for travayle;Come ifhem listhem sholde no-thing fayle;And for tobeen in ought espyed thereThatwiste he welan inpossible were.Dredeleesit cleer was in the windOf everypye and every lette-game;Now al iswelfor al the world is blindIn thismaterebothe fremed and tame.Thistimbur is al redy up to frame;Us lakkethnought but that we witen woldeA certeinhourein which she comen sholde.AndTroilusthat al this purveyaunceKnew atthe fulleand waytede on it ayHaddehere-up-on eek made gret ordenaunceAnd foundehis causeand ther-to his arayIf that hewere missednight or dayTher-whylehe was aboute this servyseThat hewas goon to doon his sacrifyseAnd mosteat swich a temple alone wakeAnsweredof Appollo for to be;And firstto seen the holy laurer quakeEr thatApollo spak out of the treeTo tellehim next whan Grekes sholden fleeAnd forthylette him no mangod forbedeBut preyeApollo helpen in this nede.Now isther litel more for to dooneButPandare upand shortly for to seyneRight soneupon the chaunging of the moneWhanlightles is the world a night or tweyneAnd thatthe welken shoop him for to reyneHestreight a-morwe un-to his nece wente;Ye han welherd the fyn of his entente.Whan hewas comehe gan anoon to pleyeAs he waswontand of him-self to Iape;Andfynallyhe swor and gan hir seyeBy thisand thatshe sholde him not escapeNe lengeredoon him after hir to gape;Butcerteynly she mosteby hir leveComesoupen in his hous with him at eve.At whicheshe loughand gan hir faste excuseAnd seyde`It rayneth; lohow sholde I goon?'`Lat be'quod he`ne stond not thus to muse;This mootbe doonye shal be ther anoon.'So at thelaste her-of they felle at oonOr ellessofte he swor hir in hir ereHe noldenever come ther she were.Sone afterthisto him she gan to rowneAnd askedhim if Troilus were there?He sworhir`Nayfor he was out of towne'And seyde`NeceI pose that he wereYowthurfte never have the more fere.For ratherthan men mighte him ther aspyeMe werelever a thousand-fold to dye.'Noughtlist myn auctor fully to declareWhat thatshe thoughte whan he seyde soThatTroilus was out of town y-fareAs if heseyde ther-of sooth or no;But thatwith-outen awaytwith him to goShegraunted himsith he hir that bisoughteAndashis neceobeyed as hir oughte.Butnatheleesyet gan she him bisecheAl-thoughwith him to goon it was no fereFor to bewar of goosish peples specheThatdremen thinges whiche that never wereAnd welavyse him whom he broughte there;And seydehim`Eemsin I mot on yow tristeLoke al beweland do now as yow liste.'He sworhire`Yisby stokkes and by stonesAnd by thegoddes that in hevene dwelleOr elleswere him leveresoule and bonesWith Plutoking as depe been in helleAsTantalus!' What sholde I more telle?Whan alwas welhe roos and took his leveAnd she tosouper comwhan it was eveWith acertayn of hir owene menAnd withhir faire nece AntigoneAnd othereof hir wommen nyne or ten;But whowas glad nowwhoas trowe yeButTroilusthat stood and mighte it seeThurgh-outa litel windowe in a steweTher hebishetsin midnightwas in meweUnwist ofevery wight but of Pandare?But to thepoynt; now whan that she was y-comeWith alleIoyeand alle frendes fareHir emanoon in armes hath hir nomeAnd afterto the souperalle and someWhan tymewasful softe they hem sette;God wotther was no deyntee for to fette.And aftersouper gonnen they to ryseAt esewelwith hertes fresshe and gladeAnd welwas him that coude best devyseTo lykenhiror that hir laughen made.He song;she pleyde; he tolde tale of Wade.But at thelasteas every thing hath endeShe tookhir leveand nedes wolde wende.But OFortuneexecutrice of wierdesOinfluences of thise hevenes hye!Soth isthatunder godye ben our hierdesThough tous bestes been the causes wrye.This meneI nowfor she gan hoomward hyeBut executwas al bisyde hir leveAt thegoddes wilfor which she moste bleve.The bentemone with hir hornes paleSaturneand Iovein Cancro ioyned wereThat swicha rayn from hevene gan avaleThat everymaner womman that was thereHadde ofthat smoky reyn a verray fere;At whichPandare tho loughand seyde thenne`Now wereit tyme a lady to go henne!`But goodeneceif I mighte ever pleseYowany-thingthan prey I yow' quod he`To doonmyn herte as now so greet an eseAs for todwelle here al this night with meFor-whythis is your owene houspardee.Forby mytroutheI sey it nought a-gameTo wendeas nowit were to me a shame.'Criseydewhich that coude as muche goodAs half aworldtok hede of his preyere;And sin itronand al was on a floodShethoughteas good chep may I dwellen hereAndgraunte it gladly with a freendes chereAnd have athankas grucche and thanne abyde;For hoomto goonit may nought wel bityde.'`I wol'quod she`myn uncle leef and dereSin thatyow listit skile is to be so;I am rightglad with yow to dwellen here;I seydebut a-gameI wolde go.'`Y-wisgraunt mercynece!' quod he tho;`Were it agame or nosoth for to telleNow am Igladsin that yow list to dwelle.'Thus al iswel; but tho bigan arightThe neweIoyeand al the feste agayn;ButPandarusif goodly hadde he mightHe woldehan hyed hir to bedde faynAnd seyde`Lordthis is an huge rayn!This werea weder for to slepen inne;And that Irede us sonE to biginne.`And necewoot ye wher I wol yow leyeFor thatwe shul not liggen fer asonderAnd for yeneither shullendar I seyeHerennoise of reynes nor of thondre?By godright in my lyte closet yonder.And I wolin that outer hous alloneBe wardeynof your wommen everichone.`And inthis middel chaumbre that ye seeShal yourewommen slepen wel and softe;And ther Iseyde shal your-selve be;And if yeliggen wel to-nightcom ofteAnd carethnot what weder is on-lofte.The wynanonand whan so that yow lesteSo go weslepeI trowe it be the beste.'Ther nisno morebut here-after soneThe voydedronkeand travers drawe anonGan everywightthat hadde nought to doneMore inthe placeout of the chaumber gon.Andever-mo so sternelich it ronAnd blewther-with so wonderliche loudeThat welneigh no man heren other coude.ThoPandarushir eemright as him oughteWith womenswiche as were hir most abouteFul gladun-to hir beddes syde hir broughteAnd tokehis leveand gan ful lowe louteAnd seyde`Here at this closet-dore with-outeRightover-thwartyour wommen liggen alleThatwhomyow list of hemye may here calle.'So whanthat she was in the closet leydAnd allehir wommen forth by ordenaunceA-beddewerenther as I have seydThere wasno more to skippen nor to traunceBut bodengo to beddewith mischaunceIf anywight was steringe any-whereAnd latehem slepe that a-bedde were.ButPandarusthat wel coude eche a delThe oldedaunceand every poynt ther-inneWhan thathe sey that alle thing was welHethoughte he wolde up-on his werk biginneAnd ganthe stewe-dore al softe un-pinne;And stilleas stoonwith-outen lenger letteBy Troilusa-doun right he him sette.Andshortly to the poynt right for to gonOf al thiswerk he tolde him word and endeAnd seyde`Make thee redy right anonFor thoushalt in-to hevene blisse wende.'`Nowblisful Venusthou me grace sende'QuodTroilus`for never yet no nedeHadde I ernowne halvendel the drede.'QuodPandarus`Ne drede thee never a delFor itshal been right as thou wilt desyre;So thryveIthis night shal I make it welOr castenal the gruwel in the fyre.'`Yitblisful Venusthis night thou me enspyre'QuodTroilus`as wis as I thee serveAnd everbet and bet shaltil I sterve.`And if IhaddeO Venus ful of murtheAspectesbadde of Mars or of SaturneOr thoucombust or let were in my birtheThy faderprey al thilke harm disturneOf graceand that I glad ayein may turneFor loveof him thou lovedest in the shaweI meneAdoonthat with the boor was slawe.`O Ioveeekfor the love of faire EuropeThe whichein forme of bole awey thou fette;Now helpO Marsthou with thy blody copeFor loveof Cipristhou me nought ne lette;O Phebusthenk whan Dane hir-selven shetteUnder thebarkand laurer wex for dredeYet forhir loveO help now at this nede!`Mercuriefor the love of Hierse ekeFor whichPallas was with Aglauros wroothNow helpand eek DianeI thee bisekeThat thisviage be not to thee looth.O fatalsustrenwhicher any cloothMe shapenwasmy destene me sponneSo helpethto this werk that is bi-gonne!'QuodPandarus`Thou wrecched mouses herteArt thouagast so that she wol thee byte?Whydonthis furred cloke up-on thy sherteAnd folowemefor I wol have the wyte;But bydand lat me go bifore a lyte.'And withthat word he gan un-do a trappeAndTroilus he broughte in by the lappe.The sternewind so loude gan to routeThat nowight other noyse mighte here;And theythat layen at the dore with-outeFulsykerly they slepten alle y-fere;AndPandaruswith a ful sobre chereGoth tothe dore anon with-outen letteTher-asthey layeand softely it shette.And as hecom ayeinward privelyHis neceawookand asked`Who goth there?'`My derenece' quod he`it am I;Newondreth notne have of it no fere;'And ner hecomand seyde hir in hir ere`No wordfor love of god I yow biseche;Lat nowight ryse and heren of oure speche.'`What!Which wey be ye comenbenedicite?'Quod she;`And how thus unwist of hem alle?'`Here atthis secre trappe-dore' quod he.Quod thoCriseyde`Lat me som wight calle.'`Ey! Godforbede that it sholde falle'QuodPandarus`that ye swich foly wroughte!Theymighte deme thing they never er thoughte!`It isnought good a sleping hound to wakeNe yeve awight a cause to devyne;Yourwommen slepen alleI under-takeSo thatfor hemthe hous men mighte myne;And slepenwolen til the sonne shyne.And whanmy tale al brought is to an endeUnwistright as I comso wol I wende.`Nownecemynye shul wel understonde'Quod he`so as ye wommen demen alleThat forto holde in love a man in hondeAnd himhir "leef" and "dere herte" calleAnd makenhim an howve above a calleI meneaslove an other in this whyleShe dothhir-self a shameand him a gyle.`Nowwherby that I telle yow al this?Ye wootyour-selfas wel as any wightHow thatyour love al fully graunted isToTroilusthe worthieste knightOon ofthis worldand ther-to trouthe plyghtThatbutit were on him alongye noldeHim neverfalsenwhyle ye liven sholde.`Now stantit thusthat sith I fro yow wenteThisTroilusright platly for to seynIs thurgha goterby a prive wenteIn-to mychaumbre come in al this reynUnwist ofevery maner wightcerteynSave ofmy-selfas wisly have I IoyeAnd bythat feith I shal Pryam of Troye!`And he iscome in swich peyne and distresseThatbuthe be al fully wood by thisHesodeynly mot falle in-to wodnesseBut-if godhelpe; and cause why this isHe seythhim told isof a freend of hisHow thatye sholde love oon that hatte HorasteFor sorweof which this night shalt been his laste.'Criseydewhich that al this wonder herdeGansodeynly aboute hir herte coldeAnd with asyk she sorwfully answerde`Allas! Iwendewho-so tales toldeMy dereherte wolde me not holdeSo lightlyfals! Allas! Conceytes wrongeWhat harmthey doonfor now live I to longe!`Horaste!Allas! And falsen Troilus?I knowehim notgod helpe me so' quod she;`Allas!What wikked spirit tolde him thus?Nowcerteseemto-morweand I him seeI shalther-of as ful excusen meAs everdide wommanif him lyke';And withthat word she gan ful sore syke.`O god!'quod she`So worldly selinesseWhichclerkes callen fals feliciteeY-medledis with many a bitternesse!Fulanguisshous than isgod woot' quod she`Condiciounof veyn prosperitee;For eitherIoyes comen nought y-fereOr ellesno wight hath hem alwey here.`O brotelwele of mannes Ioye unstable!With whatwight so thou beor how thou pleyeEither hewoot that thouIoyeart muableOr woot itnotit moot ben oon of tweye;Now if hewoot it nothow may he seyeThat hehath verray Ioye and selinesseThat is ofignoraunce ay in derknesse?`Now if hewoot that Ioye is transitorieAs everyIoye of worldly thing mot fleeThan everytyme he that hath in memorieThe dredeof lesing maketh him that heMay in noperfit selinesse be.And if tolese his Ioye he set a myteThansemeth it that Ioye is worth ful lyte.`WherforeI wol deffyne in this matereThattrewelyfor ought I can espyeTher is noverray wele in this world here.But Othou wikked serpentIalousyeThoumisbeleved and envious folyeWhy hastowTroilus me mad untristeThat neveryet agilte himthat I wiste?'QuodPandarus`Thus fallen is this cas.'`Whyuncle myn' quod she`who tolde him this?Why dothmy dere herte thusallas?'`Ye wootye nece myn' quod he`what is;I hope alshal be wel that is amisFor ye mayquenche al thisif that yow lesteAnd dothright sofor I holde it the beste.'`So shal Ido to-morwey-wis' quod she`And godto-fornso that it shal suffyse.'`To-morwe?Allasthat were a fair!' quod he`Naynayit may not stonden in this wyse;Fornecemynthus wryten clerkes wyseThat perilis with drecching in y-drawe;Nayswichabodes been nought worth an hawe.`Necealthing hath tymeI dar avowe;For whan achaumber a-fyr isor an halleWel morenede isit sodeynly rescoweThan todisputeand axe amonges alleHow isthis candele in the straw y-falle?A!Benedicite! For al among that fareThe harmis doonand fare-wel feldefare!`Andnecemynne take it not a-greefIf that yesuffre him al night in this woGod helpme soye hadde him never leefThat dar Iseynnow there is but we two;But wel Iwootthat ye wol not do so;Ye been towys to do so gret folyeTo puttehis lyf al night in Iupertye.`Hadde Ihim never leef? By godI weneYe haddenever thing so leef' quod she.`Now by mythrift' quod he`that shal be sene;Forsinye make this ensample of meIf I alnight wolde him in sorwe seeFor al thetresour in the toun of TroyeI biddegodI never mote have Ioye!`Now lokethanneif yethat been his loveShul putteal night his lyf in IupartyeFor thingof nought! Nowby that god aboveNoughtonly this delay comth of folyeBut ofmalyceif that I shal nought lye.Whatplatlyand ye suffre him in distresseYe neitherbountee doon ne gentilesse!'Quod thoCriseyde`Wole ye doon o thingAnd yetherwith shal stinte al his disese?Have hereand bereth him this blewe ringeFor theris no-thing mighte him bettre pleseSave Imy-selfne more his herte apese;And sey mydere hertethat his sorweIscauselesthat shal be seen to-morwe.'`A ring?'quod he`Yehasel-wodes shaken!Ye necemynthat ring moste han a stoonThatmighte dede men alyve maken;And swicha ring trowe I that ye have noon.Discreciounout of your heed is goon;That feleI now' quod he`and that is routhe;O tymey-lostwel maystow cursen slouthe!`Wot yenot wel that noble and heigh corageNe sorwethnotne stinteth eek for lyte?But if afool were in a Ialous rageI noldesetten at his sorwe a myteBut feffehim with a fewe wordes whyteAnotherdaywhan that I mighte him finde;But thisthing stant al in another kinde.`This isso gentil and so tendre of herteThat withhis deeth he wol his sorwes wreke;Fortrusteth welhow sore that him smerteHe wol toyow no Ialouse wordes speke.Andfor-thyneceer that his herte brekeSo spekyour-self to him of this matere;For with oword ye may his herte stere.`Now haveI told what peril he is inneAnd hiscoming unwist is to every wight;Nepardeeharm may ther be noonne sinne;I wolmy-self be with yow al this night.Ye knoweeek how it is your owne knightAnd thatby rightye moste upon him tristeAnd I alprest to fecche him whan yow liste.'Thisaccident so pitous was to hereAnd eek solyk a soothat pryme faceAndTroilus hir knight to hir so dereHis privecomingand the siker placeThatthough that she dide him as thanne a graceConsideredalle thinges as they stodeNo wonderissin she dide al for gode.Cryseydeanswerde`As wisly god at resteMy sowlebringeas me is for him wo!And eemy-wisfayn wolde I doon the besteIf that Ihadde grace to do so.Butwhether that ye dwelle or for him goI amtilgod me bettre minde sendeAtdulcarnonright at my wittes ende.'QuodPandarus`Yenecewol ye here?Dulcarnoncalled is "fleminge of wrecches";It semethhardfor wrecches wol not lereFor verrayslouthe or othere wilful tecches;This seydby hem that be not worth two fecches.But ye benwysand that we han on hondeNisneither hardne skilful to withstonde.'`Thanneeem' quod she`doth her-of as yow list;But er hecomeI wil up first aryse;Andforthe love of godsin al my tristIs on yowtwoand ye ben bothe wyseSowircheth now in so discreet a wyseThat Ihonour may haveand he plesaunce;For I amhere al in your governaunce.'`That iswel seyd' quod he`my nece dere'Ther goodthrift on that wyse gentil herte!Butliggeth stilleand taketh him right hereIt nedethnot no ferther for him sterte;And ech ofyow ese otheres sorwes smerteFor loveof god; andVenusI the herie;For sonehope I we shulle ben alle merie.'ThisTroilus ful sone on knees him setteFulsobrelyright be hir beddes heedAnd in hisbeste wyse his lady grette;But lordso she wex sodeynliche reed!Nethoughmen sholden smyten of hir heedShe coudenought a word a-right out-bringeSosodeynlyfor his sodeyn cominge.ButPandarusthat so wel coude feleIn everythingto pleye anoon biganAnd seyde`Necesee how this lord can knele!Nowforyour troutheseeth this gentil man!'And withthat word he for a quisshen ranAnd seyde`Kneleth nowwhyl that yow lesteTher godyour hertes bringe sone at reste!'Can I notseynfor she bad him not ryseIf sorweit putte out of hir remembraunceOr ellesthat she toke it in the wyseOf dueteeas for his observaunce;But welfinde I she dide him this plesaunceThat shehim kisteal-though she syked sore;And badhim sitte a-doun with-outen more.QuodPandarus`Now wol ye wel biginne;Now dothhim sittegode nece dereUpon yourbeddes syde al there with-inneThat echof yow the bet may other here.'And withthat word he drow him to the fereAnd took alightand fond his contenaunceAs for toloke up-on an old romaunce.Criseydethat was Troilus lady rightAnd cleerstood on a ground of sikernesseAlthoughte shehir servaunt and hir knightNe sholdeof right non untrouthe in hir gesseYetnatheleesconsidered his distresseAnd thatlove is in cause of swich folyeThus tohim spak she of his Ialousye:`Lohertemynas wolde the excellenceOf loveayeins the which that no man mayNe oughteeek goodly maken resistenceAnd eekbycause I felte wel and sayYouregrete troutheand servyse every day;And thatyour herte al myn wassooth to seyneThis droofme for to rewe up-on your peyne.`And yourgoodnesse have I founde alwey yitOf whichemy dere herte and al my knightI thonkeit yowas fer as I have witAl can Inought as muche as it were right;And Iemforth my conninge and my mightHave anday shalhow sore that me smerteBen to yowtrewe and hoolwith a myn herte;`Anddredeleesthat shal be founde at preve. --Buthertemynwhat al this is to seyneShal welbe toldso that ye noght yow greveThough Ito yow right on your-self compleyne.Forther-with mene I fynally the peyneThat haltyour herte and myn in hevinesseFully tosleenand every wrong redresse.`My goodemynnot I for-why ne howThatIalousyeallas! That wikked wivereThuscauselees is cropen in-to yow;The harmof which I wolde fayn delivere!Allas!That heal hoolor of him slivereShuld havehis refut in so digne a placeTher Iovehim sone out of your herte arace!`But Othou IoveO auctor of natureIs this anhonour to thy deiteeThat folkungiltif suffren here iniureAnd whothat giltif isal quit goth he?O were itleful for to pleyne on theeThatundeserved suffrest IalousyeOf that Iwolde up-on thee pleyne and crye!`Eek al mywo is thisthat folk now usenTo seynright thus"YeIalousye is love!"And woldea busshel venim al excusenFor that ogreyn of love is on it shove!But thatwot heighe god that sit aboveIf it belyker loveor hateor grame;And afterthatit oughte bere his name.`Butcerteyn issom maner IalousyeIsexcusable more than somy-wis.As whancause isand som swich fantasyeWithpietee so wel repressed isThat itunnethe dooth or seyth amisBut goodlydrinketh up al his distresse;And thatexcuse Ifor the gentilesse.`And somso ful of furie is and despytThat itsourmounteth his repressioun;But hertemynye be not in that plytThatthanke I godfor whiche your passiounI wol notcalle it but illusiounOfhabundaunce of love and bisy cureThat doothyour herte this disese endure.`Of whichI am right sory but not wrooth;Butformy devoir and your hertes resteWher-soyow listby ordal or by oothBy sortor in what wyse so yow lesteFor loveof godlat preve it for the beste!And ifthat I be giltifdo me deyeAllas!What mighte I more doon or seye?'With thata fewe brighte teres neweOwt of hireyen filleand thus she seyde`Now godthou wostin thought ne dede untreweTo Troiluswas never yet Criseyde.'With thathir heed doun in the bed she leydeAnd withthe shete it wreighand syghed soreAnd heldhir pees; not o word spak she more.But nowhelp god to quenchen al this sorweSo hope Ithat he shalfor he best may;For I haveseynof a ful misty morweFolwen fulofte a mery someres day;And afterwinter folweth grene May.Men seenaldayand reden eek in storiesThat aftersharpe shoures been victories.ThisTroiluswhan he hir wordes herdeHave ye nocarehim liste not to slepe;For itthoughte him no strokes of a yerdeTo here orseen Criseydehis lady wepe;But wel hefelte aboute his herte crepeFor everyteer which that Criseyde asterteThe crampeof deethto streyne him by the herte.And in hisminde he gan the tyme acurseThat hecam thereand that that he was born;For now iswikke y-turned in-to worseAnd althat labour he hath doon bifornHe wendeit losthe thoughte he nas but lorn.`OPandarus' thoughte he`allas! Thy wyleServeth ofnoughtso weylaway the whyle!'Andtherwithal he heng a-doun the heedAnd fil onkneesand sorwfully he sighte;Whatmighte he seyn? He felte he nas but deedFor wroothwas she that shulde his sorwes lighte.Butnatheleeswhan that he speken mighteThan seydehe thus`God wootthat of this gameWhan al iswistthan am I not to blame!'Ther-withthe sorwe so his herte shetteThat fromhis eyen fil there not a tereAnd everyspirit his vigour in-knetteSo theyastoned or oppressed were.The felingof his sorweor of his fereOr ofought ellesfled was out of towne;And dounhe fel al sodeynly a-swowne.This wasno litel sorwe for to see;But al washustand Pandare up as faste`O necepeesor we be lost' quod he`Bethnought agast;' But certeynat the lasteFor thisor thathe in-to bedde him casteAnd seyde`O theefis this a mannes herte?'And of herente al to his bare sherte;And seyde`Necebut ye helpe us nowAllasyour owne Troilus is lorn!'`Y-wissowolde Iand I wiste howFul fayn'quod she; `Allas! That I was born!'`Yenecewole ye pullen out the thornThatstiketh in his herte?' quod Pandare;`Sey "Alforyeve" and stint is al this fare!'`Yethatto me' quod she`ful lever wereThan althe good the sonne aboute gooth';Andtherwith-al she swoor him in his ere`Y-wismydere herteI am nought wroothHave heremy trouthe and many another ooth;Now speekto mefor it am ICryseyde!'But al fornought; yet mighte he not a-breyde.Therwithhis pous and pawmes of his hondesThey ganto froteand wete his temples tweyneAndtodeliveren him from bittre bondesShe oftehim kiste; andshortly for to seyneHim torevoken she dide al hir peyne.And at thelastehe gan his breeth to draweAnd of hisswough sone after that adaweAnd ganbet minde and reson to him takeBut wondersore he was abaysty-wis.And with asykwhan he gan bet a-wakeHe seyde`O mercygodwhat thing is this?'`Why do yewith your-selven thus amis?'Quod thoCriseyde`Is this a mannes game?WhatTroilus! Wol ye do thusfor shame?'Andtherwith-al hir arm over him she leydeAnd alforyafand ofte tyme him keste.He thonkedhirand to hir spakand seydeAs fil topurpos for his herte reste.And she tothat answerde him as hir leste;And withhir goodly wordes him disporteShe ganand ofte his sorwes to comforte.QuodPandarus`For ought I can espyenThislightnor I ne serven here of nought;Light isnot good for syke folkes yen.But forthe love of godsin ye be broughtIn thusgood plytlat now non hevy thoughtBenhanginge in the hertes of yow tweye:'And barthe candele to the chimeneye.Sone afterthisthough it no nede wereWhan sheswich othes as hir list devyseHadde ofhim takehir thoughte tho no fereNe causeeek nonto bidde him thennes ryse.Yet lessething than othes may suffyseIn many acas; for every wightI gesseThatloveth wel meneth but gentilesse.But ineffect she wolde wite anoonOf whatmanand eek whereand also whyHe Ielouswassin ther was cause noon;And eekthe signethat he took it byShe badhim that to telle hir bisilyOr ellescerteynshe bar him on hondeThat thiswas doon of malishir to fonde.With-outenmoreshortly for to seyneHe mosteobeye un-to his lady heste;And forthe lasse harmhe moste feyne.He seydehirwhan she was at swiche a festeShe mighteon him han loked at the leste;Not I notwhatal dere y-nough a rissheAs he thatnedes moste a cause fisshe.And sheanswerde`Sweteal were it soWhat harmwas thatsin I non yvel mene?Forbythat god that boughte us bothe twoIn allethinge is myn entente clene.Swicharguments ne been not worth a bene;Wol ye thechildish Ialous contrefete?Now wereit worthy that ye were y-bete.'ThoTroilus gan sorwfully to sykeLest shebe wroothhim thoughte his herte deyde;And seyde`Allas! Up-on my sorwes sykeHavemercyswete herte mynCryseyde!And ifthatin tho wordes that I seydeBe anywrongI wol no more trespace;Do whatyow listI am al in your grace.'And sheanswerde`Of gilt misericorde!That is toseynthat I foryeve al this;Andever-more on this night yow recordeAnd bethwel war ye do no more amis.'`Naydereherte myn' quod he`y-wis.'`And now'quod she`that I have do yow smerteForyeve itmemyn owene swete herte.'ThisTroiluswith blisse of that supprysedPut al ingoddes hondas he that menteNo-thingbut wel; andsodeynly avysedHe hir inarmes faste to him hente.AndPandaruswith a ful good ententeLeyde himto slepeand seyde`If ye ben wyseSwownethnot nowlest more folk aryse.'Whatmighte or may the sely larke seyeWhan thatthe sperhauk hath it in his foot?I can nomorebut of thise ilke tweyeTo whomthis tale sucre be or sootThoughthat I tarie a yeersom-tyme I mootAfter mynauctortellen hir gladnesseAs wel asI have told hir hevinesse.Criseydewhich that felte hir thus y-takeAs writenclerkes in hir bokes oldeRight asan aspes leef she gan to quakeWhan shehim felte hir in his armes folde.ButTroilusal hool of cares coldeGanthanken tho the blisful goddes sevene;Thussondry peynes bringen folk in hevene.ThisTroilus in armes gan hir streyneAnd seyde`O sweteas ever mote I goonNow be yecaughtnow is ther but we tweyne;Nowyeldeth yowfor other boot is noon.'To thatCriseyde answerde thus anoon`Ne haddeI er nowmy swete herte dereBen yoldey-wisI were now not here!'O! Soothis seydthat heled for to beAs of afevre or othere greet syknesseMen mostedrinkeas men may often seeFul bittredrink; and for to han gladnesseMendrinken often peyne and greet distresse;I mene ithereas for this aventureThatthourgh a peyne hath founden al his cure.And nowswetnesse semeth more sweetThatbitternesse assayed was biforn;For out ofwo in blisse now they flete;Non swichthey feltensith they were born;Now isthis betthan bothe two be lorn!For loveof godtake every womman hedeTo werkenthusif it comth to the nede.Criseydeal quit from every drede and teneAs shethat iuste cause hadde him to tristeMade himswich festeit Ioye was to seneWhan shehis trouthe and clene entente wiste.And asaboute a treewith many a twisteBitrentand wryth the sote wode-bindeGan echeof hem in armes other winde.And as thenewe abaysshed nightingaleThatstinteth first whan she biginneth to singeWhan thatshe hereth any herde taleOr in thehegges any wight steringeAnd aftersiker dooth hir voys out-ringe;Right soCriseydewhan hir drede stenteOpned hirherte and tolde him hir entente.And rightas he that seeth his deeth y-shapenAnd deyemootin ought that he may gesseAndsodeynly rescous doth him escapenAnd fromhis deeth is brought in sikernesseFor althis worldin swich present gladnesseWasTroilusand hath his lady swete;With worsehap god lat us never mete!Hir armessmalehir streyghte bak and softeHir sydeslongefleshlysmotheand whyteHe gan tostrokeand good thrift bad ful ofteHirsnowish throtehir brestes rounde and lyte;Thus inthis hevene he gan him to delyteAndther-with-al a thousand tyme hir kiste;Thatwhatto donefor Ioye unnethe he wiste.Than seydehe thus`OLoveOChariteeThy modereekCitherea the sweteAfterthy-self next heried be sheVenus meneIthe wel-willy planete;And nextthatImeneusI thee grete;For neverman was to yow goddes holdeAs Iwhich ye han brought fro cares colde.`BenigneLovethou holy bond of thingesWho-so wolgraceand list thee nought honourenLohisdesyr wol flee with-outen winges.Fornoldestow of bountee hem socourenThatserven best and most alwey labourenYet wereal lostthat dar I wel seyncertesBut-if thygrace passed our desertes.`And forthou methat coude leest deserveOf hemthat nombred been un-to thy graceHastholpenther I lykly was to sterveAnd mebistowed in so heygh a placeThatthilke boundes may no blisse paceI can nomorebut laude and reverenceBe to thybounte and thyn excellence!'Andtherwith-al Criseyde anoon he kisteOf whichcerteynshe felte no diseseAnd thusseyde he`Now wolde god I wisteMyn herteswetehow I yow mighte plese!What man'quod he`was ever thus at eseAs Ionwhiche the faireste and the besteThat everI saydeyneth hir herte reste.`Here maymen seen that mercy passeth right;Theexperience of that is felt in meThat amunworthy to so swete a wight.But hertemynof your benigniteeSothenkeththough that I unworthy beYet mot Inede amenden in som wyseRightthourgh the vertu of your heyghe servyse.`And forthe love of godmy lady dereSin godhath wrought me for I shal yow serveAs thus Imenethat ye wol be my stereTo do meliveif that yow listeor sterveSo techethme how that I may deserveYourthankso that Ithurgh myn ignoraunceNe dono-thing that yow be displesaunce.`Forcertesfresshe wommanliche wyfThis dar Iseyethat trouthe and diligenceThat shalye finden in me al my lyfNe wolnotcerteynbreken your defence;And if Idopresent or in absenceFor loveof godlat slee me with the dedeIf that itlyke un-to your womanhede.'`Y-wis'quod she`myn owne hertes listMy groundof eseand al myn herte dereGrauntmercyfor on that is al my trist;But lateus falle awey fro this matere;For itsuffyseththis that seyd is here.And at owordwith-outen repentaunceWel-comemy knightmy peesmy suffisaunce!'Of hirdelytor Ioyes oon the lesteWereimpossible to my wit to seye;Butiuggethye that han ben at the festeOf swichgladnesseif that hem liste pleye!I can nomorebut thus thise ilke tweyeThatnightbe-twixen dreed and sikernesseFelten inlove the grete worthinesse.O blisfulnightof hem so longe y-soughtHow blitheun-to hem bothe two thou were!Why nehadde I swich on with my soule y-boughtYeor theleeste Ioye that was there?A-weythou foule daunger and thou fereAnd lathem in this hevene blisse dwelleThat is soheyghthat al ne can I telle!But soothisthough I can not tellen alAs can mynauctorof his excellenceYet have Iseydandgod to-fornI shalIn everything al hoolly his sentence.And ifthat Iat loves reverenceHave anyword in eched for the besteDoththerwith-al right as your-selven leste.For mynewordeshere and every partI spekehem alle under correcciounOf yowthat feling han in loves artAnd putteit al in your discreciounTo encreseor maken diminuciounOf mylangageand that I yow bi-seche;But now topurpos of my rather speche.Thise ilketwothat ben in armes laftSo loothto hem a-sonder goon it wereThat echfrom other wende been biraftOr elleslothis was hir moste fereThat althis thing but nyce dremes were;For whichful ofte ech of hem seyde`O sweteClippe ichyow thusor elles I it mete?'Andlord!So he gan goodly on hir seeThat neverhis look ne bleynte from hir faceAnd seyde`O dere hertemay it beThat it besooththat ye ben in this place?'`Yehertemyngod thank I of his grace!'Quod thoCriseydeand therwith-al him kisteThat wherehis spirit wasfor Ioye he niste.ThisTroilus ful ofte hir eyen twoGan for tokisseand seyde`O eyen clereIt were yethat wroughte me swich woYe humblenettes of my lady dere!Thoughther be mercy writen in your chereGod wotthe text ful hard issoothto findeHow coudeye with-outen bond me binde?'Therwithhe gan hir faste in armes takeAnd wel anhundred tymes gan he sykeNoughtswiche sorwfull sykes as men makeFor woorelles whan that folk ben sykeBut esysykesswiche as been to lykeThatshewed his affeccioun with-inne;Of swichesykes coude he nought bilinne.Sone afterthis they speke of sondry thingesAs fil topurpos of this aventureAndpleyinge entrechaungeden hir ringesOf which Ican nought tellen no scripture;But wel Iwoota brochegold and asureIn whichea ruby set was lyk an herteCriseydehim yafand stak it on his sherte.Lord!trowe yea coveitousa wreccbeThatblameth love and holt of it despytThatoftho pens that he can mokre and keccheWas everyet y-yeve him swich delytAs is inlovein oo poyntin som plyt?Naydouteleesfor also god me saveSo parfitIoye may no nigard have!They wolsey `Yis' but lord! So that they lyeTho bisywrecchesful of wo and drede!Theycallen love a woodnesse or folyeBut itshal falle hem as I shal yow rede;They shulforgo the whyte and eke the redeAnd livein wother god yeve hem mischaunceAnd everylover in his trouthe avaunce!As woldegodtho wrecchesthat dispyseServyse oflovehadde eres al-so longeAs haddeMydaful of coveityseAndther-to dronken hadde as hoot and strongeAs Crassusdide for his affectis wrongeTo techenhem that they ben in the vyceAndloveres noughtal-though they holde hem nyce!Thise ilketwoof whom that I yow seyeWhan thathir hertes wel assured wereTho gonnethey to speken and to pleyeAnd eekrehercen howand whanneand whereThey knewehem firstand every wo and fereThatpassed was; but al swich hevinesseI thankeit godwas tourned to gladnesse.Andever-mowhan that hem fel to spekeOf anything of swich a tyme agoonWithkissing al that tale sholde brekeAnd fallenin a newe Ioye anoonAnd didenal hir mightsin they were oonFor torecoveren blisse and been at eseAnd passedwo with Ioye countrepeyse.Reson wilnot that I speke of sleepFor itaccordeth nought to my matere;God wootthey toke of that ful litel keepBut lestthis nightthat was to hem so dereNe sholdein veyn escape in no manereIt wasbiset in Ioye and bisinesseOf al thatsouneth in-to gentilnesse.But whanthe cokcomune astrologerGan on hisbrest to beteand after croweAndLuciferthe dayes messagerGan for toryseand out hir bemes throwe;Andestward roosto him that coude it knoweFortunamaiorthan anoon CriseydeWith hertesoreto Troilus thus seyde: --`Mynhertes lyfmy trist and my plesaunceThat I wasbornallas! What me is woThat dayof us mot make desseveraunce!For tymeit is to ryseand hennes goOr elles Iam lost for evermo!O nightallas! Why niltow over us hoveAs longeas whanne Almena lay by Iove?`O blakenightas folk in bokes redeThatshapen art by god this world to hydeAt certeyntymes with thy derke wedeThat underthat men mighte in reste abydeWel oughtebestes pleyneand folk thee chydeThatthere-as day with labour wolde us bresteThat thouthus fleestand deynest us nought reste!`Thoudostallas! To shortly thyn offyceThou rakelnightther godmakere of kindeTheeforthyn hast and thyn unkinde vyceSo fasteay to our hemi-spere binde.Thatnever-more under the ground thou winde!For nowfor thou so hyest out of TroyeHave Iforgon thus hastily my Ioye!'ThisTroilusthat with tho wordes felteAsthoughte him thofor pietous distresseThe blodyteres from his herte melteAs he thatnever yet swich hevinesseAssayedhaddeout of so greet gladnesseGantherwith-al Criseyde his lady dereIn armesstreyneand seyde in this manere: --`O crueldayaccusour of the IoyeThat nightand love han stole and faste y-wryenA-cursedbe thy coming in-to TroyeFor everybore hath oon of thy bright yen!Envyousdaywhat list thee so to spyen?Whathastow lostwhy sekestow this placeTher godthy lyght so quenchefor his grace?`Allas!What han thise loveres thee agiltDispitousday? Thyn be the pyne of helle!For many alovere hastow shentand wilt;Thypouring in wol no-wher lete hem dwelle.Whatproferestow thy light here for to selle?Go selleit hem that smale seles gravenWe wolthee noughtus nedeth no day haven.'And eekthe sonne Tytan gan he chydeAnd seyde`O foolwel may men thee dispyseThat hastthe Dawing al night by thy sydeAndsuffrest hir so sone up fro thee ryseFor todisesen loveres in this wyse.What!Holde your bed therthouand eek thy Morwe!I biddegodso yeve yow bothe sorwe!'Therwithful sore he sighteand thus he seyde`My ladyrightand of my wele or woThe welleand roteO goodly mynCriseydeAnd shal Iryseallas! And shal I go?Now fele Ithat myn herte moot a-two!For howsholde I my lyf an houre saveSin thatwith yow is al the lyf I have?`What shalI doonfor certesI not howNe whanneallas! I shal the tyme seeThat inthis plyt I may be eft with yow;And of mylyfgod woothow that shal beSin thatdesyr right now so byteth meThat I amdeed anoonbut I retourne.How sholdeI longeallas! Fro yow soiourne?`Butnatheleesmyn owene lady brightYit wereit so that I wiste outrelyThat Iyour humble servaunt and your knightWere inyour herte set so fermelyAs ye inmynthe which thingtrewelyMe leverwere than thise worldes tweyneYet sholdeI bet enduren al my peyne.'To thatCryseyde answerde right anoonAnd with asyk she seyde`O herte dereThe gamey-wisso ferforth now is goonThat firstshal Phebus falle fro his spereAnd everyegle been the dowves fereAnd everyroche out of his place sterteEr Troilusout of Criseydes herte!`Ye he sodepe in-with myn herte graveThatthough I wolde it turne out of my thoughtAs wislyverray god my soule saveTo dyen inthe peyneI coude nought!Andforthe love of god that us bath wroughtLat inyour brayn non other fantasyeSo crepethat it cause me to dye!`And thatye me wolde han as faste in mindeAs I haveyowthat wolde I yow bi-seche;Andif Iwiste soothly that to findeGod mightenot a poynt my Ioyes eche!Buthertemynwith-oute more specheBeth to metreweor elles were it routhe;For I amthynby god and by my trouthe!`Beth gladfor-thyand live in sikernesse;Thus seydeI never er thisne shal to mo;And if toyow it were a gret gladnesseTo turneayeinsoone after that ye goAs faynwolde I as yeit were soAs wislygod myn herte bringe at reste!'And him inarmes tookand ofte keste.Agayns hiswilsin it mot nedes beThisTroilus up roosand faste him cleddeAnd in hisarmes took his lady freeAn hundredtymeand on his wey him speddeAnd withswich wordes as his herte bleddeHe seyde`Farewelmr dere herte sweteTher godus graunte sounde and sone to mete!'To whichno word for sorwe she answerdeSo soregan his parting hir destreyne;AndTroilus un-to his palays ferdeAs woobigon as she wassooth to seyne;So hardhim wrong of sharp desyr the peyneFor to beneft there he was in plesaunceThat itmay never out of his remembraunce.Retornedto his real palaissoneHe softein-to his bed gan for to slinkeTo slepelongeas he was wont to doneBut al fornought; he may wel ligge and winkeBut sleepne may ther in his herte sinke;Thenkingehow shefor whom desyr him brendeAthousand-fold was worth more than he wende.And in histhought gan up and doun to windeHir wordesalleand every countenaunceAndfermely impressen in his mindeThe lestepoynt that to him was plesaunce;Andverraylicheof thilke remembraunceDesyr alnewe him brendeand lust to bredeGan morethan erstand yet took he non hede.Criseydealsoright in the same wyseOf Troilusgan in hir herte shetteHisworthinessehis lusthis dedes wyseHisgentilesseand how she with him metteThonkingelove he so wel hir bisette;Desyringeft to have hir herte dereIn swich aplytshe dorste make him chere.Pandarea-morwe which that comen wasUn-to hisneceand gan hir fayre greteSeyde`Althis night so reyned itallas!That al mydrede is that yenece sweteHan litellayser had to slepe and mete;Al night'quod he`hath reyn so do me wakeThat somof usI trowehir hedes ake.'And ner hecomand seyde`How stont it nowThis merymorwenecehow can ye fare?'Criseydeanswerde`Never the bet for yowFox thatye beengod yeve youre herte care!God helpme soye caused al this fareTrow I'quod she`for alle your wordes whyte;O! Who-soseeth yow knoweth yow ful lyte!'With thatshe gan hir face for to wryeWith thesheteand wex for shame al reed;AndPandarus gan under for to pryeAnd seyde`Neceif that I shal be deedHave herea swerdand smyteth of myn heed.'With thathis arm al sodeynly he thristeUnder hirnekkeand at the laste hir kiste.I passe althat which chargeth nought to seyeWhat! Godforyaf his deethand she al-soForyafand with hir uncle gan to pleyeFor othercause was ther noon than so.But ofthis thing right to the effect to goWhan tymewashom til hir hous she wenteAndPandarus hath fully his entente.Now tornewe ayein to TroilusThatresteles ful longe a-bedde layAndprevely sente after PandarusTo him tocome in al the haste he may.He comanoonnought ones seyde he `nay'AndTroilus ful sobrely he gretteAnd dounupon his beddes syde him sette.ThisTroiluswith al the affecciounOf frendeslove that herte may devyseToPandarus on knees fil adounAnd erthat he wolde of the place aryseHe gan himthonken in his beste wyse;An hondredsythe he gan the tyme blesseThat hewas bornto bringe him fro distresse.He seyde`O frend of frendes the alderbesteThat everwasthe sothe for to telleThou hastin hevene y-brought my soule at resteFroFlegitounthe fery flood of helle;Thatthough I mighte a thousand tymes selleUpon adaymy lyf in thy servyseIt mightenought a mote in that suffyse.`Thesonnewhich that al the world may seeSaw neveryetmy lyfthat dar I leyeSo inlyfayr and goodly as is sheWhos I amaland shaltil that I deye;AndthatI thus am hiresdar I seyeThatthanked be the heighe worthinesseOf loveand eek thy kinde bisinesse.`Thushastow me no litel thing y-yiveFo whichto thee obliged be for ayMy lyfand why? For thorugh thyn help I live;For ellesdeed hadde I be many a day.'And withthat word doun in his bed he layAndPandarus ful sobrely him herdeTil al wasseydand than he thus answerde:`My derefrendif I have doon for theeIn anycasgod wotit is me leef;And am asglad as man may of it beGod helpme so; but tak now a-greefThat Ishal seynbe war of this myscheefThatthere-as thou now brought art in-to blisseThat thouthy-self ne cause it nought to misse.`For offortunes sharpe adversiteeThe worstkinde of infortune is thisA man tohave ben in prosperiteeAnd itremembrenwhan it passed is.Thou artwys y-noughfor-thy do nought amis;Be not torakelthough thou sitte warmeFor ifthou becerteynit wol thee harme.`Thou artat eseand holde the wel ther-inne.For alsoseur as reed is every fyrAs greet acraft is kepe wel as winne;Brydlealwey wel thy speche and thy desyrForworldly Ioye halt not but by a wyr;Thatpreveth welit brest alday so ofte;For-thynede is to werke with it softe.'QuodTroilus`I hopeand god to-fornMy derefrendthat I shal so me bereThat in mygilt ther shal no thing be lornNe I nilnot rakle as for to greven here;It nedethnot this matere ofte tere;Forwistestow myn herte welPandareGod wootof this thou woldest litel care.'Tho gan hetelle him of his glade nightAndwher-of first his herte dreddeand howAnd seyde`Freendas I am trewe knightAnd bythat feyth I shal to god and yowI hadde itnever half so hote as now;And ay themore that desyr me bytethTo lovehir bestthe more it me delyteth.`I nootmy-self not wisly what it is;But now Ifele a newe qualiteeYealanother than I dide er this.'Pandareanswerdeand seyde thusthat heThat onesmay in hevene blisse beHe felethother weyesdar I leyeThanthilke tyme he first herde of it seye.This is oword for al: this TroilusWas neverful to speke of this matereAnd for topreysen un-to PandarusThebountee of his righte lady dereAndPandarus to thanke and maken chere.This taleay was span-newe to biginneTil thatthe night departed hem a-twinne.Sone afterthisfor that fortune it woldeI-comenwas the blisful tyme sweteThatTroilus was warned that he sholdeTher hewas erstCriseyde his lady mete;For whichhe felte his herte in Ioye flete;Andfeythfully gan alle the goddes herie;And latsee now if that he can be merie.And holdenwas the forme and al the wyseOf hircomingeand eek of his alsoAs it waserstwhich nedeth nought devyse.Butplaynly to the effect right for to goIn Ioyeand suerte Pandarus hem twoA-beddebroughtewhan that hem bothe lesteAnd thusthey ben in quiete and in reste.Noughtnedeth it to yowsin they ben metTo aske atme if that they blythe were;For if iterst was weltho was it betAthousand-foldthis nedeth not enquere.A-gon wasevery sorwe and every fere;And bothey-wisthey haddeand so they wendeAs mucheIoye as herte may comprende.This is nolitel thing of for to seyeThispasseth every wit for to devyse;For echeof hem gan otheres lust obeye;Feliciteewhich that thise clerkes wyseCommendensone may not here suffyse.This Ioyemay not writen been with inkeThispasseth al that herte may bithinke.But crueldayso wel-awey the stounde!Gan for toaprocheas they by signes kneweFor whichehem thoughte felen dethes wounde;So wo washemthat changen gan hir heweAnd daythey goonnen to dispyse al neweCalling ittraytourenvyousand worseAndbitterly the dayes light they curse.QuodTroilus`Allas! Now am I warThatPirous and tho swifte stedes threeWhichethat drawen forth the sonnes charHan goonsom by-path in despyt of me;Thatmaketh it so sone day to be;Andforthe sonne him hasteth thus to ryseNe shal Inever doon him sacrifyse!'But nedesday departe moste hem soneAnd whannehir speche doon was and hir chereTheytwinne anoon as they were wont to doneAnd settentyme of meting eft y-fere;And many anight they wroughte in this manere.And thusFortune a tyme ladde in IoyeCriseydeand eek this kinges sone of Troye.Insuffisauncein blisseand in singingesThisTroilus gan al his lyf to lede;HespendethIustethmaketh festeynges;He yevethfrely ofteand chaungeth wedeAnd heldaboute him alweyout of dredeA world offolkas cam him wel of kindeThefressheste and the beste he coude fynde;That swicha voys was of hym and a steveneThorugh-outthe worldof honour and largesseThat it uprong un-to the yate of hevene.Andas inlovehe was in swich gladnesseThat inhis herte he demedeas I gesseThat therenis lovere in this world at eseSo wel asheand thus gan love him plese.Thegodlihede or beautee which that kindeIn anyother lady hadde y-setCan notthe mountaunce of a knot unbindeA-boutehis herteof al Criseydes net.He was sonarwe y-masked and y-knetThat itundon on any manere sydeThat nilnot beenfor ought that may betyde.And by thehond ful ofte he wolde takeThisPandarusand in-to gardin ledeAnd swicha feste and swich a proces makeHim ofCriseydeand of hir womanhedeAnd of hirbeauteethatwith-outen dredeIt was anhevene his wordes for to here;And thannehe wolde singe in this manere.`Lovethat of erthe and see hath governaunceLovethathis hestes hath in hevene hyeLovethatwith an holsom alliaunceHaltpeples ioynedas him list hem gyeLovethatknetteth lawe of companyeAndcouples doth in vertu for to dwelleBind thisacordthat I have told and telle;`That thatthe world with feythwhich that is stableDyversethso his stoundes concordingeThatelements that been so discordableHolden abond perpetuely duringeThatPhebus mote his rosy day forth bringeAnd thatthe mone hath lordship over the nightesAl thisdoth Love; ay heried be his mightes!`Thatthat the seethat gredy is to flowenConstreynethto a certeyn ende soHisflodesthat so fersly they ne growenTodrenchen erthe and al for ever-mo;And ifthat Love ought lete his brydel goAl thatnow loveth a-sonder sholde lepeAnd lostwere althat Love halt now to-hepe.`So woldegodthat auctor is of kindeThatwithhis bondLove of his vertu listeTo cerclenhertes alleand faste bindeThat fromhis bond no wight the wey out wiste.And hertescoldehem wolde I that he twisteTo makehem loveand that hem leste ay reweOn hertessoreand kepe hem that ben trewe.'In allenedesfor the tounes werreHe wasand ay the firste in armes dight;Andcerteynlybut-if that bokes erreSaveEctormost y-drad of any wight;And thisencrees of hardinesse and mightCam him oflovehis ladies thank to winneThataltered his spirit so with-inne.In tyme oftreweon haukinge wolde he rydeOr elleshunten boorbereor lyoun;The smalebestes leet he gon bi-syde.And whanthat he com rydinge in-to tounFul oftehis ladyfrom hir window dounAs freshas faucon comen out of muweFul redywashim goodly to saluwe.And mostof love and vertu was his specheAnd indespyt hadde alle wrecchednesse;Anddouteleesno nede was him bisecheTohonouren hem that hadde worthinesseAnd esenhem that weren in distresse.And gladwas he if any wight wel ferdeThat loverwaswhan he it wiste or herde.For soothto seynhe lost held every wightBut-if hewere in loves heigh servyseI menefolk that oughte it been of right.And overal thisso wel coude he devyseOfsentementand in so unkouth wyseAl hisarraythat every lover thoughteThat alwas welwhat-so he seyde or wroughte.And thoughthat he be come of blood royalHim listeof pryde at no wight for to chase;Benigne hewas to ech in generalFor whichhe gat him thank in every place.Thus woldelovey-heried be his graceThatPrydeEnvyeIreand AvaryceHe gan tofleeand every other vyce.Thou ladybrightthe doughter to DioneThy blindeand winged sone eekdaun Cupyde;Ye sustrennyne eekthat by EliconeIn hilParnaso listen for to abydeThat yethus fer han deyned me to gydeI can nomorebut sin that ye wol wendeYe heriedbeen for aywith-outen ende!Thourghyow have I seyd fully in my songTheffectand Ioye of Troilus servyseAl be thatther was som disese amongAs to mynauctor listeth to devyse.My thriddebook now ende ich in this wyse;AndTroilus in luste and in quieteIs withCriseydehis owne herte swete.
But al tolitelweylaway the whyleLastethswich Ioyey-thonked be Fortune!Thatsemeth trewestwhan she wol bygyleAnd can tofoles so hir song entuneThat shehem hent and blenttraytour comune;And whan awight is from hir wheel y-throweThanlaugheth sheand maketh him the mowe.FromTroilus she gan hir brighte faceAwey towrytheand took of him non hedeBut castehim clene out of his lady graceAnd on hirwheel she sette up Diomede;For whichright now myn herte ginneth bledeAnd now mypenneallas! With which I wryteQuakethfor drede of that I moot endyte.For howCriseyde Troilus forsook15Or at thelestehow that she was unkindeMothennes-forth ben matere of my bookAs wrytenfolk through which it is in minde.Allas!That they sholde ever cause findeTo spekehir harm; and if they on hir lyeY-wishem-self sholde han the vilanye.O yeHerinesNightes doughtren threeThatendelees compleynen ever in pyneMegeraAleteand eek Thesiphone;Thou cruelMars eekfader to QuiryneThis ilkeferthe book me helpeth fyneSo thatthe los of lyf and love y-fereOf Troilusbe fully shewed here.
Liggingein ostas I have seyd er thisThe Grekesstrongeaboute Troye tounBifelthatwhan that Phebus shyning isUp-on thebrest of Hercules LyounThatEctorwith ful many a bold barounCaste on aday with Grekes for to fighteAs he waswont to greve hem what he mighte.Not I howlonge or short it was bitweneThispurpos and that day they fighte mente;But on aday wel armedbright and sheneEctorandmany a worthy wight out wenteWith sperein hond and bigge bowes bente;And in theherdwith-oute lenger letteHir fomenin the feld anoon hem mette.The longedaywith speres sharpe y-groundeWitharwesdartesswerdesmaces felleTheyfighte and bringen hors and man to groundeAnd withhir axes out the braynes quelle.But in thelaste shoursooth for to telleThe folkof Troye hem-selven so misleddenThat withthe worse at night homward they fledden.At whicheday was taken AntenorMaugrePolydamas or MonesteoSantippeSarpedonPolynestorPolyteoreek the Troian daun RipheoAnd otherelasse folkas Phebuseo.So thatfor harmthat day the folk of TroyeDredden tolese a greet part of hir Ioye.Of Pryamuswas yeveat Greek requesteA tyme oftreweand tho they gonnen treteHirprisoneres to chaungenmoste and lesteAnd forthe surplus yeven sommes grete.This thinganoon was couth in every streteBothe inthassegein touneand every-whereAnd withthe firste it cam to Calkas ere.WhanCalkas knew this tretis sholde holdeInconsistorieamong the GrekessoneHe gan inthringe forthwith lordes oldeAnd settehim there-as he was wont to done;And with achaunged face hem bad a boneFor loveof godto don that reverenceTo stintenoyseand yeve him audience.Thanneseyde he thus`Lo! Lordes myneI wasTroianasit is knowen out of drede;Andifthat yow remembreI am CalkasThatalderfirst yaf comfort to your nedeAnd toldewel how that ye sholden spede.Fordredeleesthorugh yowshalin a stoundeBen Troyey-brendand beten doun to grounde.`And inwhat formeor in what maner wyseThis townto shendeand al your lust to acheveYe han erthis wel herd it me devyse;This knoweyemy lordesas I leve.And forthe Grekes weren me so leveI commy-self in my propre personeTo techein this how yow was best to done;`Havingeun-to my tresour ne my renteRight noresportto respect of your ese.Thus al mygood I loste and to yow wenteWening inthis youlordesfor to plese.But althat los ne doth me no disese.Ivouche-saufas wisly have I IoyeFor you tolese al that I have in Troye`Save of adoughterthat I lafteallas!Slepingeat hoomwhanne out of Troye I sterte.O sterneO cruel fader that I was!How mighteI have in that so hard an herte?Allas! Ine hadde y-brought hir in hir sherte!For sorweof which I wol not live to morweBut-if yelordes rewe up-on my sorwe.`Forbythat cause I say no tyme er nowHir todelivereI holden have my pees;But now orneverif that it lyke yowI may hirhave right sonedoutelees.O help andgrace! Amonges al this preesRewe onthis olde caitif in destresseSin Ithrough yow have al this hevinesse!`Ye havenow caught and fetered in prisounTroiansy-nowe; and if your willes beMy childwith oon may have redempcioun.Now forthe love of god and of bounteeOon of sofeleallas! So yeve him me.What nedewere it this preyere for to werneSin yeshul bothe han folk and toun as yerne?`On perilof my lyfI shal nat lyeAppollohath me told it feithfully;I have eekfounde it be astronomyeBy sortand by augurie eek trewelyAnd darwel seyethe tyme is faste byThat fyrand flaumbe on al the toun shal sprede;And thusshal Troye turne to asshen dede.`ForcerteynPhebus and Neptunus botheThatmakeden the walles of the tounBen withthe folk of Troye alwey so wrotheThat theiwol bringe it to confusiounRight indespyt of king Lameadoun.By-causehe nolde payen hem hir hyreThe tounof Troye shal ben set on-fyre.'Tellinghis tale alweythis olde greyeHumble inspecheand in his lokinge ekeThe salteteres from his eyen tweyeFul fasteronnen doun by eyther cheke.So longehe gan of socour hem by-sekeThatforto hele him of his sorwes soreThey yavehim Antenorwith-oute more.But whowas glad y-nough but Calkas tho?And ofthis thing ful sone his nedes leydeOn hemthat sholden for the tretis goAnd hemfor Antenor ful ofte preydeTo bringenhoom king Toas and Criseyde;And whanPryam his save-garde senteThembassadoursto Troye streyght they wente.The causey-told of hir comingethe oldePryam theking ful sone in generalLethere-upon his parlement to holdeOf whichthe effect rehersen yow I shal.Thembassadoursben answered for fynalTheschaungeof prisoners and al this nedeHem lykethweland forth in they procede.ThisTroilus was present in the placeWhan axedwas for Antenor CriseydeFor whichful sone chaungen gan his faceAs he thatwith tho wordes wel neigh deyde.Butnatheleeshe no word to it seydeLest mensholde his affeccioun espye;Withmannes herte he gan his sorwes drye.And ful ofanguissh and of grisly dredeAbood whatlordes wolde un-to it seye;And ifthey wolde graunteas god forbedeTheschaungeof hirthan thoughte he thinges tweyeFirsthowto save hir honourand what weyeHe mightebest theschaunge of hir withstonde;Ful fastehe caste how al this mighte stonde.Love himmade al prest to doon hir bydeAnd ratherdye than she sholde go;But resounseyde himon that other syde`With-outeassent of hir ne do not soLest forthy werk she wolde be thy foAnd seynthat thorugh thy medling is y-bloweYourbother lovethere it was erst unknowe.'For whichhe gan deliberenfor the besteThatthough the lordes wolde that she wenteHe woldelat hem graunte what hem lesteAnd tellehis lady first what that they mente.And whanthat she had seyd him hir ententeTher-afterwolde he werken also blyveThough althe world ayein it wolde stryve.Ectorwhich that wel the Grekes herdeForAntenor how they wolde han CriseydeGan itwithstondeand sobrely answerde: --`Siresshe nis no prisoner' he seyde;`I noot onyow who that this charge leydeButon mypartye may eft-sone hem telleWe usenhere no wommen for to selle.'The noyseof peple up-stirte thanne at onesAs bremeas blase of straw y-set on fyre;Forinfortune it woldefor the nonesTheysholden hir confusioun desyre.`Ector'quod they`what goost may yow enspyreThiswomman thus to shilde and doon us leseDaunAntenor? -- a wrong wey now ye chese --`That isso wysand eek so bold barounAnd we hannede to folkas men may see;He is eekoonthe grettest of this toun;O Ectorlat tho fantasyes be!O kingPriam' quod they`thus seggen weThat alour voys is to for-gon Criseyde;'And todeliveren Antenor they preyde.O Iuvenallord! Trewe is thy sentenceThat litelwiten folk what is to yerneThat theyne finde in hir desyr offence;For cloudof errour let hem not descerneWhat bestis; and lohere ensample as yerne.This folkdesiren now deliveraunceOfAntenorthat broughte hem to mischaunce!For he wasafter traytour to the tounOf Troye;allas! They quitte him out to rathe;O nyceworldlothy discrecioun!Criseydewhich that never dide hem skatheShal nowno lenger in hir blisse bathe;ButAntenorhe shal com hoom to touneAnd sheshal out; thus seyden here and howne.For whichdelibered was by parlementForAntenor to yelden out CriseydeAnd itpronounced by the presidentAl-theighthat Ector `nay' ful ofte preyde.Andfynalywhat wight that it with-seydeIt was fornoughtit moste beenand sholde;Forsubstaunce of the parlement it wolde.Departedout of parlement echoneThisTroiluswith-oute wordes moUn-to hischaumbre spedde him faste alloneBut-if itwere a man of his or twoThe whichehe bad out faste for to goBy-causehe wolde slepenas he seydeAndhastely up-on his bed him leyde.And as inwinter leves been biraftEche afterothertil the tree be bareSo thatther nis but bark and braunche y-laftLythTroilusbiraft of ech wel-fareY-boundenin the blake bark of careDisposedwood out of his wit to breydeSo sorehim sat the chaunginge of Criseyde.He risthim upand every dore he shetteAndwindowe eekand tho this sorweful manUp-on hisbeddes syde a-doun him setteFul lyk adeed image pale and wan;And in hisbrest the heped wo biganOut-bresteand he to werken in this wyseIn hiswoodnesseas I shal yow devyse.Right asthe wilde bole biginneth springeNow herenow therey-darted to the herteAnd of hisdeeth roreth in compleyningeRight sogan he aboute the chaumbre sterteSmytinghis brest ay with his festes smerte;His heedto the walhis body to the groundeFul oftehe swaptehim-selven to confounde.His eyentwofor pitee of his herteOutstremeden as swifte welles tweye;The heighesobbes of his sorwes smerteHis spechehim refteunnethes mighte he seye`O deethallas! Why niltow do me deye?A-cursedbe the day which that natureShoop meto ben a lyves creature!'But afterwhan the furie and the rageWhich thathis herte twiste and faste thresteBy lengtheof tyme somwhat gan asswageUp-on hisbed he leyde him doun to reste;But thobigonne his teres more out-bresteThatwonder isthe body may suffyseTo halfthis wowhich that I yow devyse.Than seydehe thus`Fortune! Allas the whyle!What haveI doonwhat have I thus a-gilt?Howmightestow for reuthe me bigyle?Is ther nograceand shal I thus be spilt?Shal thusCriseyde aweyfor that thou wilt?Allas! Howmaystow in thyn herte findeTo been tome thus cruel and unkinde?`Have Ithee nought honoured al my lyveAs thouwel wostabove the goddes alle?Why wiltowme fro Ioye thus depryve?O Troiluswhat may men now thee calleButwrecche of wrecchesout of honour falleIn-tomiseriein which I wol biwayleCriseydeallas! Til that the breeth me fayle?`AllasFortune! If that my lyf in IoyeDisplesedhadde un-to thy foule envyeWhy nehaddestow my faderking of TroyeBy-raftthe lyfor doon my bretheren dyeOr slaynmy-selfthat thus compleyne and cryeIcombre-worldthat may of no-thing serveBut everdyeand never fully sterve?`If thatCriseyde allone were me laftNoughtroughte I whider thou woldest me stere;And hirallas! Than hastow me biraft.Butever-morelo! This is thy manereTo reve awight that most is to him dereTo prevein that thy gerful violence.Thus am Ilostther helpeth no defence!`O verraylord of loveO godallas!Thatknowest best myn herte and al my thoughtWhat shalmy sorwful lyf don in this casIf Ifor-go that I so dere have bought?Sin yeCryseyde and me han fully broughtIn-to yourgraceand bothe our hertes seledHow may yesuffreallas! It be repeled?`What Imay doonI shalwhyl I may dureOn lyve intorment and in cruel peyneThisinfortune or this disaventureAllone asI was borny-wiscompleyne;Ne neverwil I seen it shyne or reyne;But ende Iwilas Edippein derknesseMy sorwfullyfand dyen in distresse.`O werygoostthat errest to and froWhy niltowfleen out of the wofullesteBodythatever mighte on grounde go?O soulelurkinge in this wounnesteFlee forthout of myn herteand lat it bresteAnd folwealwey Criseydethy lady dere;Thy righteplace is now no lenger here!`O wofulleeyen twosin your disportWas al toseen Criseydes eyen brighteWhat shalye doon butfor my discomfortStondenfor noughtand wepen out your sighte?Sin she isqueyntthat wont was yow to lighteIn veynfro-this-forth have I eyen tweyeY-formedsin your vertue is a-weye.`O myCriseydeO lady sovereyneOf thilkewoful soule that thus cryethWho shalnow yeven comfort to the peyne?Allasnowight; but when myn herte dyethMy spiritwhich that so un-to yow hyethReceyve ingreefor that shal ay yow serve;For-thy nofors isthough the body sterve.`O yeloveresthat heighe upon the wheelBen set ofFortunein good aventureGod levethat ye finde ay love of steelAnd longemot your lyf in Ioye endure!But whanye comen by my sepultureRemembreththat your felawe resteth there;For Ilovede eekthough I unworthy were.`O oldeunholsomand mislyved manCalkas Imeneallas! What eyleth theeTo been aGreeksin thou art born Troian?O Calkaswhich that wilt my bane beIn cursedtyme was thou born for me!As woldeblisful Iovefor his IoyeThat Ithee haddewhere I woldein Troye!'A thousandsykeshottere than the gledeOut of hisbrest ech after other wenteMedledwith pleyntes newehis wo to fedeFor whichhis woful teres never stente;Andshortlyso his peynes him to-renteAnd wex somatthat Ioye nor penaunceHe felethnoonbut lyth forth in a traunce.Pandarewhich that in the parlementHadde herdwhat every lord and burgeys seydeAnd howful graunted wasby oon assentForAntenor to yelden so CriseydeGan welneigh wood out of his wit to breydeSo thatfor wohe niste what he mente;But in arees to Troilus he wente.A certeynknightthat for the tyme kepteThechaumbre-doreun-dide it him anoon;AndPandarethat ful tendreliche wepteIn-to thederke chaumbreas stille as stoonToward thebed gan softely to goonSo confusthat he niste what to seye;For verraywo his wit was neigh aweye.And withhis chere and loking al to-tornFor sorweof thisand with his armes foldenHe stoodthis woful Troilus bifornAnd on hispitous face he gan biholden;But lordso often gan his herte coldenSeing hisfreend in wowhos hevinesseHis herteslowas thoughte himfor distresse.This wofulwightthis Troilusthat felteHis freendPandare y-comen him to seeGan as thesnow ayein the sonne melteFor whichthis sorwful Pandareof piteeGan for towepe as tendreliche as he;Andspecheles thus been thise ilke tweyeThatneyther mighte o word for sorwe seye.But at thelaste this woful TroilusNey deedfor smertgan bresten out to roreAnd with asorwful noyse he seyde thusAmong hissobbes and his sykes sore`Lo!PandareI am deedwith-outen more.Hastownought herd at parlement' he seyde`ForAntenor how lost is my Criseyde?'ThisPandarusful deed and pale of heweFulpitously answerde and seyde`Yis!As wislywere it fals as it is treweThat Ihave herdand wot al how it is.O mercygodwho wolde have trowed this?Who woldehave wend thatin so litel a throweFortuneour Ioye wolde han over-throwe?`For inthis world ther is no creatureAs to mydoomthat ever saw ruyneStraungerethan thisthorugh cas or aventure.But whomay al escheweor al devyne?Swich isthis world; for-thy I thus defyneNe trustno wight to finden in FortuneAypropretee; hir yeftes been comune.`But telme thiswhy thou art now so madTo sorwenthus? Why lystow in this wyseSin thydesyr al holly hastow hadSo thatby rightit oughte y-now suffyse?But Ithat never felte in my servyseA frendlychere or loking of an yeLat methus wepe and wayletil I dye.`And overal thisas thou wel wost thy-selveThis townis ful of ladies al aboute;Andto mydoomfairer than swiche twelveAs evershe wasshal I findein som routeYeoon ortwowith-outen any doute.For-thy begladmyn owene dere brotherIf she belostwe shal recovere another.`Whatgodfor-bede alwey that ech plesaunceIn o thingwereand in non other wight!If oon cansingeanother can wel daunce;If this begoodlyshe is glad and light;And thisis fayrand that can good a-right.Ech forhis vertu holden is for dereBotheheroner and faucon for rivere.`And eekas writ Zanzisthat was ful wys"Thenewe love out chaceth ofte the olde;"And up-onnewe cas lyth newe avys.Thenk eekthy-self to saven artow holde;Swich fyrby processhal of kinde colde.For sin itis but casuel plesaunceSom casshal putte it out of remembraunce.`For al-soseur as day cometh after nightThe newelovelabour or other woOr ellesselde seinge of a wightDon oldeaffecciouns alle over-go.Andforthy partthou shalt have oon of thoTo abriggewith thy bittre peynes smerte;Absence ofhir shal dryve hir out of herte.'Thisewordes seyde he for the nones alleTo helpehis freendlest he for sorwe deyde.Fordoutelesto doon his wo to falleHe roughtenot what unthrift that he seyde.ButTroilusthat neigh for sorwe deydeTok litelhede of al that ever he mente;Oon ere itherdeat the other out it wente:But at thelaste answerde and seyde`FreendThislechecraftor heled thus to beWere welsittingif that I were a feendTo traysenhir that trewe is unto me!I praygodlat this consayl never y-thee;But do merather sterve anon-right hereEr I thusdo as thou me woldest lere.`She thatI servey-wiswhat so thou seyeTo whommyn herte enhabit is by rightShal hanme holly hires til that I deye.ForPandarussin I have trouthe hir hightI wol notbeen untrewe for no wight;But as hirman I wol ay live and sterveAnd neverother creature serve.`And therthou seystthou shalt as faire findeAs shelat bemake no comparisounTocreature y-formed here by kinde.O levePandarein conclusiounI wol notbe of thyn opiniounTouchingal this; for whiche I thee bisecheSo holdthy pees; thou sleest me with thy speche.`Thowbiddest me I sholde love an-otherAl freshlyneweand lat Criseyde go!It lythnot in my powerleve brother.And thoughI mighteI wolde not do so.Butcanstow pleyen raketto and froNetle indokke outnow thisnow thatPandare?Now foulefalle hirfor thy wo that care!`Thowfarest eek by methou PandarusAs hethat whan a wight is wo bi-goonHe comethto him a pasand seyth right thus"Thenknot on smertand thou shalt fele noon."Thou mostme first transmuwen in a stoonAnd reveme my passiounes alleEr thou solightly do my wo to falle.`The deethmay wel out of my brest departeThe lyfso longe may this sorwe myne;But fro mysoule shal Criseydes darteOutnever-mo; but doun with ProserpyneWhan I amdeedI wol go wone in pyne;And ther Iwol eternaly compleyneMy woandhow that twinned be we tweyne.`Thow hasthere maad an argumentfor fynHow thatit sholde a lasse peyne beCriseydeto for-goonfor she was mynAnd livein ese and in felicitee.Whygabbestowthat seydest thus to meThat "himis wors that is fro wele y-throweThan hehadde erst non of that wele y-knowe?"`But telme nowsin that thee thinketh so lightTochaungen so in loveay to and froWhy hastownot don bisily thy mightTochaungen hir that doth thee al thy wo?Why niltowlete hir fro thyn herte go?Why niltowlove an-other lady sweteThat maythyn herte setten in quiete?`If thouhast had in love ay yet mischaunceAnd canstit not out of thyn herte dryveIthatlivede in lust and in plesaunceWith hiras muche as creature on-lyveHow sholdeI that foryeteand that so blyve?O wherehastow ben hid so longe in muweThat canstso wel and formely arguwe?`Naynaygod wotnought worth is al thy reedFor whichfor what that ever may bifalleWith-outenwordes moI wol be deed.O deeththat endere art of sorwes alleCom nowsin I so ofte after thee calleFor selyis that deethsoth for to seyneThatoftey-clepedcometh and endeth peyne.`Wel wotIwhyl my lyf was in quieteEr thou mesloweI wolde have yeven hyre;But nowthy cominge is to me so sweteThat inthis world I no-thing so desyre.O deethsin with this sorwe I am a-fyreThououther do me anoon yn teres drencheOr withthy colde strook myn hete quenche!`Sin thatthou sleest so fele in sondry wyseAyens hirwilunpreyedday and nightDo meatmy requestethis servyseDeliverenow the worldso dostow rightOf methat am the wofulleste wightThat everwas; for tyme is that I sterveSin inthis world of right nought may I serve.'ThisTroilus in teres gan distilleAs licourout of alambyk ful faste;AndPandarus gan holde his tunge stilleAnd to theground his eyen doun he caste.Butnatheleesthus thoughte he at the laste`Whatparderather than my felawe deyeYet shal Isom-what more un-to him seye:'And seyde`Freendsin thou hast swich distresseAnd sinthee list myn arguments to blameWhy niltthy-selven helpen doon redresseAnd withthy manhod letten al this grame?Goravisshe hir ne canstow not for shame!And outherlat hir out of toune fareOr holdhir stilleand leve thy nyce fare.`Artow inTroyeand hast non hardimentTo take awomman which that loveth theeAnd woldehir-selven been of thyn assent?Now is notthis a nyce vanitee?Rys upanoonand lat this weping beAnd kyththou art a manfor in this houreI wil bedeedor she shal bleven oure.'To thisanswerde him Troilus ful softeAnd seyde`Pardeleve brother dereAl thishave I my-self yet thought ful ofteAnd morething than thou devysest here.But whythis thing is laftthou shalt wel here;And whanthou me hast yeve an audienceTher-aftermayst thou telle al thy sentence.`Firstsin thou wost this toun hath al this werreForravisshing of wommen so by mightIt sholdenot be suffred me to erreAs itstant nowne doon so gret unright.I sholdehan also blame of every wightMy fadresgraunt if that I so withstodeSin she ischaunged for the tounes goode.`I haveeek thoughtso it were hir assentTo askehir at my faderof his grace;Thanthenke Ithis were hir accusementSin wel Iwoot I may hir not purchace.For sin myfaderin so heigh a placeAsparlementhath hir eschaunge enseledHe nil forme his lettre be repeled.`Yet dredeI most hir herte to pertourbeWithviolenceif I do swich a game;For if Iwolde it openly distourbeIt mostebeen disclaundre to hir name.And mewere lever deed than hir defameAs noldegod but-if I sholde haveHir honourlever than my lyf to save!`Thus am Ilostfor ought that I can see;Forcerteyn issin that I am hir knightI mostehir honour levere han than meIn everycasas lovere oughte of right.Thus am Iwith desyr and reson twight;Desyr forto destourben hir me redethAnd resonnil notso myn herte dredeth.'Thuswepinge that he coude never cesseHe seyde`Allas! How shal Iwrecchefare?For welfele I alwey my love encresseAnd hopeis lasse and lasse alweyPandare!Encresseneek the causes of my care;Sowel-a-weywhy nil myn herte breste?Foras inlovether is but litel reste.'Pandareanswerde`Freendthou maystfor meDon asthee list; but hadde ich it so hoteAnd thynestatshe sholde go with me;Though althis toun cryede on this thing by noteI noldesette at al that noyse a grote.For whenmen han wel cryedthan wol they roune;A wonderlast but nyne night never in toune.`Devynenot in reson ay so depeNecurteyslybut help thy-self anoon;Bet isthat othere than thy-selven wepeAndnamelysin ye two been al oon.Rys upfor by myn heedshe shal not goon;And ratherbe in blame a lyte y-foundeThansterve here as a gnatwith-oute wounde.`It is noshame un-to yowne no vyceHir towith-holdenthat ye loveth most.Parauntershe mighte holden thee for nyceTo letehir go thus to the Grekes ost.Thenk eekFortuneas wel thy-selven wostHelpethhardy man to his enpryseAndweyveth wrecchesfor hir cowardyse.`Andthough thy lady wolde a litel hir greveThou shaltthy pees ful wel here-after makeBut as formecertaynI can not leveThat shewolde it as now for yvel take.Why sholdethan for ferd thyn herte quake?Thenk eekhow Paris haththat is thy brotherA love;and why shaltow not have another?`AndTroiluso thing I dar thee swereThat ifCriseydewhiche that is thy leefNow loveththee as wel as thou dost hereGod helpeme soshe nil nat take a-greefThoughthou do bote a-noon in this mischeef.And if shewilneth fro thee for to passeThanne isshe fals; so love hir wel the lasse.`For-thytak herteand thenkright as a knightThourghlove is broken alday every lawe.Kyth nowsumwhat thy corage and thy mightHave mercyon thy-selffor any awe.Lat notthis wrecched wo thin herte gnaweBut manlyset the world on sixe and sevene;Andifthou deye a martirgo to hevene.`I wolmy-self be with thee at this dedeThough ichand al my kinup-on a stoundeShulle ina strete as dogges liggen dedeThourgh-girtwith many a wyd and blody wounde.In everycas I wol a freend be founde.And ifthee list here sterven as a wreccheA-dieuthe devel spede him that it recche!'ThisTroilus gan with tho wordes quikenAnd seyde`Freendgraunt mercyich assente;Butcertaynly thou mayst not me so prikenNe peynenoon ne may me so tormenteThatforno casit is not myn ententeAt shortewordesthough I dyen sholdeToravisshe hirbut-if hir-self it wolde.'`Whysomene I' quod Pandarus`al this day.But tel methanhastow hir wil assayedThatsorwest thus?' And he answerde`Nay.'`Wher-ofartow' quod Pandare`than a-mayedThat nostnot that she wol ben y-vel apayedToravisshe hirsin thou hast not ben thereBut-ifthat Iove tolde it in thyn ere?`For-thyrys upas nought ne wereanoonAnd washthy faceand to the king thou wendeOr he maywondren whider thou art goon.Thou mostwith wisdom him and othere blende;Orup-oncashe may after thee sendeEr thou bewar; and shortlybrother dereBe gladand lat me werke in this matere.`For Ishal shape it sothat sikerlyThou shaltthis night som tymein som manereCom spekewith thy lady prevelyAnd by hirwordes eekand by hir chereThou shaltful sone aperceyve and wel hereAl hirententeand in this cas the beste;And farenow welfor in this point I reste.'The swifteFamewhiche that false thingesEgalreporteth lyk the thinges treweWasthorugh-out Troye y-fled with preste wingesFro man tomanand made this tale al neweHow Calkasdoughterwith hir brighte heweAtparlementwith-oute wordes moreI-grauntedwas in chaunge of Antenore.The whichetale anoon-right as CriseydeHad herdshewhich that of hir fader roughteAs in thiscasright noughtne whanne he deydeFul bisilyto Iuppiter bisoughteYeve hemmischaunce that this tretis broughte.Butshortlylest thise tales sothe wereShe dorsteat no wight asken itfor fere.As shethat hadde hir herte and al hir mindeOn Troilusy-set so wonder fasteThat althis world ne mighte hir love unbindeNe Troilusout of hir herte caste;She wolben hiswhyl that hir lyf may laste.And thusshe brenneth bothe in love and dredeSo thatshe niste what was best to rede.But as menseen in touneand al abouteThatwommen usen frendes to visyteSo toCriseyde of wommen com a routeFor pitousIoyeand wenden hir delyte;And withhir talesdere y-nough a myteThesewommenwhiche that in the cite dwelleThey settehem dounand seyde as I shal telle.Quod firstthat oon`I am gladtrewelyBy-causeof yowthat shal your fader see.'A-notherseyde`Y-wisso nam not IFor al tolitel hath she with us be.'Quod thothe thridde`I hopey-wisthat sheShalbringen us the pees on every sydeThatwhanshe goothalmighty god hir gyde!'Tho wordesand tho wommanisshe thingesShe herdehem right as though she thennes were;Forgodit wothir herte on other thing isAlthoughthe body sat among hem there.Hiradvertence is alwey elles-where;ForTroilus ful faste hir soule soughte;With-outenwordalwey on him she thoughte.Thisewommenthat thus wenden hir to pleseAboutenought gonne alle hir tales spende;Swichvanitee ne can don hir non eseAs shethatal this mene whyle. brendeOf otherpassioun than that they wendeSo thatshe felte almost hir herte deyeFor woand wery of that companye.For whichno lenger mighte she restreyneHir teresso they gonnen up to welleThat yavensignes of the bitter peyneIn whichehir spirit wasand moste dwelle;Remembringhirfro heven unto which helleShe fallenwassith she forgoth the sighteOfTroilusand sorowfully she sighte.And thilkefoles sittinge hir abouteWendenthat she wepte and syked soreBy-causethat she sholde out of that routeDeparteand never pleye with hem more.And theythat hadde y-knowen hir of yoreSeye hirso wepeand thoughte it kindenesseAnd echeof hem wepte eek for hir destresse;And bisilythey gonnen hir confortenOf thinggod woton which she litel thoughte;And withhir tales wenden hir disportenAnd to beglad they often hir bisoughte.But swichan ese ther-with they hir wroughteRight as aman is esed for to feleFor acheof heedto clawen him on his hele!But afteral this nyce vaniteeThey tookhir leveand hoom they wenten alle.Criseydeful of sorweful piteeIn-to hirchaumbre up wente out of the halleAnd on hirbed she gan for deed to falleIn purposnever thennes for to ryse;And thusshe wroughteas I shal yow devyse.Hir oundedheerthat sonnish was of heweShe renteand eek hir fingres longe and smaleShe wrongful ofteand bad god on hir reweAnd withthe deeth to doon bote on hir bale.Hir hewewhylom brightthat tho was paleBar witnesof hir wo and hir constreynte;And thusshe spaksobbingein hir compleynte:`Alas!'quod she`out of this regiounIwofulwrecche and infortuned wightAnd bornin corsed constellaciounMot goonand thus departen fro my knight;Wo worthallas! That ilke dayes lightOn which Isaw him first with eyen tweyneThatcauseth meand I himal this peyne!'Therwiththe teres from hir eyen twoDounfilleas shour in Aperill ful swythe;Hir whytebrest she betand for the woAfter thedeeth she cryed a thousand sytheSin hethat wont hir wo was for to lytheShe motfor-goon; for which disaventureShe heldhir-self a forlost creature.She seyde`How shal he doonand I also?How sholdeI liveif that I from him twinne?O dereherte eekthat I love soWho shalthat sorwe sleen that ye ben inne?O Calkasfaderthyn be al this sinne!O modermynthat cleped were ArgyveWo worththat day that thou me bere on lyve!`To whatfyn sholde I live and sorwen thus?How sholdea fish with-oute water dure?What isCriseyde worthfrom Troilus?How sholdea plaunte or lyves creatureLivewith-oute his kinde noriture?For whichful oft a by-word here I seyeThat"roteleesmot grene sone deye."`I shaldon thussin neither swerd ne darteDar I nonhandlefor the cruelteeThat ilkeday that I from yow departeIf sorweof that nil not my bane beThan shalno mete or drinke come in meTil I mysoule out of my breste unshethe;And thusmy-selven wol I do to dethe.`AndTroilusmy clothes everichoonShul blakebeenin tokeningeherte sweteThat I amas out of this world agoonThat wontwas yow to setten in quiete;And of mynordreay til deeth me meteTheobservaunce everin your absenceShal sorwebeencompleynteand abstinence.`Myn herteand eek the woful goost ther-inneBiquetheIwith your spirit to compleyneEternallyfor they shal never twinne.For thoughin erthe y-twinned be we tweyneYet in thefeld of piteeout of peyneThat hightElysosshul we been y-fereAs Orpheusand Erudicehis fere.`Thusherte mynfor Antenorallas!I soneshal be chaungedas I wene.But howshul ye don in this sorwful casHow shalyoure tendre herte this sustene?But hertemynfor-yet this sorwe and teneAnd mealso; forsoothly for to seyeSo ye welfareI recche not to deye.'How mighteit ever y-red ben or y-songeThepleynte that she made in hir distresse?I noot;butas for memy litel tongeIf Idiscreven wolde hir hevinesseIt sholdemake hir sorwe seme lesseThan thatit wasand childishly defaceHir heighcompleynteand therfore I it pace.Pandarewhich that sent from TroilusWas toCriseydeas ye han herd devyseThat forthe beste it was accorded thusAnd he fulglad to doon him that servyseUn-toCriseydein a ful secree wyseTher-asshe lay in torment and in rageCom hir totelle al hoolly his messageAnd fondthat she hir-selven gan to treteFulpitously; for with hir salte teresHir bresthir facey-bathed was ful wete;The mightytresses of hir sonnish heresUnbroydenhangen al aboute hir eres;Which yafhim verray signal of martyreOf deethwhich that hir herte gan desyre.Whan shehim sawshe gan for sorwe anoonHir teryface a-twixe hir armes hideFor whichthis Pandare is so wo bi-goonThat inthe hous he mighte unnethe abydeAs he thatpitee felte on every syde.For ifCriseyde hadde erst compleyned soreTho ganshe pleyne a thousand tymes more.And in hiraspre pleynte than she seyde`Pandarefirst of Ioyes mo than twoWas causecausinge un-to meCriseydeThat nowtransmuwed been in cruel wo.Wher shalI seye to yow "wel come" or noThatalderfirst me broughte in-to servyseOf loveallas! That endeth in swich wyse?`Endeththan love in wo? Yeor men lyeth!And alleworldly blisseas thinketh me.The endeof blisse ay sorwe it occupyeth;And who-sotroweth not that it so beLat himupon mewoful wrecchey-seeThatmy-self hateand ay my birthe acorseFelingealweyfro wikke I go to worse.`Who-so meseethhe seeth sorwe al at onesPeynetormentpleyntewodistresse.Out of mywoful body harm ther noon isAsanguishlangourcruel bitternesseA-noysmertdredefuryand eek siknesse.I trowey-wisfrom hevene teres reyneFor piteeof myn aspre and cruel peyne! '`And thoumy susterful of discomfort'QuodPandarus`what thenkestow to do?Why nehastow to thy-selven som resportWhy woltowthus thy-selveallasfor-do?Leef althis werk and tak now hede toThat Ishal seynand herkneof good ententeThiswhich by me thy Troilus thee sente.'Torned hirtho Criseydea wo makingeSo greetthat it a deeth was for to see: --`Allas!'quod she`what wordes may ye bringe?What wolmy dere herte seyn to meWhich thatI drede never-mo to see?Wol hehave pleynte or tereser I wende?I havey-noweif he ther-after sende!'She wasright swich to seen in hir visageAs is thatwight that men on bere binde;Hir facelyk of Paradys the imageWas aly-chaunged in another kinde.The pleyethe laughtre men was wont to findeOn hirand eek hir Ioyes everychoneBen fledand thus lyth now Criseyde allone.Aboute hireyen two a purpre ringBi-trentin sothfast tokninge of hir peyneThat tobiholde it was a dedly thingFor whichPandare mighte not restreyneThe teresfrom his eyen for to reyne.Butnatheleesas he best mightehe seydeFromTroilus thise wordes to Criseyde.`LoneceI trowe ye han herd al howThe kingwith othere lordesfor the besteHath madeschaunge of Antenor and yowThat causeis of this sorwe and this unreste.But howthis cas doth Troilus molesteThat maynon erthely mannes tonge seye;For verraywo his wit is al aweye.`For whichwe han so sorwedhe and IThat in-tolitel bothe it hadde us slawe;But thurghmy conseil this dayfynallyHe somwhatis fro weping now with-drawe.And semethme that he desyreth faweWith yowto been al nightfor to devyseRemede inthisif ther were any wyse.`Thisshort and pleynetheffect of my messageAsferforth as my wit can comprehende.For yethat been of torment in swich rageMay to nolong prologe as now entende;Andher-upon ye may answere him sende.Andforthe love of godmy nece dereSo leefthis wo er Troilus be here.'`Gret ismy wo' quod sheand sighte soreAs shethat feleth dedly sharp distresse;`But yetto me his sorwe is muchel moreThat lovehim bet than he him-selfI gesse.Allas! Forme hath he swich hevinesse?Can he forme so pitously compleyne?Y-wishissorwe doubleth al my peyne.`Grevousto megod wotis for to twinne'Quod she`but yet it hardere is to meTo seenthat sorwe which that he is inne;For welwot Iit wol my bane be;And deye Iwol in certayn' tho quod she;`But biddehim comeer deeththat thus me thretethDryve outthat goost which in myn herte beteth.'Thisewordes seydshe on hir armes twoFil grufand gan to wepe pitously.QuodPandarus`Allas! Why do ye soSyn wel yewoot the tyme is faste byThat heshal come? Arys up hastelyThat heyow nat biwopen thus ne findeBut ye wolhave him wood out of his minde!`For wistehe that ye ferde in this manereHe woldehim-selve slee; and if I wendeTo hanthis farehe sholde not come hereFor al thegood that Pryam may despende.For towhat fyn he wolde anoon pretendeThat knoweI wel; and for-thy yet I seyeSo leefthis sorweor platly he wol deye.`Andshapeth yow his sorwe for to abreggeAnd noughtencresseleve nece swete;Bethrather to him cause of flat than eggeAnd withsom wysdom ye his sorwes bete.Whathelpeth it to wepen ful a streteOr thoughye bothe in salte teres dreynte?Bet is atyme of cure ay than of pleynte.`I menethus; whan I him hider bringeSin ye benwyseand bothe of oon assentSo shapethhow distourbe your goingeOr comeayensone after ye be went.Wommen benwyse in short avysement;And latsen how your wit shal now avayle;And whatthat I may helpeit shal not fayle.'`Go' quodCriseyde`and uncletrewelyI shal donal my mightme to restreyneFromweping in his sighteand bisilyHim for togladeI shal don al my peyneAnd in mynherte seken every veyne;If to thissoor ther may be founden salveIt shalnot lakkencertainon myn halve.'GothPandarusand Troilus he soughteTil in atemple he fond him alloneAs he thatof his lyf no lenger roughte;But to thepitouse goddes everichoneFultendrely he preydeand made his moneTo doonhim sone out of this world to pace;For wel hethoughte ther was non other grace.Andshortlyal the sothe for to seyeHe was sofallen in despeyr that dayThatoutrely he shoop him for to deye.For rightthus was his argument alwey:He seydehe nas but lorenwaylawey!`For althat comthcomth by necessitee;Thus to belornit is my destinee.`Forcertaynlythis wot I wel' he seyde`Thatfor-sight of divyne purveyaunceHath seynalwey me to for-gon CriseydeSin godseeth every thingout of doutaunceAnd hemdisponeththourgh his ordenaunceIn hirmerytes sothly for to beAs theyshul comen by predestinee.`Butnatheleesallas! Whom shal I leve?For therben grete clerkes many oonThatdestinee thorugh argumentes preve;And sommen seyn that nedely ther is noon;But thatfree chois is yeven us everichoon.Owelaway! So sleye arn clerkes oldeThat I notwhos opinion I may holde.`For sommen seynif god seth al bifornNe god maynot deceyved benpardeeThan mootit fallenthough men hadde it swornThatpurveyaunce hath seyn bifore to be.Wherfor Iseyethat from eterne if heHath wistbiforn our thought eek as our dedeWe have nofree choisas these clerkes rede.`For otherthought nor other dede alsoMightnever bebut swich as purveyaunceWhich maynot ben deceyved never-moHath feledbifornwith-outen ignoraunce.For ifther mighte been a variaunceTo wrythenout fro goddes purveyingeTher nereno prescience of thing cominge;`But itwere rather an opiniounUncerteynand no stedfast forseinge;Andcertesthat were an abusiounThat godshuld han no parfit cleer witingeMore thanwe men that han doutous weninge.But swichan errour up-on god to gesseWere falsand fouland wikked corsednesse.`Eek thisis an opinioun of sommeThat hanhir top ful heighe and smothe y-shore;They seynright thusthat thing is not to comeFor thatthe prescience hath seyn biforeThat itshal come; but they seyn that therforeThat itshal cometherfore the purveyaunceWot itbiforn with-outen ignoraunce;`And inthis manere this necessiteeRetornethin his part contrarie agayn.Forneedfully bihoveth it not to beThatthilke thinges fallen in certaynThat benpurveyed; but nedelyas they seynBihovethit that thingeswhiche that falleThat theyin certayn ben purveyed alle.`I mene asthough I laboured me in thisToenqueren which thing cause of which thing be;As whetherthat the prescience of god isThecertayn cause of the necessiteeOf thingesthat to comen beenpardee;Or ifnecessitee of thing comingeBe causecerteyn of the purveyinge.`But nowne enforce I me nat in shewingeHow theordre of causes stant; but wel wot IThat itbihoveth that the bifallingeOf thingeswist biforen certeynlyBenecessarieal seme it not ther-byThatprescience put falling necessaireTo thingto comeal falle it foule or faire.`For ifther sit a man yond on a seeThan bynecessitee bihoveth itThatcertesthyn opinioun soth beThatwenest or coniectest that he sit;Andferther-over now ayenward yitLorightso it is of the part contrarieAs thus;(now herknefor I wol not tarie):`I seyethat if the opinioun of theeBe soothfor that he sitthan seye I thisThat hemot sitten by necessitee;And thusnecessitee in either is.For in himnede of sittinge isy-wisAnd inthee nede of sooth; and thusforsotheTher mootnecessitee ben in yow bothe.`But thoumayst seynthe man sit not therforeThat thynopinioun of sitting soth is;Butratherfor the man sit ther biforeTherforeis thyn opinioun soothy-wis.And Iseyethough the cause of sooth of thisComth ofhis sittingyet necessiteeIsentrechaungedbothe in him and thee.`Thus onthis same wyseout of doutaunceI may welmakenas it semeth meMyresoninge of goddes purveyaunceAnd of thethinges that to comen be;By whichereson men may wel y-seeThatthilke thinges that in erthe falleThat bynecessitee they comen alle.`Foral-though thatfor thing shal comey-wisTherforeis it purveyedcertaynlyNat thatit comth for it purveyed is:Yetnatheleesbihoveth it nedfullyThat thingto come be purveyedtrewely;Or ellesthinges that purveyed beThat theybityden by necessitee.`And thissuffyseth right y-nowcerteynFor todestroye our free chois every del. --But now isthis abusionto seynThatfallinge of the thinges temporelIs causeof goddes prescience eternel.Nowtrewelythat is a fals sentenceThat thingto come sholde cause his prescience.`Whatmighte I weneand I hadde swich a thoughtBut thatgod purveyth thing that is to comeFor thatit is to comeand elles nought?So mighteI wene that thinges alle and someThatwhylom been bifalle and over-comeBen causeof thilke sovereyn purveyaunceThatfor-wot al with-outen ignoraunce.`And overal thisyet seye I more hertoThat rightas whan I woot ther is a thingY-wisthat thing mot nedefully be so;Eek rightsowhan I woot a thing comingSo mot itcome; and thus the bifallingOf thingesthat ben wist bifore the tydeThey mowenot been eschewed on no syde.'Than seydehe thus`Almighty Iove in troneThat wostof al this thing the soothfastnesseRewe on mysorweor do me deye soneOr bringCriseyde and me fro this distresse.'And whylhe was in al this hevinesseDisputingewith him-self in this matereComPandare inand seyde as ye may here.`O mightygod' quod Pandarus`in troneEy! Whoseigh ever a wys man faren so?WhyTroiluswhat thenkestow to done?Hastowswich lust to been thyn owene fo?Whatpardeyet is not Criseyde a-go!Why listthee so thy-self for-doon for dredeThat inthyn heed thyn eyen semen dede?`Hastownot lived many a yeer bifornWith-outenhirand ferd ful wel at ese?Artow forhir and for non other born?Hath kindethee wroughte al-only hir to plese?Lat beand thenk right thus in thy disese.Thatinthe dees right as ther fallen chauncesRight soin lovether come and goon plesaunces.`And yetthis is a wonder most of alleWhy thouthus sorwestsin thou nost not yitTouchinghir goingehow that it shal falleNe if shecan hir-self distorben it.Thou hastnot yet assayed al hir wit.A man mayal by tyme his nekke bedeWhan itshal ofand sorwen at the nede.`For-thytake hede of that that I shal seye;I havewith hir y-spoke and longe y-beSo asaccorded was bitwixe us tweye.Andever-mor me thinketh thusthat sheHathsom-what in hir hertes preveteeWher-withshe canif I shal right aredeDistorbeal thisof which thou art in drede.`For whichmy counseil iswhan it is nightThou tohir goand make of this an ende;Andblisful Iunothourgh hir grete mighteShalas Ihopehir grace un-to us sende.Myn herteseyth"Certeynshe shal not wende;"Andfor-thy put thyn herte a whyle in reste;And holdthis purposfor it is the beste.'ThisTroilus answerdeand sighte sore`Thouseyst right weland I wil do right so;'And whathim listehe seyde un-to it more.And whanthat it was tyme for to goFulprevely him-selfwith-outen moUn-to hircomas he was wont to done;And howthey wroughteI shal yow telle sone.Soth isthat whan they gonne first to meteSo gan thepeyne hir hertes for to twisteThatneither of hem other mighte greteBut hem inarmes toke and after kiste.The lassewofulle of hem bothe nisteWher thathe wasne mighte o word out-bringeAs I seydeerstfor wo and for sobbinge.Tho wofulteres that they leten falleAs bittrewerenout of teres kindeFor peyneas is ligne aloes or galle.So bittreteres weep noughtas I findeThe wofulMyrra through the bark and rinde.That inthis world ther nis so hard an herteThat noldehan rewed on hir peynes smerte.But whanhir woful wery gostes tweyneRetornedbeen ther-as hem oughte dwelleAnd thatsom-what to wayken gan the peyneBy lengtheof pleynteand ebben gan the welleOf hireteresand the herte unswelleWithbroken voysal hoors for-shrightCriseydeTo Troilusthise ilke wordes seyde:`O IoveIdeyeand mercy I beseche!HelpTroilus!' And ther-with-al hir faceUpon hisbrest she leydeand loste speche;Hir wofulspirit from his propre placeRight withthe wordalwey up poynt to pace.And thusshe lyth with hewes pale and greneThatwhylom fresh and fairest was to sene.ThisTroilusthat on hir gan biholdeClepingehir name(and she lay as for deedWith-outeanswereand felte hir limes coldeHir eyenthrowen upward to hir heed)Thissorwful man can now noon other reedBut oftetyme hir colde mouth he kiste;Wher himwas wogod and him-self it wiste!He risthim upand long streight he hir leyde;For signeof lyffor ought he can or mayCan henoon finde in no-thing on CriseydeFor whichhis song ful ofte is `weylaway!'But whanhe saugh that specheles she layWithsorwful voys and herte of blisse al bareHe seydehow she was fro this world y-fare!So afterthat he longe hadde hir compleynedHis hondeswrongand seyde that was to seyeAnd withhis teres salte hir brest bireynedHe gan thoteris wypen of ful dreyeAndpitously gan for the soule preyeAnd seyde`O lordthat set art in thy troneRewe eekon mefor I shal folwe hir sone!'She coldwas and with-outen sentementFor aughthe wootfor breeth ne felte he noon;And thiswas him a preignant argumentThat shewas forth out of this world agoon;And whanhe seigh ther was non other woonHe gan hirlimes dresse in swich manereAs men donhem that shul be leyd on bere.And afterthiswith sterne and cruel herteHis swerda-noon out of his shethe he twighteHim-selfto sleenhow sore that him smerteSo thathis sowle hir sowle folwen mighteTher-asthe doom of Mynos wolde it dighte;Sin loveand cruel Fortune it ne woldeThat inthis world he lenger liven sholde.Thanneseyde he thusfulfild of heigh desdayn`O cruelIoveand thouFortune adverseThis aland somthat falsly have ye slaynCriseydeand sin ye may do me no werseFy on yourmight and werkes so diverse!Thuscowardly ye shul me never winne;Ther shalno deeth me fro my lady twinne.`For Ithis worldsin ye han slayn hir thusWol leteand folowe hir spirit lowe or hye;Shal neverlover seyn that TroilusDar notfor ferewith his lady dye;ForcerteynI wol bere hir companye.But sin yewol not suffre us liven hereYetsuffreth that our soules ben y-fere.`And thouciteewhiche that I leve in woAnd thouPryamand bretheren al y-fereAnd thoumy moderfarwel! For I go;AndAttroposmake redy thou my bere!And thouCriseydeo swete herte dereReceyvenow my spirit!' wolde he seyeWith swerdat herteal redy for to deyeBut as godwoldeof swough ther-with she abreydeAnd gan tosykeand `Troilus' she cryde;And heanswerde`Lady myn CriseydeLive yeyet?' and leet his swerd doun glyde.`Yehertemynthat thanked be Cupyde!'Quod sheand ther-with-al she sore sighte;And hebigan to glade hir as he mighte;Took hirin armes twoand kiste hir ofteAnd hir toglade he dide al his entente;For whichhir goostthat flikered ay on-lofteIn-to hirwoful herte ayein it wente.But at thelasteas that hir eyen glenteA-sydeanoon she gan his swerd aspyeAs it laybareand gan for fere cryeAnd askedhimwhy he it hadde out-drawe?AndTroilus anoon the cause hir toldeAnd howhimself ther-with he wolde have slawe.For whichCriseyde up-on him gan biholdeAnd ganhim in hir armes faste foldeAnd seyde`O mercygodlowhich a dede!Allas! Howneigh we were bothe dede!`Thanne ifI ne hadde spokenas grace wasYe woldehan slayn your-self anoon?' quod she.`Yedouteless;' and she answerde`Allas!Forbythat ilke lord that made meI nolde aforlong wey on-lyve han beAfter yourdeethto han been crouned queneOf al thelond the sonne on shyneth shene.`But withthis selve swerdwhich that here isMy-selve Iwolde han slayn!' -- quod she tho;`But hofor we han right y-now of thisAnd lateus ryse and streight to bedde goAnd therelat ys speken of oure wo.Forbythe morter which that I see brenneKnowe Iful wel that day is not fer henne.'Whan theywere in hir beddein armes foldeNought wasit lyk tho nightes here-biforn;Forpitously ech other gan biholdeAs theythat hadden al hir blisse y-lornBiwaylingeay the day that they were born.Til at thelast this sorwful wight CriseydeTo Troilusthese ilke wordes seyde: --`Lohertemynwel wot ye this' quod she`That if awight alwey his wo compleyneAnd sekethnought how holpen for to beIt nis butfolye and encrees of peyne;And sinthat here assembled be we tweyneTo findebote of wo that we ben inneIt were altyme sone to biginne.`I am awommanas ful wel ye wootAnd as Iam avysed sodeynlySo wol Itelle yowwhyl it is hoot.Methinketh thusthat nouther ye nor IOughtehalf this wo to make skilfully.For thereis art y-now for to redresseThat yetis misand sleen this hevinesse.`Sooth isthe wothe whiche that we ben inneFor oughtI wootfor no-thing elles isBut forthe cause that we sholden twinne.Consideredalther nis no-more amis.But whatis thanne a remede un-to thisBut thatwe shape us sone for to mete?This aland sommy dere herte swete.`Now thatI shal wel bringen it abouteTo comeayeinsone after that I goTher-of amI no maner thing in doute.Fordredeleswith-inne a wouke or twoI shal benhere; andthat it may be soBy allerightand in a wordes feweI shal yowwel an heep of weyes shewe.`For whichI wol not make long sermounFor tymey-lost may not recovered be;But I wolgon to my conclusiounAnd to thebestein ought that I can see.Andforthe love of godfor-yeve it meIf I spekeought ayein your hertes reste;FortrewelyI speke it for the beste;`Makingealwey a protestaciounThat nowthese wordeswhiche that I shal seyeNis but toshewe yow my mociounTo findeun-to our helpe the beste weye;And takethit non other wyseI preye.For ineffect what-so ye me comaundeThat wol Idoonfor that is no demaunde.`Nowherkneth thisye han wel understondeMy goingegraunted is by parlementSoferforththat it may not be with-stondeFor althis worldas by my Iugement.And sinther helpeth noon avysementTo lettenitlat it passe out of minde;And lat usshape a bettre wey to finde.`The sotheisthat the twinninge of us tweyneWol usdisese and cruelliche anoye.But himbihoveth som-tyme han a peyneThatserveth loveif that he wol have Ioye.And sin Ishal no ferthere out of TroyeThan I mayryde ayein on half a morweIt oughtelesse causen us to sorwe.`So as Ishal not so ben hid in muweThat dayby daymyn owene herte dereSin wel yewoot that it is now a treweYe shalful wel al myn estat y-here.And erthat truwe is doonI shal ben hereAnd thannehave ye bothe Antenor y-wonneAnd mealso; beth glad nowif ye conne;`And thenkright thus"Criseyde is now agoonBut what!She shal come hastely ayeyn;"Andwhanneallas? By godloright anoonEr dayestenthis dar I saufly seyn.And thanneat erste shul we been so faynSo as weshulle to-gederes ever dwelleThat althis world ne mighte our blisse telle.`I seethat oftether-as we ben nowThat forthe besteour counseil for to hydeYe spekenot with menor I with yowInfourtenight; ne see yow go ne ryde.May ye notten dayes thanne abydeFor mynhonourin swich an aventure?Y-wisyemowen elles lite endure!`Ye knoweeek how that al my kin is hereBut-ifthat onliche it my fader be;And eekmyn othere thinges alle y-fereAndnamelichemy dere herteyeWhom thatI nolde leven for to seeFor althis worldas wyd as it hath space;Or ellessee ich never Ioves face!`Why troweye my fader in this wyseCoveitethso to see mebut for dredeLest inthis toun that folkes me dispyseBy-causeof himfor his unhappy dede?What wootmy fader what lyf that I lede?For if hewiste in Troye how wel I fareUs nededfor my wending nought to care.`Ye seenthat every day eekmore and moreMen treteof pees; and it supposed isThat menthe quene Eleyne shal restoreAnd Grekesus restore that is mis.So thoughther nere comfort noon but thisThat menpurposen pees on every sydeYe may thebettre at ese of herte abyde.`For ifthat it be peesmyn herte dereThe natureof the pees mot nedes dryveThat menmoste entrecomunen y-fereAnd to andfro eek ryde and gon as blyveAlday asthikke as been flen from an hyve;And everywight han libertee to bleveWhere-ashim list the betwith-outen leve.`Andthough so be that pees ther may be noonYet hiderthough ther never pees ne wereI mostecome; for whider sholde I goonOr howmischaunce sholde I dwelle thereAmong thomen of armes ever in fere?For whichas wisly god my soule redeI can notseen wher-of ye sholden drede.`Have hereanother weyif it so beThat althis thing ne may yow not suffyse.My faderas ye knowen welpardeeIs oldand elde is ful of coveityseAnd Iright now have founden al the gyseWith-outenetwher-with I shal him hente;Andherkeneth howif that ye wole assente.`LoTroilusmen seyn that hard it isThe wolffuland the wether hool to have;This is toseynthat men ful oftey-wisMotspenden partthe remenant for to save.For aywith gold men may the herte graveOf himthat set is up-on coveityse;And how ImeneI shal it yow devyse.`Themoeble which that I have in this tounUn-to myfader shal I takeand seyeThat rightfor trust and for savaciounIt sent isfrom a freend of his or tweyeThe whichefreendes ferventliche him preyeTo sendenafter moreand that in hyeWhyl thatthis toun stant thus in Iupartye.`And thatshal been an huge quantiteeThus shalI seynbutlest it folk aspydeThis maybe sent by no wight but by me;I shal eekshewen himif pees bitydeWhatfrendes that ich have on every sydeToward thecourtto doon the wrathe paceOfPriamusand doon him stonde in grace.`So whatfor o thing and for othersweteI shal himso enchaunten with my sawesThat rightin hevene his sowle isshal he mete!For alAppolloor his clerkes lawesOrcalculinge avayleth nought three hawes;Desyr ofgold shal so his sowle blendeThatasme lystI shal wel make an ende.`And if hewolde ought by his sort it preveIf that Ilyein certayn I shal fondeDistorbenhimand plukke him by the sleveMakingehis sortand beren him on hondeHe hathnot wel the goddes understonde.For goddesspeken in amphibologyesAndfor osooth they tellen twenty lyes.`Eek dredefond first goddesI supposeThus shalI seynand that his cowarde herteMade himamis the goddes text to gloseWhan hefor ferde out of his Delphos sterte.And but Imake him sone to converteAnd doonmy reed with-inne a day or tweyeI wol toyow oblige me to deye.'Andtrewelicheas writen wel I findeThat althis thing was seyd of good entente;And thathir herte trewe was and kindeTowardeshimand spak right as she menteAnd thatshe starf for wo neighwhan she wenteAnd was inpurpos ever to be trewe;Thuswriten they that of hir werkes knewe.ThisTroiluswith herte and eres spraddeHerde althis thing devysen to and fro;Andverraylich him semed that he haddeThe selvewit; but yet to lete hir goHis hertemisforyaf him ever-mo.Butfynallyhe gan his herte wresteTo trustenhirand took it for the beste.For whichthe grete furie of his penaunceWas queyntwith hopeand ther-with hem bitweneBigan forIoye the amorouse daunce.And as thebriddeswhan the sonne is sheneDelyten inhir song in leves greneRight sothe wordes that they spake y-fereDelytedhemand made hir hertes clere.Butnathelesthe wending of CriseydeFor althis worldmay nought out of his minde;For whichful ofte he pitously hir preydeThat ofhir heste he might hir trewe findeAnd seydehire`Certesif ye be unkindeAnd but yecome at day set in-to TroyeNe shal Inever have helehonourne Ioye.`For al-sosooth as sonne up-rist on morweAndgod!So wisly thou mewoful wreccheTo restebringe out of this cruel sorweI wolmy-selven slee if that ye drecche.But of mydeeth though litel be to reccheYeterthat ye me cause so to smerteDwelrather heremyn owene swete herte!`Fortrewelymyn owene lady dereThosleightes yet that I have herd yow stereFul shaplybeen to failen alle y-fere.For thusmen seyn"That oon thenketh the bereBut alanother thenketh his ledere."Your sireis wysand seyd isout of drede"Menmay the wyse at-renneand not at-rede."`It is fulhard to halten unespyedBifore acrepulfor he can the craft;Your faderis in sleighte as Argus yed;For al bethat his moeble is him biraftHis oldesleighte is yet so with him laftYe shalnot blende him for your womanhedeNe feynea-rightand that is al my drede.`I noot ifpees shal ever-mo bityde;Butpeesor nofor ernest ne for gameI wootsin Calkas on the Grekis sydeHath onesbeenand lost so foule his nameHe dar nomore come here ayein for shame;For whichthat weyefor ought I can espyeTo trustenonnis but a fantasye.`Ye shaleek seenyour fader shal yow gloseTo been awyfand as he can wel precheHe shalsom Grek so preyse and wel aloseThatravisshen he shal yow with his specheOr do yowdoon by force as he shal teche.AndTroilusof whom ye nil han routheShalcauseles so sterven in his trouthe!`And overal thisyour fader shal despyseUs alleand seyn this citee nis but lorn;And thatthassege never shal aryseFor-whythe Grekes han it alle swornTil we beslaynand doun our walles torn.And thushe shal yow with his wordes fereThat aydrede Ithat ye wol bleve there.`Ye shuleek seen so many a lusty knightA-mong theGrekesful of worthinesseAnd echeof hem with hertewitand mightTo plesenyow don al his besinesseThat yeshul dullen of the rudenesseOf us selyTroianesbut-if routheRemordeyowor vertue of your trouthe.`And thisto me so grevous is to thinkeThat fromy brest it wol my soule rende;Nedredelesin me ther may not sinkeA goodopiniounif that ye wende;For-whyyour faderes sleighte wol us shende.And if yegoonas I have told yow yoreSo thenk Inam but deedwith-oute more.`Forwhichwith humbletreweand pitous herteA thousandtymes mercy I yow preye;So rewethon myn aspre peynes smerteAnd dothsomwhatas that I shal yow seyeAnd lat usstele away bitwixe us tweye;And thenkthat folye iswhan man may cheseForaccident his substaunce ay to lese.`I menethisthat sin we mowe er dayWel steleawayand been to-gider soWhat witwere it to putten in assayIn cas yesholden to your fader goIf that yemighte come ayein or no?Thus meneIthat it were a gret folyeTo puttethat sikernesse in Iupertye.`Andvulgarly to speken of substaunceOftresourmay we bothe with us ledeY-nough tolive in honour and plesaunceTil in-totyme that we shal ben dede;And thuswe may eschewen al this drede.Foreverich other wey ye can recordeMyn hertey-wismay not ther-with acorde.`Andhardilyne dredeth no poverteFor I havekin and freendes elles-whereThatthough we comen in oure bare sherteUs sholdeneither lakke gold ne gereBut beenhonured whyl we dwelten there.And go weanoonforas in myn ententeThis isthe besteif that ye wole assente.'Criseydewith a sykright in this wyseAnswerde`Y-wismy dere herte treweWe may welstele awayas ye devyseAnd findeswich unthrifty weyes newe;Butafterwardful sore it wol us rewe.And helpme god so at my moste nedeAscauseles ye suffren al this drede!`Forthilke day that I for cherisshingeOr dredeof faderor of other wightOr forestatdelytor for weddingeBe fals toyowmy Troilusmy knightSaturnesdoughterIunothorugh hir mightAs wood asAthamante do me dwelleEternalyin Stixthe put of helle!`And thison every god celestialI swere ityow; and eek on eche goddesseOn everyNymphe and deite infernalOn Satiryand Fauny more and lesseThat halvegoddes been of wildernesse;AndAttropos my threed of lyf to-bresteIf I befals; now trowe me if thow leste!`And thouSimoysthat as an arwe clereThorughTroye rennest ay downward to the seeBerwitnesse of this word that seyd is hereThatthilke day that ich untrewe beToTroilusmyn owene herte freeThat thouretorne bakwarde to thy welleAnd I withbody and soule sinke in helle!`But thatye spekeawey thus for to goAnd letenalle your freendesgod for-bedeFor anywommanthat ye sholden soAndnamelysin Troye hath now swich nedeOf help;and eek of o thing taketh hedeIf thiswere wistmy lif laye in balaunceAnd yourhonour; god shilde us fro mischaunce!`And if sobe that pees her-after takeAs aldayhappethafter angergameWhylord!The sorwe and wo ye wolden makeThat ye nedorste come ayein for shame!And erthat ye Iuparten so your nameBethnought to hasty in this hote fare;For hastyman ne wanteth never care.`Whattrowe ye the peple eek al abouteWolde ofit seye? It is ful light to arede.Theywolden seyeand swere itout of douteThat lovene droof yow nought to doon this dedeBut lustvoluptuous and coward drede.Thus wereal losty-wismyn herte dereYourhonourwhich that now shyneth so clere.`And alsothenketh on myn honesteeThatfloureth yethow foule I sholde it shendeAnd withwhat filthe it spotted sholde beIf in thisforme I sholde with yow wende.Ne thoughI livede un-to the worldes endeMy namesholde I never ayeinward winne;Thus wereI lostand that were routhe and sinne.`Andfor-thy slee with reson al this hete;Men seyn"The suffraunt overcometh" pardee;Eek"Who-so wol han leefhe lief mot lete;"Thusmaketh vertue of necessiteeBypacienceand thenk that lord is heOf fortuneaythat nought wol of hir recche;And she nedaunteth no wight but a wrecche.`Andtrusteth thisthat certesherte sweteEr PhebussusterLucina the sheneThe Leounpasse out of this ArieteI wol benherewith-outen any wene.I meneashelpe me Iunohevenes queneThe tenthedaybut-if that deeth me assayleI wol yowseen with-outen any fayle.'`And nowso this be sooth' quod Troilus`I shalwel suffre un-to the tenthe daySin that Isee that nede it moot be thus.Butforthe love of godif it be maySo lat usstele prively away;For everin oonas for to live in resteMyn herteseyth that it wol been the beste.'`O mercygodwhat lyf is this?' quod she;`Allasyeslee me thus for verray tene!I see welnow that ye mistrusten me;For byyour wordes it is wel y-sene.Nowforthe love of Cynthia the sheneMistrustme not thus causelesfor routhe;Sin to betrewe I have yow plight my trouthe.`Andthenketh welthat som tyme it is witTo spendea tymea tyme for to winne;Nepardeelorn am I nought fro yow yitThoughthat we been a day or two a-twinne.Dryf outthe fantasyes yow with-inne;Andtrusteth meand leveth eek your sorweOr here mytroutheI wol not live til morwe.`For if yewiste how sore it doth me smerteYe woldecesse of this; for godthou wostThe purespirit wepeth in myn herteTo see yowwepen that I love mostAnd that Imoot gon to the Grekes ost.Yenereit that I wiste remedyeTo comeayeinright here I wolde dye!`ButcertesI am not so nyce a wightThat I necan imaginen a weyTo comeayein that day that I have hight.For whomay holde thing that wol a-way?My fadernoughtfor al his queynte pley.And by mythriftmy wending out of TroyeAnotherday shal torne us alle to Ioye.`For-thywith al myn herte I yow besekeIf thatyow list don ought for my preyereAnd forthe love which that I love yow ekeThat erthat I departe fro yow hereThat of sogood a comfort and a chereI may youseenthat ye may bringe at resteMyn hertewhich that is at point to breste.`And overal this I pray yow' quod she tho`Myn owenehertes soothfast suffisaunceSin I amthyn al hoolwith-outen moThat whylthat I am absentno plesaunceOf otheredo me fro your remembraunce.For I amever a-gastfor-why men redeThat "loveis thing ay ful of bisy drede."`For inthis world ther liveth lady noonIf that yewere untreweas god defende!That sobitraysed were or wo bigoonAs Ithatalle trouthe in yow entende.Anddoutelesif that ich other wendeI nere butdeed; and er ye cause findeFor goddesloveso beth me not unkinde.'To thisanswerde Troilus and seyde`Now godto whom ther nis no cause y-wryeMe gladeas wis I never un-to CriseydeSin thilkeday I saw hir first with yeWas falsne never shal til that I dye.At shortewordeswel ye may me leve;I can nomoreit shal be founde at preve.'`Grauntmercygoode myny-wis' quod she`Andblisful Venus lat me never sterveEr I maystonde of plesaunce in degreeTo quytehim welthat so wel can deserve;And whylthat god my wit wol me conserveI shal sodoonso trewe I have yow foundeThat ayhonour to me-ward shal rebounde.`Fortrusteth welthat your estat royalNe veyndelytnor only worthinesseOf yow inwerreor torney marcialNe pompearraynobleyor eek richesseNe made meto rewe on your distresse;But moralvertuegrounded upon troutheThat wasthe cause I first hadde on yow routhe!`Eekgentil herte and manhod that ye haddeAnd thatye haddeas me thoughtein despytEverything that souned in-to baddeAsrudenesse and poeplish appetyt;And thatyour reson brydled your delytThis madeaboven every creatureThat I wasyourand shalwhyl I may dure.`And thismay lengthe of yeres not for-doNeremuable fortune deface;ButIuppiterthat of his might may doThesorwful to be gladso yeve us graceEr nightestento meten in this placeSo that itmay your herte and myn suffyse;And farethnow welfor tyme is that ye ryse.'And afterthat they longe y-pleyned haddeAnd oftey-kistand streite in armes foldeThe daygan ryseand Troilus him claddeAndrewfulliche his lady gan biholdeAs he thatfelte dethes cares coldeAnd to hirgrace he gan him recomaunde;Wher himwas wothis holde I no demaunde.For mannesheed imaginen ne canNeentendement considerene tonge telleThe cruelpeynes of this sorwful manThatpassen every torment doun in helle.For whanhe saugh that she ne mighte dwelleWhich thathis soule out of his herte renteWith-outenmoreout of the chaumbre he wente.
Aprochengan the fatal destineeThat Ioveshath in disposiciounAnd toyowangry Parcassustren threeCommittethto don execucioun;For whichCriseyde moste out of the tounAndTroilus shal dwelle forth in pyneTilLachesis his threed no lenger twyne. --Thegolden-tressed Phebus heighe on-lofteThryeshadde alle with his bemes sheneThe snowesmolteand Zephirus as ofteY-broughtayein the tendre leves greneSin thatthe sone of Ecuba the queneBigan tolove hir firstfor whom his sorweWas althat she departe sholde a-morwe.Ful redywas at pryme DyomedeCriseydeun-to the Grekes ost to ledeFor sorweof which she felt hir herte bledeAs shethat niste what was best to rede.Andtrewelyas men in bokes redeMen wistenever womman han the careNe was solooth out of a toun to fare.ThisTroiluswith-outen reed or loreAs manthat hath his Ioyes eek forloreWaswaytinge on his lady ever-moreAs shethat was the soothfast crop and moreOf al hislustor Ioyes here-tofore.ButTroilusnow farewel al thy IoyeForshaltow never seen hir eft in Troye!Soth isthat whyl he bood in this manereHe gan hiswo ful manly for to hyde.That welunnethe it seen was in his chere;But at theyate ther she sholde oute rydeWithcerteyn folkhe hoved hir tabydeSo wobigoonal wolde he nought him pleyneThat onhis hors unnethe he sat for peyne.For ire hequookso gan his herte gnaweWhanDiomede on horse gan him dresseAnd seydeun-to him-self this ilke sawe`Allas'quod he`thus foul a wrecchednesseWhy suffreich itwhy nil ich it redresse?Were itnot bet at ones for to dyeThanever-more in langour thus to drye?`Why nil Imake at ones riche and poreTo havey-nough to doneer that she go?Why nil Ibringe al Troye upon a rore?Why nil Isleen this Diomede also?Why nil Irather with a man or twoStele hira-way? Why wol I this endure?Why nil Ihelpen to myn owene cure?'But why henolde doon so fel a dedeThat shalI seynand why him liste it spare;He haddein herte alweyes a maner dredeLest thatCriseydein rumour of this fareSholde hanben slayn; lothis was al his care.And elliscerteynas I seyde yoreHe haddeit doonwith-outen wordes more.Criseydewhan she redy was to rydeFulsorwfully she sighteand seyde `Allas!'But forthshe mootfor ought that may bitydeAnd forthshe rit ful sorwfully a pas.Ther nisnon other remedie in this cas.Whatwonder is though that hir sore smerteWhan sheforgoth hir owene swete herte?ThisTroilusin wyse of curteisyeWith haukeon hondand with an huge routeOfknightesrood and dide hir companyePassingeal the valey fer with-outeAndferther wolde han ridenout of douteFul faynand wo was him to goon so sone;But tornehe mosteand it was eek to done.And rightwith that was Antenor y-comeOut of theGrekes ostand every wightWas of itgladand seyde he was wel-come.AndTroilusal nere his herte lightHe peynedhim with al his fulle mightHim towith-holde of wepinge at the lesteAndAntenor he kisteand made feste.Andther-with-al he moste his leve takeAnd castehis eye upon hir pitouslyAnd neerhe roodhis cause for to makeTo takehir by the honde al sobrely.And lord!So she gan wepen tendrely!And he fulsofte and sleighly gan hir seye`Now holdyour dayand dooth me not to deye.'With thathis courser torned he a-bouteWith facepaleand un-to DiomedeNo word hespakne noon of al his route;Of whichthe sone of Tydeus took hedeAs he thatcoude more than the credeIn swich acraftand by the reyne hir hente;AndTroilus to Troye homwarde he wente.ThisDiomedethat ladde hir by the brydelWhan thathe saw the folk of Troye aweyeThoughte`Al my labour shal not been on ydelIf that Imayfor somwhat shal I seyeFor at theworste it may yet shorte our weye.I haveherd seydeek tymes twyes twelve"Heis a fool that wol for-yete him-selve."'Butnatheles this thoughte he wel ynough`Thatcertaynly I am aboute noughtIf that Ispeke of loveor make it tough;Fordoutelesif she have in hir thoughtHim that Igessehe may not been y-broughtSo soneawey; but I shal finde a meneThat shenot wite as yet shal what I mene.'ThisDiomedeas he that coude his goodWhan thiswas doongan fallen forth in specheOf thisand thatand asked why she stoodIn swichdiseseand gan hir eek bisecheThat ifthat he encrese mighte or echeWith anything hir esethat she sholdeComaundeit himand seyde he doon it wolde.Fortrewely he swoor hiras a knightThat thernas thing with whiche he mighte hir pleseThat henolde doon his peyne and al his mightTo doonitfor to doon hir herte an ese.Andpreyede hirshe wolde hir sorwe apeseAnd seyde`Y-wiswe Grekes con have IoyeTohonouren yowas wel as folk of Troye.'He seydeeek thus`I wootyow thinketh straungeNo wonderisfor it is to yow neweThaqueintaunceof these Troianis to chaungeFor folkof Grecethat ye never knewe.But woldenever god but-if as treweA Greek yeshulde among us alle findeAs anyTroian isand eek as kinde.`And bythe cause I swoor yow rightlonowTo beenyour freendand helplyto my mightAnd forthat more aqueintaunce eek of yowHave ichhad than another straunger wightSo frothis forthI pray yowday and nightComaundethmehow sore that me smerteTo doon althat may lyke un-to your herte;`And thatye me wolde as your brother treteAnd takethnot my frendship in despyt;And thoughyour sorwes be for thinges greteNoot I notwhybut out of more respytMyn hertehath for to amende it greet delyt.And if Imay your harmes not redresseI am rightsory for your hevinesse`Andthough ye Troians with us Grekes wrotheHan many aday bealwey yetpardeeO god oflove in sooth we serven bothe.Andforthe love of godmy lady freeWhom so yehateas beth not wroth with me.Fortrewelyther can no wight yow serveThat halfso looth your wraththe wolde deserve.`And nereit that we been so neigh the tenteOf Calkaswhich that seen us bothe mayI wolde ofthis yow telle al myn entente;But thisenseled til another day.Yeve meyour hondI amand shal ben ayGod helpme sowhyl that my lyf may dureYour oweneaboven every creature.`Thusseyde I never er now to womman born;For godmyn herte as wisly glade soI lovedenever womman here-bifornAsparamoursne never shal no mo.Andforthe love of godbeth not my fo;Al can Inot to yowmy lady dereCompleynearightfor I am yet to lere.`Andwondreth notmyn owene lady brightThoughthat I speke of love to you thus blyve;For I haveherd or this of many a wightHath lovedthing he never saugh his lyve.Eek I amnot of power for to stryveAyens thegod of lovebut him obeyeI wolalweyand mercy I yow preye.`Ther beenso worthy knightes in this placeAnd ye sofairthat everich of hem alleWol peynenhim to stonden in your grace.But mighteme so fair a grace falleThat ye mefor your servaunt wolde calleSo lowlyne so trewely you serveNil noonof hemas I shaltil I sterve.'Criseideun-to that purpos lyte answerdeAs shethat was with sorwe oppressed soThatineffectshe nought his tales herdeBut hereand therenow here a word or two.Hirthoughte hir sorwful herte brast a-two.For whanshe gan hir fader fer aspyeWel neighdoun of hir hors she gan to sye.Butnatheles she thonked DiomedeOf al histravaileand his goode chereAnd thathim liste his friendship hir to bede;And sheaccepteth it in good manereAnd woldedo fayn that is him leef and dere;Andtrusten him she woldeand wel she mighteAs seydesheand from hir hors she alighte.Hir faderhath hir in his armes nomeAndtweynty tyme he kiste his doughter sweteAnd seyde`O dere doughter mynwel-come!'She seydeeekshe was fayn with him to meteAnd stoodforth mewetmildeand mansuete.But here Ileve hir with hir fader dwelleAnd forthI wol of Troilus yow telle.To Troyeis come this woful TroilusIn sorweaboven alle sorwes smerteWith felonlookand face dispitous.Thosodeinly doun from his hors he sterteAndthorugh his paleyswith a swollen herteTo chambrehe wente; of no-thing took he hedeNe noon tohim dar speke a word for drede.And therehis sorwes that he spared haddeHe yaf anissue largeand `Deeth!' he cryde;And in histhrowes frenetyk and maddeHe cursedIoveAppolloand eek CupydeHe cursedCeresBacusand CiprydeHisburthehim-selfhis fateand eek natureAndsavehis ladyevery creature.To beddehe gothand weyleth there and tornethIn furieas dooth heIxion in helle;And inthis wyse he neigh til day soiorneth.But thobigan his herte a lyte unswelleThorughteres which that gonnen up to welle;Andpitously he cryde up-on CriseydeAnd tohim-self right thus he spakand seyde: --`Wher ismyn owene lady lief and dereWher ishir whyte brestwher is itwhere?Wher benhir armes and hir eyen clereThatyesternight this tyme with me were?Now may Iwepe allone many a tereAnd graspeaboute I maybut in this placeSave apiloweI finde nought tenbrace.`How shalI do? Whan shal she com ayeyn?I nootallas! Why leet ich hir to go?As woldegodich hadde as tho be sleyn!O hertemynCriseydeO swete fo!O ladymynthat I love and no mo!To whomfor ever-mo myn herte I dowe;See how Ideyeye nil me not rescowe!`Who seethyow nowmy righte lode-sterre?Who sitright now or stant in your presence?Who canconforten now your hertes werre?Now I amgonwhom yeve ye audience?Whospeketh for me right now in myn absence?Allasnowight; and that is al my care;For welwot Ias yvel as I ye fare.`Howsholde I thus ten dayes ful endureWhan I thefirste night have al this tene?How shalshe doon eeksorwful creature?Fortendernessehow shal she this susteneSwich wofor me? O pitouspaleand greneShal beenyour fresshe wommanliche faceForlangourer ye torne un-to this place.'And whanhe fil in any slomeringesAnoonbiginne he sholde for to groneAnd dremenof the dredfulleste thingesThatmighte been; asmete he were alloneIn placehorriblemakinge ay his moneOr metenthat he was amonges alleHisenemysand in hir hondes falle.Andther-with-al his body sholde sterteAnd withthe stert al sodeinliche awakeAnd swicha tremour fele aboute his herteThat ofthe feer his body sholde quake;Andthere-with-al he sholde a noyse makeAnd semeas though he sholde falle depeFromheighe a-lofte; and than he wolde wepeAnd rewenon him-self so pitouslyThatwonder was to here his fantasye.Anothertyme he sholde mightilyConfortehim-selfand seyn it was folyeSocauseles swich drede for to dryeAnd eftbiginne his aspre sorwes neweThat everyman mighte on his sorwes rewe.Who coudetelle aright or ful discryveHis wohis pleynthis langourand his pyne?Nought althe men that han or been on-lyve.Thourederemayst thy-self ful wel devyneThat swicha wo my wit can not defyne.On ydelfor to wryte it sholde I swinkeWhan thatmy wit is wery it to thinke.On heveneyet the sterres were seneAl-thoughful pale y-waxen was the mone;And whytengan the orisonte sheneAlestwardas it woned is for to done.And Phebuswith his rosy carte soneGan afterthat to dresse him up to fareWhanTroilus hath sent after Pandare.ThisPandarethat of al the day bifornNe mightehan comen Troilus to seeAl-thoughhe on his heed it hadde y-swornFor withthe king Pryam alday was heSo that itlay not in his liberteeNo-wher togonbut on the morwe he wenteToTroiluswhan that he for him sente.For in hisherte he coude wel devyneThatTroilus al night for sorwe wook;And thathe wolde telle him of his pyneThis knewhe wel y-noughwith-oute book.For whichto chaumbre streight the wey he tookAndTroilus tho sobreliche he gretteAnd on thebed ful sone he gan him sette.`MyPandarus' quod Troilus`the sorweWhich thatI dryeI may not longe endure.I trowe Ishal not liven til to-morwe;For whicheI wolde alweyon aventureTo theedevysen of my sepultureThe formeand of my moeble thou disponeRight asthee semeth best is for to done.`But ofthe fyr and flaumbe funeralIn whichemy body brenne shal to gledeAnd of thefeste and pleyes palestralAt myvigileI prey thee tak good hedeThat bewel; and offre Mars my stedeMy swerdmyn helmandleve brother dereMy sheldto Pallas yefthat shyneth clere.`Thepoudre in which myn herte y-brend shal torneThat preyeI thee thou take and it conserveIn avesselthat men clepeth an urneOf goldand to my lady that I serveFor loveof whom thus pitously I sterveSo yeve ithirand do me this plesaunceTo preyehir kepe it for a remembraunce.`For wel Ifeleby my maladyeAnd by mydremes now and yore agoAlcerteinlythat I mot nedes dye.The owleeekwhich that hight AscaphiloHath afterme shright alle thise nightes two.AndgodMercurie! Of me nowwoful wreccheThe soulegydeandwhan thee listit fecche!'Pandareanswerdeand seyde`TroilusMy derefreendas I have told thee yoreThat it isfolye for to sorwen thusAndcauselesfor whiche I can no-more.But who-sowol not trowen reed ne loreI can notseen in him no remedyeBut letehim worthen with his fantasye.`ButTroilusI pray thee tel me nowIf thatthou troweer thisthat any wightHath lovedparamours as wel as thou?Yegodwotand fro many a worthy knightHath hislady goon a fourtenightAnd he notyet made halvendel the fare.What nedeis thee to maken al this care?`Sin dayby day thou mayst thy-selven seeThat fromhis loveor elles from his wyfA man mottwinnen of necessiteeYethoughhe love hir as his owene lyf;Yet nil hewith him-self thus maken stryf.For welthow wostmy leve brother dereThat alweyfreendes may nought been y-fere.`How doonthis folk that seen hir loves weddedByfreendes mightas it bi-tit ful ofteAnd seenhem in hir spouses bed y-bedded?God wootthey take it wyslyfaire and softe.For-whygood hope halt up hir herte on-lofteAnd forthey can a tyme of sorwe endure;As tymehem hurta tyme doth hem cure.`Sosholdestow endureand late slydeThe tymeand fonde to ben glad and light.Ten dayesnis so longe not tabyde.And sinshe thee to comen hath bihightShe nilhir hestes breken for no wight.For dredthee not that she nil finden weyeTo comeayeinmy lyf that dorste I leye.`Thyswevenes eek and al swich fantasyeDryf outand lat hem faren to mischaunce;For theyprocede of thy malencolyeThat doththee fele in sleep al this penaunce.A strawfor alle swevenes signifiaunce!God helpeme soI counte hem not a beneTher wootno man aright what dremes mene.`Forprestes of the temple tellen thisThatdremes been the revelaciounsOf goddesand as wel they telley-wisThat theyben infernals illusiouns;And lechesseynthat of complexiounsProcedentheyor fastor glotonye.Who wootin sooth thus what they signifye?`Eekothere seyn that thorugh impressiounsAs if awight hath faste a thing in mindeThatther-of cometh swiche avisiouns;And othereseynas they in bokes findeThatafter tymes of the yeer by kindeMen dremeand that theffect goth by the mone;But leveno dreemfor it is nought to done.`Wel worthof dremes ay thise olde wyvesAndtreweliche eek augurie of thise foules;For fereof which men wenen lese her lyvesAs ravenesqualmor shryking of thise oules.To trowenon it bothe fals and foul is.Allasallasso noble a creatureAs is amanshal drede swich ordure!`For whichwith al myn herte I thee besecheUn-tothy-self that al this thou foryive;And rys upnow with-oute more specheAnd lat uscaste how forth may best be driveThis tymeand eek how freshly we may liveWhan thatshe comeththe which shal be right sone;God helpme sothe beste is thus to done.`Ryslatus speke of lusty lyf in TroyeThat wehan ladand forth the tyme dryve;And eek oftyme cominge us reioyeThatbringen shal our blisse now so blyve;Andlangour of these twyes dayes fyveWe shalther-with so foryete or oppresseThat welunnethe it doon shal us duresse.`This tounis ful of lordes al abouteAnd treweslasten al this mene whyle.Go wepleye us in som lusty routeToSarpedonnot hennes but a myle.And thusthou shalt the tyme wel bigyleAnd dryveit forth un-to that blisful morweThat thouhir seethat cause is of thy sorwe.`Now rysmy dere brother Troilus;Forcertesit noon honour is to theeTo wepeand in thy bedde to iouken thus.Fortrewelyof o thing trust to meIf thouthus ligge a dayor twoor threeThe folkwol wene that thoufor cowardyseTheefeynest sykand that thou darst not ryse.'ThisTroilus answerde`O brother dereThisknowen folk that han y-suffred peyneThatthough he wepe and make sorwful chereThatfeleth harm and smert in every veyneNo wonderis; and though I ever pleyneOr alweywepeI am no-thing to blameSin I havelost the cause of al my game.`But sinof fyne force I moot aryseI shalaryse as sone as ever I may;And godto whom myn herte I sacrifyseSo sendeus hastely the tenthe day!For wasther never fowl so fayn of MayAs I shalbeenwhan that she cometh in TroyeThat causeis of my torment and my Ioye.`Butwhider is thy reed' quod Troilus`That wemay pleye us best in al this toun?'`Bi godmy conseil is' quod Pandarus`To rydeand pleye us with king Sarpedoun.'So longeof this they speken up and dounTilTroilus gan at the laste assenteTo ryseand forth to Sarpedoun they wente.ThisSarpedounas he that honourableWas everhis lyveand ful of heigh prowesseWith althat mighte y-served been on tableThatdeyntee wasal coste it greet richesseHe feddehem day by daythat swich noblesseAs seydenbothe the moste and eek the lesteWas neverer that day wist at any feste.Nor inthis world ther is non instrumentDeliciousthrough windor toucheof cordeAs fer asany wight hath ever y-wentThat tongetelle or herte may recordeThat atthat feste it nas wel herd acorde;Ne ofladies eek so fayr a companyeOn daunceer thowas never y-seyn with ye.But whatavayleth this to TroilusThat forhis sorwe no-thing of it roughte?For everin oon his herte pietousFul bisilyCriseyde his lady soughte.On hir wasever al that his herte thoughteNow thisnow thatso faste imaginingeThatgladey-wiscan him no festeyinge.Theseladies eek that at this feste beenSin thathe saw his lady was a-weyeIt was hissorwe upon hem for to seenOr for tohere on instrumentz so pleye.For shethat of his herte berth the keyeWasabsentlothis was his fantasyeThat nowight sholde make melodye.Nor thernas houre in al the day or nightWhan hewas ther-as no wight mighte him hereThat he neseyde`O lufsom lady brightHow haveye farensin that ye were here?Wel-comey-wismyn owene lady dere.'Butwelawayal this nas but a mase;Fortunehis howve entended bet to glase.Thelettres eekthat she of olde tymeHadde himy-senthe wolde allone redeAn hundredsythea-twixen noon and pryme;Refiguringehir shaphir womanhedeWith-innehis herteand every word and dedeThatpassed wasand thus he droof to an endeThe ferthedayand seydehe wolde wende.And seyde`Leve brother PandarusIntendestowthat we shal here bleveTilSarpedoun wol forth congeyen us?Yet wereit fairer that we toke our leve.For goddeslovelat us now sone at eveOur levetakeand homward lat us torne;FortrewelyI nil not thus soiourne.'Pandareanswerde`Be we comen hiderTo fecchenfyrand rennen hoom ayeyn?God helpeme soI can not tellen whiderWe mightengoonif I shal soothly seynTher anywight is of us more faynThanSarpedoun; and if we hennes hyeThussodeinlyI holde it vilanye.`Sin thatwe seyden that we wolde bleveWith him awouke; and nowthus sodeinlyThe fertheday to take of him oure leveHe woldewondren on ittrewely!Lat usholde forth our purpos fermely;And sinthat ye bihighten him to bydeHoldforward nowand after lat us ryde.'ThusPandaruswith alle peyne and woMade himto dwelle; and at the woukes endeOfSarpedoun they toke hir leve thoAnd on hirwey they spedden hem to wende.QuodTroilus`Now god me grace sendeThat I mayfindenat myn hom-comingeCriseydecomen!' And ther-with gan he singe.`Yehasel-wode!' thoughte this PandareAnd tohim-self ful softely he seyde`God wootrefreyden may this hote fareEr Calkassende Troilus Criseyde!'Butnatheleshe Iaped thusand seydeAnd swory-wishis herte him wel bihighteShe woldecome as sone as ever she mighte.Whan theyun-to the paleys were y-comenOfTroilusthey doun of hors alighteAnd to thechambre hir wey than han they nomen.And in-totyme that it gan to nighteTheyspaken of Crysede the brighte.And afterthiswhan that hem bothe lesteTheyspedde hem fro the soper un-to reste.On morweas sone as day bigan to clereThisTroilus gan of his sleep tabraydeAnd toPandarehis owene brother dere`For loveof god' ful pitously he seyde`As go weseen the paleys of Criseyde;For sin weyet may have namore festeSo lat usseen hir paleys at the leste.'Andther-with-alhis meyne for to blendeA cause hefond in toune for to goAnd toCriseydes hous they gonnen wende.But lord!This sely Troilus was wo!Himthoughte his sorweful herte braste a-two.For whanhe saugh hir dores sperred alleWel neighfor sorwe a-doun he gan to falle.Therwithwhan he was war and gan biholdeHow shetwas every windowe of the placeAs frosthim thoughtehis herte gan to colde;For whichwith chaunged deedlich pale faceWith-outenwordhe forth bigan to pace;Andasgod woldehe gan so faste rydeThat nowight of his contenance aspyde.Than seydehe thus; `O paleys desolatO housofhouses whylom best y-hightO paleysempty and disconsolatO thoulanterneof which queynt is the lightO paleyswhylom daythat now art nightWeloughtestow to falleand I to dyeSin she iswent that wont was us to gye!`O paleyswhylom croune of houses alleEnluminedwith sonne of alle blisse!O ringfro which the ruby is out-falleO cause ofwothat cause hast been of lisse!Yetsin Imay no betfayn wolde I kisseThy coldedoresdorste I for this route;Andfare-wel shryneof which the seynt is oute!'Ther-withhe caste on Pandarus his yeWithchaunged faceand pitous to biholde;And whanhe mighte his tyme aright aspyeAy as heroodto Pandarus he toldeHis newesorweand eek his Ioyes oldeSopitously and with so dede an heweThat everywight mighte on his sorwe rewe.Frothennesforth he rydeth up and dounAnd everything com him to remembraunceAs he roodforbi places of the tounIn whichehe whylom hadde al his plesaunce.`Loyondsaugh I myn owene lady daunce;And inthat templewith hir eyen clereMe coughtefirst my righte lady dere.`Andyonder have I herd ful lustilyMy dereherte laughand yonder pleyeSaugh Ihir ones eek ful blisfully.And yonderones to me gan she seye"Nowgoode swetelove me welI preye."And yondso goodly gan she me biholdeThat tothe deeth myn herte is to hir holde.`And atthat cornerin the yonder housHerde Imyn alderlevest lady dereSowommanlywith voys melodiousSingen sowelso goodlyand so clereThat in mysoule yet me thinketh I hereTheblisful soun; andin that yonder placeMy ladyfirst me took un-to hir grace.'Thannethoughte he thus`O blisful lord CupydeWhanne Ithe proces have in my memorieHow thoume hast wereyed on every sydeMen mighta book make of itlyk a storie.What nedeis thee to seke on me victorieSin I amthynand hoolly at thy wille?What Ioyehastow thyn owene folk to spille?`Welhastowlordy-wroke on me thyn ireThoumighty godand dredful for to greve!Now mercylordthou wost wel I desireThy gracemostof alle lustes leveAnd liveand deye I wol in thy bileveFor whichI naxe in guerdon but a boneThat thouCriseyde ayein me sende sone.`Distreynehir herte as faste to retorneAs thoudost myn to longen hir to see;Than wootI welthat she nil nought soiorne.Nowblisful lordso cruel thou ne beUn-to theblood of TroyeI preye theeAs Iunowas un-to the blood ThebaneFor whichthe folk of Thebes caughte hir bane.'And afterthis he to the yates wenteTher-asCriseyde out-rood a ful good paasAnd up anddoun ther made he many a wenteAnd tohim-self ful ofte he seyde `Allas!Fromhennes rood my blisse and my solas!As woldeblisful god nowfor his IoyeI mightehir seen ayein come in-to Troye!`And tothe yonder hille I gan hir gydeAllas! Andthere I took of hir my leve!And yond Isaugh hir to hir fader rydeFor sorweof which myn herte shal to-cleve.And hiderhoom I com whan it was eve;And here Idwelle out-cast from alle IoyeAnd shaltil I may seen hir eft in Troye.'And ofhim-self imagened he ofteTo bendefetand paleand waxen lesseThan hewas wontand that men seyden softe`What mayit be? Who can the sothe gesseWhyTroilus hath al this hevinesse?'And althis nas but his malencolyeThat hehadde of him-self swich fantasye.Anothertyme imaginen he woldeThat everywight that wente by the weyeHad of himroutheand that they seyen sholde`I amright sory Troilus wole deye.'And thushe droof a day yet forth or tweye.As ye haveherdswich lyf right gan he ledeAs he thatstood bitwixen hope and drede.For whichhim lyked in his songes sheweThenchesonof his woas he best mighteAnd made asong of wordes but a feweSomwhathis woful herte for to lighte.And whanhe was from every mannes sighteWith softevoys heof his lady dereThat wasabsentgan singe as ye may here.`O sterreof which I lost have al the lightWith hertesoor wel oughte I to bewayleThat everderk in tormentnight by nightToward mydeeth with wind in stere I sayle;For whichthe tenthe night if that I fayleThe gydingof thy bemes brighte an houreMy shipand me Caribdis wole devoure.'This songwhan he thus songen haddesoneHe filayein in-to his sykes olde;And everynightas was his wone to doneHe stoodthe brighte mone to beholdeAnd al hissorwe he to the mone tolde;And seyde`Y-wiswhan thou art horned neweI shal begladif al the world be trewe!`I saughthyn hornes olde eek by the morweWhanhennes rood my righte lady dereThat causeis of my torment and my sorwe;ForwhicheO brighte Lucina the clereFor loveof godren faste aboute thy spere!For whanthyn hornes newe ginne springeThan shalshe comethat may my blisse bringe!'The day ismoreand lenger every nightThan theybe wont to behim thoughte tho;And thatthe sonne wente his course unrightBy lengerwey than it was wont to go;And seyde`Y-wisme dredeth ever-moThe sonnessonePhetonbe on-lyveAnd thathis fadres cart amis he dryve.'Upon thewalles faste eek wolde he walkeAnd on theGrekes ost he wolde seeAnd tohim-self right thus he wolde talke`Loyonder is myn owene lady freeOr ellesyonderther tho tentes be!Andthennes comth this eyrthat is so soteThat in mysoule I fele it doth me bote.`Andhardely this windthat more and moreThusstoundemele encreseth in my faceIs of myladyes depe sykes sore.I preve itthusfor in non othere placeOf al thistounsave onliche in this spaceFele I nowind that souneth so lyk peyne;It seyth"Allas! Why twinned be we tweyne?"'This longetyme he dryveth forth right thusTil fullypassed was the nynthe night;And aybi-syde him was this PandarusThatbisily dide alle his fulle mightHim tocomforteand make his herte light;Yevingehim hope alweythe tenthe morweThat sheshal comeand stinten al his sorwe.Up-on thatother syde eek was CriseydeWithwommen feweamong the Grekes stronge;For whichful ofte a day `Allas' she seyde`That Iwas born! Wel may myn herte longeAfter mydeeth; for now live I to longe!Allas! AndI ne may it not amende;For now iswors than ever yet I wende.`My fadernil for no-thing do me graceTo goonayeinfor nought I can him queme;And if sobe that I my terme passeMy Troilusshal in his herte demeThat I amfalsand so it may wel seme.Thus shalI have unthank on every syde;That I wasbornso weylaway the tyde!`And ifthat I me putte in IupartyeTo steleawey by nighteand it bifalleThat I becaughtI shal be holde a spye;Or elleslothis drede I most of alleIf in thehondes of som wrecche I falleI am butlostal be myn herte trewe;Now mightygodthou on my sorwe rewe!'Ful paley-waxen was hir brighte faceHir limesleneas she that al the dayStood whanshe dorsteand loked on the placeTher shewas bornand ther she dwelt hadde ay.And al thenight wepingeallas! she lay.And thusdespeiredout of alle cureShe laddehir lyfthis woful creature.Ful ofte aday she sighte eek for destresseAnd inhir-self she wente ay portrayingeOf Troilusthe grete worthinesseAnd allehis goodly wordes recordingeSin firstthat day hir love bigan to springe.And thusshe sette hir woful herte a-fyreThroughremembraunce of that she gan desyre.In al thisworld ther nis so cruel herteThat hirhadde herd compleynen in hir sorweThat noldehan wopen for hir peynes smerteSotendrely she weepbothe eve and morwe.Hir nededeno teres for to borwe.And thiswas yet the worste of al hir peyneTher wasno wight to whom she dorste hir pleyne.Fulrewfully she loked up-on TroyeBiheld thetoures heighe and eek the halles;`Allas!'quod she`The plesaunce and the IoyeThe whichethat now al torned in-to galle isHave I hadofte with-inne yonder walles!O Troiluswhat dostow now' she seyde;`Lord!Whether yet thou thenke up-on Criseyde?`Allas! Ine hadde trowed on your loreAnd wentwith yowas ye me radde er this!Thannehadde I now not syked half so sore.Who mightehan seydthat I had doon a-misTo steleawey with swich on as he is?But al tolate cometh the letuarieWhan menthe cors un-to the grave carie.`To lateis now to speke of this matere;Prudenceallas! Oon of thyn eyen threeMe lakkedalweyer that I come here;On tymey-passedwel remembred me;Andpresent tyme eek coude I wel y-see.But futurtymeer I was in the snareCoude Inot seen; that causeth now my care.`Butnathelesbityde what bitydeI shalto-morwe at nightby est or westeOut ofthis ost stele on som maner sydeAnd gowith Troilus wher-as him leste.Thispurpos wol I holdeand this is beste.No fors ofwikked tonges IangleryeFor everon love han wrecches had envye.`Forwho-so wole of every word take hedeOr rewlenhim by every wightes witNe shal henever thryvenout of drede.For thatthat som men blamen ever yitLoothermaner folk commenden it.And as formefor al swich variaunceFeliciteeclepe I my suffisaunce.`Forwhichwith-outen any wordes moTo Troye Iwolas for conclusioun.'But god itwoter fully monthes twoShe wasful fer fro that entencioun.For botheTroilus and Troye tounShalknotteles through-out hir herte slyde;For shewol take a purpos for tabyde.ThisDiomedeof whom yow telle I ganGoth nowwith-inne him-self ay arguingeWith althe sleighte and al that ever he canHow he maybestwith shortest taryingeIn-to hisnet Criseydes herte bringe.To thisentente he coude never fyne;To fisshenhirhe leyde out hook and lyne.Butnatheleswel in his herte he thoughteThat shenas nat with-oute a love in TroyeFor neversithen he hir thennes broughteNe coudehe seen her laughe or make Ioye.He nisthow best hir herte for tacoye.`But forto assaye' he seyde`it nought ne greveth;For hethat nought nassayethnought nacheveth.'Yet seidehe to him-self upon a night`Now am Inot a foolthat woot wel howHir wo forlove is of another wightAndhere-up-on to goon assaye hir now?I may welwiteit nil not been my prow.For wysefolk in bokes it expresse"Menshal not wowe a wight in hevinesse."`Butwho-so mighte winnen swich a flourFrom himfor whom she morneth night and dayHe mighteseynhe were a conquerour.'And rightanoonas he that bold was ayThoughtein his herte`Happe how happe mayAl sholdeI deyeI wole hir herte seche;I shal nomore lesen but my speche.'ThisDiomedeas bokes us declareWas in hisnedes prest and corageous;Withsterne voys and mighty limes squareHardytestifstrongand chevalrousOf dedeslyk his fader Tideus.And sommen seynhe was of tunge large;And heirhe was of Calidoine and Arge.Criseydemene was of hir statureTher-to ofshapof faceand eek of chereThermighte been no fairer creature.And oftetyme this was hir manereTo gony-tressed with hir heres clereDoun byhir coler at hir bak bihindeWhich witha threde of gold she wolde binde.Andsavehir browes ioyneden y-fereTher nasno lakin ought I can espyen;But for tospeken of hir eyen clereLotrewelythey writen that hir syenThatParadys stood formed in hir yen.And withhir riche beautee ever-moreStrof lovein hiray which of hem was more.She sobrewaseek simpleand wys with-alThe bestey-norisshed eek that mighte beAnd goodlyof hir speche in generalCharitableestatlichelustyand free;Nenever-mo ne lakkede hir pitee;Tendre-hertedslydinge of corage;ButtrewelyI can not telle hir age.AndTroilus wel waxen was in highteAndcomplet formed by proporciounSo welthat kinde it not amenden mighte;Yongfresshestrongand hardy as lyoun;Trewe assteel in ech condicioun;On of thebeste enteched creatureThat isor shalwhyl that the world may dure.Andcertainly in storie it is y-foundeThatTroilus was never un-to no wightAs in histymein no degree secoundeIn durringdon that longeth to a knight.Al mightea geaunt passen him of mightHis herteay with the firste and with the besteStoodparegalto durre don that him leste.But for totellen forth of Diomede: --It filthat afteron the tenthe daySin thatCriseyde out of the citee yedeThisDiomedeas fresshe as braunche in MayCom to thetente ther-as Calkas layAnd feynedhim with Calkas han to done;But whathe menteI shal yow telle sone.Criseydeat shorte wordes for to telleWelcomedhimand doun by hir him sette;And he wasethe y-nough to maken dwelle.And afterthiswith-outen longe letteThe spycesand the wyn men forth hem fette;And forththey speke of this and that y-fereAsfreendes doonof which som shal ye here.He ganfirst fallen of the werre in specheBitwixehem and the folk of Troye toun;And ofthassege he gan hir eek bysecheTo tellehim what was hir opinioun.Fro thatdemaunde he so descendeth dounTo askenhirif that hir straunge thoughteThe Grekesgyseand werkes that they wroughte?And whyhir fader tarieth so longeTo weddenhir un-to som worthy wight?Criseydethat was in hir peynes strongeFor loveof Troilushir owene knightAsfer-forth as she conning hadde or mightAnswerdehim tho; butas of his ententeIt semednot she wiste what he mente.Butnathelesthis ilke DiomedeGan inhim-self assureand thus he seyde`If icharight have taken of yow hedeMethinketh thusO lady mynCriseydeThat sin Ifirst hond on your brydel leydeWhan yeout come of Troye by the morweNe coude Inever seen yow but in sorwe.`Can I notseyn what may the cause beBut-if forlove of som Troyan it wereThe whichright sore wolde athinken meThat yefor any wight that dwelleth thereSholdenspille a quarter of a tereOrpitously your-selven so bigyle;Fordredeleesit is nought worth the whyle.`The folkof Troyeas who seythalle and someIn presonbeenas ye your-selven see;Northennes shal not oon on-lyve comeFor al thegold bitwixen sonne and see.Trustethweland understondeth me.Ther shalnot oon to mercy goon on-lyveAl were helord of worldes twyes fyve!`Swichwreche on hemfor fecching of EleyneTher shalbe takeer that we hennes wendeThatManeswhich that goddes ben of peyneShal beenagast that Grekes wol hem shende.And menshul dredeun-to the worldes endeFromhennes-forth to ravisshe any queneSo cruelshal our wreche on hem be sene.`Andbut-if Calkas lede us with ambagesThat is toseynwith double wordes slyeSwich asmen clepe a "word with two visages"Ye shalwel knowen that I nought ne lyeAnd althis thing right seen it with your yeAnd thatanoon; ye nil not trowe how sone;Now takethheedfor it is for to done.`What weneye your wyse fader woldeHan yevenAntenor for yow anoonIf he newiste that the citee sholdeDestroyedbeen? Whynayso mote I goon!He knewful wel ther shal not scapen oonThatTroyan is; and for the grete fereHe dorstenotye dwelte lenger there.`What woleye morelufsom lady dere?Lat Troyeand Troyan fro your herte pace!Dryf outthat bittre hopeand make good chereAnd clepeayein the beautee of your faceThat yewith salte teres so deface.For Troyeis brought in swich a IupartyeThatitto saveis now no remedye.`Andthenketh welye shal in Grekes findeA moreparfit loveer it be nightThan anyTroian isand more kindeAnd bet toserven yow wol doon his might.And if yevouche saufmy lady brightI wol benhe to serven yow my-selveYeeleverthan he lord of Greces twelve!'And withthat word he gan to waxen reedAnd in hisspeche a litel wight he quookAnd castea-syde a litel wight his heedAnd stintea whyle; and afterward awookAndsobreliche on hir he threw his lookAnd seyde`I amal be it yow no IoyeAs gentilman as any wight in Troye.`For if myfader Tydeus' he seyde`Y-livedhaddeI hadde beener thisOfCalidoine and Arge a kingCriseyde!And sohope I that I shal yety-wis.But he wasslaynallas! The more harm isUnhappilyat Thebes al to rathePolymitesand many a man to scathe.`But hertemynsin that I am your manAnd beenthe ferste of whom I seche graceTo servenyou as hertely as I canAnd evershalwhyl I to live have spaceSoerthat I departe out of this placeYe wol megrauntethat I may to-morweAt bettreleysertelle yow my sorwe.'What sholdI telle his wordes that he seyde?He spaky-nowfor o day at the meste;It prevethwelhe spak so that CriseydeGrauntedon the morweat his requesteFor tospeken with him at the lesteSo that henolde speke of swich matere;And thusto him she seydeas ye may here:As shethat hadde hir herte on TroilusSo fastethat ther may it noon arace;Andstraungely she spakand seyde thus;`ODiomedeI love that ilke placeTher I wasborn; and Iovesfor his graceDelivereit sone of al that doth it care!Godforthy mightso leve it wel to fare!`ThatGrekes wolde hir wraththe on Troye wrekeIf thatthey mighteI knowe it wely-wis.But itshal not bifallen as ye speke;And godto-fornand ferther over thisI wot myfader wys and redy is;And thathe me hath boughtas ye me toldeSo dereIam the more un-to him holde.`ThatGrekes been of heigh condiciounI woot eekwel; but certeinmen shal findeAs worthyfolk with-inne Troye tounAsconningand as parfit and as kindeAs beenbitwixen Orcades and Inde.And thatye coude wel your lady serveI troweeek welhir thank for to deserve.`But as tospeke of lovey-wis' she seyde`I hadde alordto whom I wedded wasThe whosmyn herte al wastil that he deyde;And otherloveas helpe me now PallasTher inmyn herte nisne nevere was.And thatye been of noble and heigh kinredeI have welherd it tellenout of drede.`And thatdoth me to han so gret a wonderThat yewol scornen any womman so.Eekgodwotlove and I be fer a-sonder!I amdisposed betso mote I goUn-to mydeethto pleyne and maken wo.What Ishal after doonI can not seye;Buttrewelyas yet me list not pleye.`Myn herteis now in tribulaciounAnd ye inarmes bisyday by day.Here-afterwhan ye wonnen han the tounParaunterthanne so it happen mayThat whanI see that I never er sayThan woleI werke that I never wroughte!This wordto yow y-nough suffysen oughte.`To-morweeek wol I speken with yow faynSo that yetouchen nought of this matere.And whanyow listye may come here ayeyn;Ander yegonthus muche I seye yow here;As help mePallas with hir heres clereIf that Isholde of any Greek han routheIt sholdebe your-selvenby my trouthe!`I sey nottherfore that I wol yow loveNe I seynot naybut in conclusiounI menewelby god that sit above:' --Andther-with-al she caste hir eyen dounAnd gan tosykeand seyde`O Troye tounYet biddeI godin quiete and in resteI may yowseenor do myn herte breste.'But ineffectand shortly for to seyeThisDiomede al freshly newe ayeynGanpressen onand faste hir mercy preye;And afterthisthe sothe for to seynHir glovehe tookof which he was ful fayn.Andfynallywhan it was waxen eveAnd al waswelhe roos and took his leve.Thebrighte Venus folwede and ay taughteThe weyther brode Phebus doun alighte;AndCynthea hir char-hors over-raughteTo whirleout of the Lyonif she mighte;AndSignifer his candelse shewed brighteWhan thatCriseyde un-to hir bedde wenteIn-withhir fadres faire brighte tente.Retorningin hir soule ay up and dounThe wordesof this sodein DiomedeHis greetestatand peril of the tounAnd thatshe was allone and hadde nedeOffreendes help; and thus bigan to bredeThe causewhythe sothe for to telleThat shetok fully purpos for to dwelle.The morwecomand goostly for to spekeThisDiomede is come un-to CriseydeAndshortlylest that ye my tale brekeSo wel hefor him-selve spak and seydeThat allehir sykes sore adoun he leyde.Andfynallythe sothe for to seyneHe reftehir of the grete of al hir peyne.And afterthis the story telleth usThat shehim yaf the faire baye stedeThe whichhe ones wan of Troilus;And eek abroche (and that was litel nede)ThatTroilus wasshe yaf this Diomede.And eekthe bet from sorwe him to releveShe madehim were a pencel of hir sleve.I findeeek in stories elles-whereWhanthrough the body hurt was DiomedeOfTroilustho weep she many a tereWhan thatshe saugh his wyde woundes blede;And thatshe took to kepen him good hedeAnd for tohele him of his sorwes smerte.Men seynI notthat she yaf him hir herte.Buttrewelythe story telleth usTher madenever womman more woThan shewhan that she falsed Troilus.She seyde`Allas! For now is clene a-goMy name oftrouthe in lovefor ever-mo!For I havefalsed oonthe gentilesteThat everwasand oon the worthieste!`Allasofmeun-to the worldes endeShalneither been y-writen nor y-songeNo goodwordfor thise bokes wol me shende.Orolledshal I been on many a tonge;Through-outthe world my belle shal be ronge;And wommenmost wol hate me of alle.Allasthat swich a cas me sholde falle!`They wolseynin as muche as in me isI have hemdon dishonourweylawey!Al be Inot the first that dide amisWhathelpeth that to do my blame awey?But sin Isee there is no bettre wayAnd thatto late is now for me to reweTo Diomedealgate I wol be trewe.`ButTroilussin I no better mayAnd sinthat thus departen ye and IYet preyeI godso yeve yow right good dayAs for thegentilestetrewelyThat everI sayto serven feithfullyAnd bestcan ay his lady honour kepe:' --And withthat word she brast anon to wepe.`Andcertes yow ne haten shal I neverAndfreendes lovethat shal ye han of meAnd mygood wordal mighte I liven ever.AndtrewelyI wolde sory beFor toseen yow in adversitee.AndgilteleesI woot welI yow leve;But alshal passe; and thus take I my leve.'Buttrewelyhow longe it was bitweneThat shefor-sook him for this DiomedeTher isnon auctor telleth itI wene.Take everyman now to his bokes hede;He shal noterme findenout of drede.For thoughthat he bigan to wowe hir soneEr he hirwanyet was ther more to done.Ne me nelist this sely womman chydeFertherthan the story wol devyse.Hir nameallas! Is publisshed so wydeThat forhir gilt it oughte y-noe suffyse.And if Imighte excuse hir any wyseFor she sosory was for hir untroutheY-wisIwolde excuse hir yet for routhe.ThisTroilusas I biforn have toldThusdryveth forthas wel as he hath might.But oftenwas his herte hoot and coldAndnamelythat ilke nynthe nightWhich onthe morwe she hadde him byhightTo comeayein: god wotful litel resteHadde hethat night; no-thing to slepe him leste.Thelaurer-crouned Phebuswith his heteGaninhis course ay upward as he wenteTo warmenof the est see the wawes weteAnd Nisusdoughter song with fresh ententeWhanTroilus his Pandare after sente;And on thewalles of the toun they pleydeTo loke ifthey can seen ought of Criseyde.Til it wasnoonthey stoden for to seeWho thatther come; and every maner wightThat camfro ferthey seyden it was sheTil thatthey coude knowen him a-right.Now washis herte dulnow was it light;And thusby-iaped stonden for to stareAboutenoughtthis Troilus and Pandare.ToPandarus this Troilus tho seyde`For oughtI wotbi-for noonsikerlyIn-to thistoun ne comth nought here Criseyde.She hathy-now to donehardilyTo winnenfrom hir faderso trowe I;Hir oldefader wol yet make hir dyneEr thatshe go; god yeve his herte pyne!'Pandareanswerde`It may wel becerteyn;Andfor-thy lat us dyneI thee biseche;And afternoon than maystw thou come ayeyn.'And hoomthey gowith-oute more speche;And comenayeinbut longe may they secheEr thatthey finde that they after cape;Fortunehem bothe thenketh for to Iape.QuodTroilus`I see wel nowthat sheIs tariedwith hir olde fader soThat ershe comeit wole neigh even be.Com forthI wol un-to the yate go.Thiseportours been unkonninge ever-mo;And I woldoon hem holden up the yateAs noughtne wereal-though she come late.'The daygoth fasteand after that comth eveAnd yetcom nought to Troilus Criseyde.He lokethforth by heggeby treeby greveAnd ferhis heed over the wal he leyde.And at thelaste he torned himand seyde.`By godIwoot hir mening nowPandare!Al-mosty-wisal newe was my care.`Nowdoutelesthis lady can hir good;I wootshe meneth ryden prively.I comendehir wysdomby myn hood!She wolnot maken peple nycelyGaure onhirwhan she comth; but softelyBy nightein-to the toun she thenketh ryde.Andderebrotherthenk not longe to abyde.`We hannought elles for to dony-wis.AndPandarusnow woltow trowen me?Have heremy troutheI see hir! Yond she is.Heve upthyn eyenman! Maystow not see?'Pandareanswerde`Nayso mote I thee!Al wrongby god; what seystowmanwher art?That I seeyond nis but a fare-cart.'`Allasthou seist right sooth' quod Troilus;`Buthardelyit is not al for noughtThat inmyn herte I now reioyse thus.It isayein som good I have a thought.Noot I nothowbut sin that I was wroughtNe felte Iswich a confortdar I seye;She comthto-nightmy lyfthat dorste I leye!'Pandareanswerde`It may be wely-nough';And heldwith him of al that ever he seyde;But in hisherte he thoughteand softe loughAnd tohim-self ful sobrely he seyde:`Fromhasel-wodether Ioly Robin pleydeShal comeal that thou abydest here;Yefare-wel al the snow of ferne yere!'Thewardein of the yates gan to calleThe folkwhich that with-oute the yates wereAnd badhem dryven in hir bestes alleOr al thenight they moste bleven there.And ferwith-in the nightwith many a tereThisTroilus gan hoomward for to ryde;For wel heseeth it helpeth nought tabyde.Butnatheleshe gladded him in this;Hethoughte he misacounted hadde his dayAnd seyde`I understonde have al a-mis.For thilkenight I last Criseyde sayShe seyde"I shal ben hereif that I mayEr thatthe moneO dere herte swete!The Lyonpasseout of this Ariete."`For whichshe may yet holde al hir biheste.'And on themorwe un-to the yate he wenteAnd up anddownby west and eek by esteUp-on thewalles made he many a wente.But al fornought; his hope alwey him blente;For whichat nightin sorwe and sykes soreHe wentehim hoomwith-outen any more.This hopeal clene out of his herte fleddeHe nathwher-on now lenger for to honge;But forthe peyne him thoughte his herte bleddeSo werehis throwes sharpe and wonder stronge.For whenhe saugh that she abood so longeHe nistewhat he iuggen of it mighteSin shehath broken that she him bihighte.Thethriddeferthefiftesixte dayAfter thodayes tenof which I toldeBitwixenhope and drede his herte layYetsom-what trustinge on hir hestes olde.But whanhe saugh she nolde hir terme holdeHe can nowseen non other remedyeBut for toshape him sone for to dye.Ther-withthe wikked spiritgod us blesseWhich thatmen clepeth wode IalousyeGan in himcrepein al this hevinesse;For whichby-cause he wolde sone dyeHe ne eetne dronkfor his malencolyeAnd eekfrom every companye he fledde;This wasthe lyf that al the tyme he ledde.He sodefet wasthat no maner manUnnethmighte him knowe ther he wente;So was heleneand ther-to pale and wanAnd feblethat he walketh by potente;And withhis ire he thus himselven shente.But who-soaxed him wher-of him smerteHe seydehis harm was al aboute his herte.Pryam fulofteand eek his moder dereHisbretheren and his sustren gonne him freyneWhy he sosorwful was in al his chereAnd whatthing was the cause of al his peyne?But al fornought; he nolde his cause pleyneBut seydehe felte a grevous maladyeA-boutehis herteand fayn he wolde dye.So on aday he leyde him doun to slepeAnd sobifel that in his sleep him thoughteThat in aforest faste he welk to wepeFor loveof hir that him these peynes wroughte;And up anddoun as he the forest soughteHe mettehe saugh a boor with tuskes greteThat sleepayein the brighte sonnes hete.And bythis boorfaste in his armes foldeLaykissing ay his lady bright Criseyde:For sorweof whichwhan he it gan biholdeAnd fordespytout of his slepe he breydeAnd loudehe cryde on Pandarusand seyde`OPandarusnow knowe I crop and rote!I nam butdeed; ther nis non other bote!`My ladybright Criseyde hath me bitrayedIn whom Itrusted most of any wightSheelles-where hath now hir herte apayed;Theblisful goddesthrough hir grete mightHan in mydreem y-shewed it ful right.Thus in mydreem Criseyde I have biholde' --And althis thing to Pandarus he tolde.`O myCriseydeallas! What subtiltee.What newelustwhat beauteewhat scienceWhatwratthe of iuste cause have ye to me?What giltof mewhat fel experienceHath frome raftallas! Thyn advertence?O trustOfeythO depe aseuraunceWho hathme reft Criseydeal my plesaunce?`Allas!Why leet I you from hennes goFor whichwel neigh out of my wit I breyde?Who shalnow trowe on any othes mo?God wot IwendeO lady brightCriseydeThat everyword was gospel that ye seyde!But whomay bet bigylenyf him listeThan he onwhom men weneth best to triste?`What shalI doonmy Pandarusallas!I fele nowso sharpe a newe peyneSin thatther is no remedie in this casThat betwere it I with myn hondes tweyneMy-selvenslowthan alwey thus to pleyne.Forthrough my deeth my wo sholde han an endeTher everyday with lyf my-self I shende.'Pandareanswerde and seyde`Allas the whyleThat I wasborn; have I not seyd er thisThatdremes many a maner man bigyle?And why?For folk expounden hem a-mis.Howdarstow seyn that fals thy lady isFor anydreemright for thyn owene drede?Lat bethis thoughtthou canst no dremes rede.`Paraunterther thou dremest of this boorIt may sobe that it may signifyeHir faderwhich that old is and eek hoorAyein thesonne lython poynt to dyeAnd shefor sorwe ginneth wepe and cryeAndkisseth himther he lyth on the grounde;Thusshuldestow thy dreem a-right expounde.'`Howmighte I thanne do?' quod Troilus`To knoweof thisyewere it never so lyte?'`Nowseystow wysly' quod this Pandarus`My reedis thissin thou canst wel endyteThathastely a lettre thou hir wryteThorughwhich thou shalt wel bringen it abouteTo knowe asooth of that thou art in doute.`And seenow why; for this I dar wel seynThat if sois that she untrewe beI can nottrowe that she wol wryte ayeyn.And if shewrytethou shalt ful sone seeAs whethershe hath any liberteeTo comeayeinor ellis in som clauseIf she beletshe wol assigne a cause.`Thou hastnot writen hir sin that she wenteNor she totheeand this I dorste leyeTher mayswich cause been in hir ententeThathardely thou wolt thy-selven seyeThat hira-bood the beste is for yow tweye.Now wrytehir thanneand thou shalt fele soneA sothe ofal; ther is no more to done.'Acordedbeen to this conclusiounAnd thatanoonthese ilke lordes two;Andhastely sit Troilus adounAndrolleth in his herte to and froHow he maybest discryven hir his wo.And toCriseydehis owene lady dereHe wrootright thusand seyde as ye may here.`Rightfresshe flourwhos I have been and shalWith-outenpart of elles-where servyseWithhertebodylyflustthoughtand al;Iwofulwightin every humble wyseThat tongetelle or herte may devyseAs ofte asmatere occupyeth placeMerecomaunde un-to your noble grace.`Lyketh ityow to witenswete herteAs ye welknowe how longe tyme agoonThat ye melefte in aspre peynes smerteWhan thatye wenteof which yet bote noonHave I nonhadbut ever wers bigoonFro day today am Iand so mot dwelleWhile ityow listof wele and wo my welle.`For whichto yowwith dredful herte treweI wryteas he that sorwe dryfth to wryteMy wothat every houre encreseth neweCompleyningeas I dar or can endyte.And thatdefaced isthat may ye wyteThe tereswhich that fro myn eyen reyneThat woldespekeif that they coudeand pleyne.`Yow firstbiseche Ithat your eyen clereTo look onthis defouled ye not holde;And overal thisthat yemy lady dereWolvouche-sauf this lettre to biholde.And by thecause eek of my cares coldeThatsleeth my witif ought amis me asterteFor-yeveit memyn owene swete herte.`If anyservant dorste or oughte of rightUp-on hislady pitously compleyneThan weneIthat ich oughte be that wightConsideredthisthat ye these monthes tweyneHantariedther ye seydensooth to seyneBut dayesten ye nolde in ost soiourneBut in twomonthes yet ye not retourne.`Butfor-as-muche as me mot nedes lykeAl thatyow listI dar not pleyne moreButhumbely with sorwful sykes syke;Yow wryteich myn unresty sorwes soreFro day today desyring ever-moreTo knowenfullyif your wil it wereHow ye hanferd and doonwhyl ye be there.`The whoswel-fare and hele eek god encresseIn honourswichthat upward in degreeIt growealweyso that it never cesse;Right asyour herte ay canmy lady freeDevyseIprey to god so mote it be.Andgraunte it that ye sone up-on me reweAs wislyas in al I am yow trewe.`And ifyow lyketh knowen of the fareOf mewhos wo ther may no wight discryveI can nomore butcheste of every careAtwrytinge of this lettre I was on-lyveAl redyout my woful gost to dryve;Which Idelayeand holde him yet in hondeUpon thesight of matere of your sonde.`Myn eyentwoin veyn with which I seeOfsorweful teres salte arn waxen welles;My songin pleynte of myn adversitee;My goodin harm; myn ese eek waxen helle is.My Ioyein wo; I can sey yow nought ellesBut turnedisfor which my lyf I warieEverichIoye or ese in his contrarie.`Whichwith your cominge hoom ayein to TroyeYe mayredresseandmore a thousand sytheThan everich haddeencressen in me Ioye.For wasther never herte yet so blytheTo han hislyfas I shal been as swytheAs I yowsee; andthough no maner routheCommeveyowyet thinketh on your trouthe.`And if sobe my gilt hath deeth deservedOr if yowlist no more up-on me seeIn guerdonyet of that I have you servedBiseche Iyowmyn hertes lady freeThathere-upon ye wolden wryte meFor loveof godmy righte lode-sterreTher deethmay make an ende of al my werre.`If othercause aught doth yow for to dwelleThat withyour lettre ye me recomforte;For thoughto me your absence is an helleWithpacience I wol my wo comporteAnd withyour lettre of hope I wol desporte.Nowwrytethsweteand lat me thus not pleyne;With hopeor deethdelivereth me fro peyne.`Y-wismyn owene dere herte treweI wootthatwhan ye next up-on me seeSo losthave I myn hele and eek myn heweCriseydeshal nought conne knowe me!Y-wismynhertes daymy lady freeSothursteth ay myn herte to biholdeYourbeauteethat my lyf unnethe I holde.`I sey nomoreal have I for to seyeTo you welmore than I telle may;Butwhether that ye do me live or deyeYet pray Igodso yeve yow right good day.And farethwelgoodly fayre fresshe mayAs ye thatlyf or deeth me may comaunde;And toyour trouthe ay I me recomaunde`With heleswich thatbut ye yeven meThe sameheleI shal noon hele have.In youlythwhan yow liste that it so beThe day inwhich me clothen shal my grave.In yow mylyfin yow might for to saveMe fromdisese of alle peynes smerte;And farenow welmyn owene swete herte!Le vostreT.'Thislettre forth was sent un-to CriseydeOf whichhir answere in effect was this;Fulpitously she wroot ayeinand seydeThat alsosone as that she mighty-wisShe woldecomeand mende al that was mis.Andfynally she wroot and seyde him thanneShe woldecomeyebut she niste whenne.But in hirlettre made she swich festesThatwonder wasand swereth she loveth him bestOf whichhe fond but botmelees bihestes.ButTroilusthou mayst nowest or westPype in anivy leefif that thee lest;Thus gooththe world; god shilde us fro mischaunceAnd everywight that meneth trouthe avaunce!Encresengan the wo fro day to nightOfTroilusfor taryinge of Criseyde;And lessengan his hope and eek his mightFor whichal doun he in his bed him leyde;He ne eetne dronkne sleepne word he seydeImaginingeay that she was unkinde;For whichwel neigh he wex out of his minde.Thisdreemof which I told have eek bifornMay nevercome out of his remembraunce;Hethoughte ay wel he hadde his lady lornAnd thatIovesof his purveyaunceHim shewedhadde in sleep the signifiaunceOf hiruntrouthe and his disaventureAnd thatthe boor was shewed him in figure.For whichhe for Sibille his suster senteThatcalled was Cassandre eek al aboute;And al hisdreem he tolde hir er he stenteAnd hirbisoughte assoilen him the douteOf thestronge boorwith tuskes stoute;Andfynallywith-inne a litel stoundeCassandrehim gan right thus his dreem expounde.She ganfirst smyleand seyde`O brother dereIf thou asooth of this desyrest knoweThou mosta fewe of olde stories hereTo purposhow that fortune over-throweHathlordes olde; through whichwith-inne a throweThou welthis boor shalt knoweand of what kindeHe comenisas men in bokes finde.`Dianewhich that wrooth was and in ireFor Grekesnolde doon hir sacrifyseNe encensup-on hir auter sette a-fyreSheforthat Grekes gonne hir so dispyseWrak hirin a wonder cruel wyse.For with aboor as greet as oxe in stalleShe madeup frete hir corn and vynes alle.`To sleethis boor was al the contree reysedA-mongeswhich ther comthis boor to seeA maydeoon of this world the best y-preysed;AndMeleagrelord of that contreeHe lovedeso this fresshe mayden freeThat withhis manhoder he wolde stenteThis boorhe slowand hir the heed he sente;`Of whichas olde bokes tellen usTher roosa contek and a greet envye;And ofthis lord descended TydeusBy ligneor elles olde bokes lye;But howthis Meleagre gan to dyeThorughhis moderwol I yow not telleFor al tolong it were for to dwelle.'
[Argumentof the 12 Books of Statius' "Thebais"]
Associatprofugum Tideo primus Polimitem;Tidealegatum docet insidiasque secundus;TerciusHemoniden canit et vates latitantes;Quartushabet reges ineuntes prelia septem;Mox furieLenne quinto narratur et anguis;Archimoribustum sexto ludique leguntur;Dat GraiosThebes et vatem septimus vmbria;Octauocecidit Tideusspesvita Pelasgia;Ypomedonnono moritur cum Parthonopeo;Fulminepercussusdecimo Capaneus superatur;Vndecimosese perimunt per vulnera fratres;Argiuamflentem narrat duodenus et igneum.
She toldeeek how Tydeuser she stenteUn-to thestronge citee of ThebesTo cleymekingdom of the citeewenteFor hisfelawedaun PolymitesOf whichthe brotherdaun EthyoclesFulwrongfully of Thebes held the strengthe;This toldeshe by procesal by lengthe.She toldeeek how Hemonides asterteWhanTydeus slough fifty knightes stoute.She toldeeek al the prophesyes by herteAnd howthat sevene kingeswith hir routeBisegedenthe citee al aboute;And of theholy serpentand the welleAnd of thefuriesal she gan him telle.OfArchimoris buryinge and the pleyesAnd howAmphiorax fil through the groundeHow Tydeuswas slaynlord of ArgeyesAnd howYpomedoun in litel stoundeWasdreyntand deed Parthonope of wounde;And alsohow Cappaneus the proudeWiththonder-dint was slaynthat cryde loude.She ganeek telle him how that either brotherEthyoclesand Polimyte alsoAt ascarmycheeche of hem slough otherAnd ofArgyves wepinge and hir wo;And howthe town was brent she tolde eek tho.And sodescendeth doun from gestes oldeToDiomedeand thus she spak and tolde.`This ilkeboor bitokneth DiomedeTydeussonethat doun descended isFroMeleagrethat made the boor to blede.And thyladywher-so she bey-wisThisDiomede hir herte hathand she his.Weep ifthou woltor leef; forout of douteThisDiomede is inneand thou art oute.'`Thouseyst nat sooth' quod he`thou sorceresseWith althy false goost of prophesye!Thouwenest been a greet devyneresse;Nowseestow not this fool of fantasyePeynethhir on ladyes for to lye?Awey!'quod he. `Ther Ioves yeve thee sorwe!Thou shaltbe falsparaunteryet to-morwe!`As welthou mightest lyen on AlcesteThat wasof creaturesbut men lyeThat everwerenkindest and the beste.For whannehir housbonde was in IupartyeTo dyehim-selfbut-if she wolde dyeShe cheesfor him to dye and go to helleAnd starfanoonas us the bokes telle.'Cassandregothand he with cruel herteFor-yathis wofor angre of hir speche;And fromhis bed al sodeinly he sterteAs thoughal hool him hadde y-mad a leche.And day byday he gan enquere and secheA sooth ofthiswith al his fulle cure;And thushe dryeth forth his aventure.Fortunewhiche that permutaciounOf thingeshathas it is hir committedThroughpurveyaunce and disposiciounOf heigheIoveas regnes shal ben flittedFro folkin folkor whan they shal ben smittedGan pulleawey the fetheres brighte of TroyeFro day todaytil they ben bare of Ioye.Among althisthe fyn of the parodieOf Ectorgan approchen wonder blyve;The fatewolde his soule sholde unbodieAnd shapenhadde a mene it out to dryve;Ayeinswhich fate him helpeth not to stryve;But on aday to fighten gan he wendeAt whichallas! He coughte his lyves ende.For whichme thinketh every maner wightThathaunteth armes oughte to biwayleThe deethof him that was so noble a knight;For as hedrough a king by thaventayleUnwar ofthisAchilles through the mayleAndthrough the body gan him for to ryve;And thusthis worthy knight was brought of lyve.For whomas olde bokes tellen usWas madswich wothat tonge it may not telle;Andnamelythe sorwe of TroilusThat nexthim was of worthinesse welle.And inthis wo gan Troilus to dwelleThatwhatfor sorweand loveand for unresteFul ofte aday he bad his herte breste.Butnathelesthough he gan him dispeyreAnd draddeay that his lady was untreweYet ay onhir his herte gan repeyre.And asthese loveres doonhe soughte ay neweTo geteayein Criseydebright of hewe.And in hisherte he wente hir excusingeThatCalkas causede al hir taryinge.And oftetyme he was in purpos greteHim-selvenlyk a pilgrim to disgyseTo seenhir; but he may not contrefeteTo beenunknowen of folk that weren wyseNe findeexcuse aright that may suffyseIf heamong the Grekes knowen were;For whichhe weep ful ofte many a tere.To hir hewroot yet ofte tyme al neweFulpitouslyhe lefte it nought for sloutheBisechinghir thatsin that he was treweShe woldecome ayein and holde hir trouthe.For whichCriseyde up-on a dayfor routheI take itsotouchinge al this matereWrot himayeinand seyde as ye may here.`Cupydessoneensample of goodlihedeO swerd ofknighthodsours of gentilesse!How mighta wight in torment and in dredeAndheleleesyow sende as yet gladnesse?IherteleesI sykeI in distresse;Sin yewith menor I with yow may deleYowneither sende ich herte may nor hele.`Yourlettres fulthe papir al y-pleyntedConceyvedhath myn hertes pietee;I have eekseyn with teres al depeyntedYourlettreand how that ye requeren meTo comeayeinwhich yet ne may not be.But whylest that this lettre founden wereNomencioun ne make I nowfor fere.`Grevousto megod wootis your unresteYourhasteand thatthe goddes ordenaunceIt semethnot ye take it for the beste.Nor otherthing nis in your remembraunceAsthinketh mebut only your plesaunce.But bethnot wroothand that I yow biseche;For that Itarieis al for wikked speche.`For Ihave herd wel more than I wendeTouchingeus twohow thinges han y-stonde;Which Ishal with dissimulinge amende.And bethnought wroothI have eek understondeHow ye nedoon but holden me in honde.But now noforsI can not in yow gesseBut alletrouthe and alle gentilesse.`Comen Iwolbut yet in swich disioynteI stondeas nowthat what yeer or what dayThat thisshal bethat can I not apoynte.But ineffectI prey yowas I mayOf yourgood word and of your frendship ay.Fortrewelywhyl that my lyf may dureAs for afreendye may in me assure.`Yet preyeI yow on yvel ye ne takeThat it isshort which that I to yow wryte;I dar notther I amwel lettres makeNe neveryet ne coude I wel endyte.Eek greeteffect men wryte in place lite.Thententeis aland nought the lettres space;And farethnow welgod have you in his grace!La vostreC.'ThisTroilus this lettre thoughte al straungeWhan he itsaughand sorwefully he sighte;Himthoughte it lyk a kalendes of chaunge;Butfynallyhe ful ne trowen mighteThat shene wolde him holden that she highte;For withful yvel wil list him to leveThatloveth welin swich casthough him greve.Butnathelesmen seyn thatat the lasteFor anythingmen shal the sothe see;And swicha cas bitiddeand that as fasteThatTroilus wel understood that sheNas not sokinde as that hir oughte be.Andfynallyhe woot nowout of douteThat al islost that he hath been aboute.Stood on aday in his malencolyeThisTroilusand in suspeciounOf hir forwhom he wende for to dye.And sobifelthat through-out Troye tounAs was thegysey-bore was up and dounA manercote-armureas seyth the storieBifornDeiphebein signe of his victorieThe whichecoteas telleth LolliusDeiphebeit hadde y-rent from DiomedeThe sameday; and whan this TroilusIt saughhe gan to taken of it hedeAvysing ofthe lengthe and of the bredeAnd al thewerk; but as he gan biholdeFulsodeinly his herte gan to coldeAs he thaton the coler fond with-inneA brochethat he Criseyde yaf that morweThat shefrom Troye moste nedes twinneInremembraunce of him and of his sorwe;And shehim leyde ayein hir feyth to borweTo kepe itay; but nowful wel he wisteHis ladynas no lenger on to triste.He goothhim hoomand gan ful sone sendeForPandarus; and al this newe chaunceAnd ofthis brochehe tolde him word and endeCompleyningeof hir hertes variaunceHis longelovehis troutheand his penaunce;And afterdeethwith-outen wordes moreFul fastehe crydehis reste him to restore.Than spakhe thus`O lady myn CriseydeWher isyour feythand wher is your biheste?Wher isyour lovewher is your trouthe' he seyde;`OfDiomede have ye now al this feste!AllasIwolde have trowed at the leste.Thatsinye nolde in trouthe to me stondeThat yethus nolde han holden me in honde!`Who shalnow trowe on any othes mo?AllasInever wolde han wender thisThat yeCriseydecoude han chaunged so;Nebut Ihadde a-gilt and doon amisSo cruelwende I not your hertey-wisTo slee methus; allasyour name of troutheIs nowfor-doonand that is al my routhe.`Was thernon other broche yow liste leteTo feffewith your newe love' quod he`Butthilke broche that Iwith teres weteYow yafas for a remembraunce of me?Non othercauseallasne hadde yeBut fordespytand eek for that ye menteAl-outrelyto shewen your entente!`Throughwhich I see that clene out of your mindeYe han mecastand I ne can nor mayFor althis worldwith-in myn herte findeTo unlovenyow a quarter of a day!In cursedtyme I born wasweylaway!That yethat doon me al this wo endureYet love Ibest of any creature.`Now god'quod he`me sende yet the graceThat I maymeten with this Diomede!Andtrewelyif I have might and spaceYet shal ImakeI hopehis sydes blede.O god'quod he`that oughtest taken hedeTofortheren troutheand wronges to punyceWhy niltowdoon a vengeaunce of this vyce?`OPandarethat in dremes for to tristeMe blamedhastand wont art oft up-breydeNowmaystow see thy-selveif that thee listeHow treweis now thy necebright Criseyde!In sondryformesgod it woot' he seyde`Thegoddes shewen bothe Ioye and teneIn slepeand by my dreme it is now sene.`Andcertaynlywith-oute more specheFromhennes-forthas ferforth as I mayMyn owenedeeth in armes wol I seche;I recchenot how sone be the day!ButtrewelyCriseydeswete mayWhom Ihave ay with al my might y-servedThat yethus doonI have it nought deserved.'ThisPandarusthat alle these thinges herdeAnd wistewel he seyde a sooth of thisHe noughta word ayein to him answerde;For soryof his frendes sorwe he isAndshamedfor his nece hath doon a-mis;And stantastoned of these causes tweyeAs stilleas stoon; a word ne coude he seye.But at thelaste thus he spakand seyde`Mybrother dereI may thee do no-more.Whatshulde I seyn? I hatey-wisCriseyde!AndgodwotI wol hate hir evermore!And thatthou me bisoughtest doon of yoreHavingeun-to myn honour ne my resteRight norewardI dide al that thee leste.`If I dideought that mighte lyken theeIt is meleef; and of this treson nowGod wootthat it a sorwe is un-to me!Anddredeleesfor hertes ese of yowRight faynwolde I amende itwiste I how.And frothis worldalmighty god I preyeDeliverehir sone; I can no-more seye.'Gret wasthe sorwe and pleynt of Troilus;But forthhir cours fortune ay gan to holde.Criseydeloveth the sone of TydeusAndTroilus mot wepe in cares colde.Swich isthis world; who-so it can biholdeIn echeestat is litel hertes reste;God leveus for to take it for the beste!In manycruel batayleout of dredeOfTroilusthis ilke noble knightAs men mayin these olde bokes redeWas senehis knighthod and his grete might.Anddredeleeshis ireday and nightFulcruelly the Grekes ay aboughte;And alweymost this Diomede he soughte.And oftetymeI finde that they metteWith blodystrokes and with wordes greteAssayingehow hir speres weren whette;And god itwootwith many a cruel heteGanTroilus upon his helm to bete.Butnathelesfortune it nought ne woldeOf othershond that either deyen sholde. --And if Ihadde y-taken for to wryteThe armesof this ilke worthy manThan woldeI of his batailles endyte.But forthat I to wryte first biganOf hisloveI have seyd as that I can.His worthydedeswho-so list hem hereReedDareshe can telle hem alle y-fere.Bisechingeevery lady bright of heweAnd everygentil wommanwhat she beThat al bethat Criseyde was untreweThat forthat gilt she be not wrooth with me.Ye may hirgilt in othere bokes see;Andgladlier I wole wrytenif yow lestePenolopeestrouthe and good Alceste.Ne I seynot this al-only for these menBut mostfor wommen that bitraysed beThroughfalse folk; god yeve hem sorweamen!That withhir grete wit and subtilteeBitrayseyow! And this commeveth meTo spekeand in effect yow alle I preyeBeth warof menand herkeneth what I seye! --Golitelbookgo litel myn tragedieTher godthy maker yeter that he dyeSo sendemight to make in som comedie!But litelbookno making thou nenvyeBut subgitbe to alle poesye;And kisthe steppeswher-as thou seest paceVirgileOvydeOmerLucanand Stace.And forther is so greet diversiteeIn Englishand in wryting of our tongeSo preye Igod that noon miswryte theeNe theemismetre for defaute of tonge.And redwher-so thou beor elles songeThat thoube understonde I god beseche!But yet topurpos of my rather speche. --Thewraththeas I began yow for to seyeOfTroilusthe Grekes boughten dere;Forthousandes his hondes maden deyeAs he thatwas with-outen any pereSaveEctorin his tymeas I can here.Butweylaweysave only goddes willeDispitouslyhim slough the fiers Achille.And whanthat he was slayn in this manereHis lightegoost ful blisfully is wentUp to theholownesse of the seventh spereIn conversletinge every element;And therhe saughwith ful avysementTheerratik sterresherkeninge armonyeWithsownes fulle of hevenish melodye.And dounfrom thennes faste he gan avyseThis litelspot of erthethat with the seeEmbracedisand fully gan despyseThiswrecched worldand held al vaniteeTo respectof the pleyn feliciteeThat is inhevene above; and at the lasteTher hewas slaynhis loking doun he caste;And inhim-self he lough right at the woOf hemthat wepten for his deeth so faste;Anddampned al our werk that folweth soThe blindelustthe which that may not lasteAndsholden al our herte on hevene caste.And forthhe wenteshortly for to telleTher asMercurie sorted him to dwelle. --Swich fynhathlothis Troilus for loveSwich fynhath al his grete worthinesse;Swich fynhath his estat real aboveSwich fynhis lustswich fyn hath his noblesse;Swich fynhath false worldes brotelnesse.And thusbigan his lovinge of CriseydeAs I havetoldand in this wyse he deyde.O yongefresshe folkeshe or sheIn whichthat love up groweth with your ageRepeyrethhoom from worldly vaniteeAnd ofyour herte up-casteth the visageTo thilkegod that after his imageYow madeand thinketh al nis but a fayreThisworldthat passeth sone as floures fayre.And lovethhimthe which that right for loveUpon acrosour soules for to beyeFirststarfand roosand sit in hevene a-bove;For he nilfalsen no wightdar I seyeThat wolhis herte al hoolly on him leye.And sin hebest to love isand most mekeWhatnedeth feyned loves for to seke?Lo hereof Payens corsed olde rytesLo herewhat alle hir goddes may availle;Lo herethese wrecched worldes appetytes;Lo herethe fyn and guerdon for travailleOf IoveAppolloof Marsof swich rascaille!Lo herethe forme of olde clerkes specheInpoetryeif ye hir bokes seche. --O moralGowerthis book I directeTo theeand to the philosophical StrodeTo vouchensaufther nede isto corecteOf yourbenignitees and zeles gode.And tothat sothfast Cristthat starf on rodeWith almyn herte of mercy ever I preye;And to thelord right thus I speke and seye:Thou oonand twoand threeeterne on-lyveThatregnest ay in three and two and oonUncircumscriptand al mayst circumscryveUs fromvisible and invisible foonDefende;and to thy mercyeverichoonSo makeusIesusfor thy grace digneFor loveof mayde and moder thyn benigne! Amen.
ExplicitLiber Troili et Criseydis