Book II
Incipit Prohemium Secundi Libri
Out of these blake wawes for to sayle,O wind, O wind, the weder ginneth clere;For in this see the boot hath swich travayle,Of my conning, that unnethe I it stere:This see clepe I the tempestous matere 5Of desespeyr that Troilus was inne:But now of hope the calendes biginne.
O lady myn, that called art Cleo,Thou be my speed fro this forth, and my muse,To ryme wel this book, til I have do; 10Me nedeth here noon other art to use.For-why to every lovere I me excuse,That of no sentement I this endyte,But out of Latin in my tonge it wryte.
Wherfore I nil have neither thank ne blame 15Of al this werk, but prey yow mekely,Disblameth me if any word be lame,For as myn auctor seyde, so seye I.Eek though I speke of love unfelingly,No wondre is, for it no-thing of newe is; 20A blind man can nat Iuggen wel in hewis.
Ye knowe eek, that in forme of speche is chaungeWith-inne a thousand yeer, and wordes thoThat hadden prys, now wonder nyce and straungeUs thinketh hem; and yet they spake hem so, 25And spedde as wel in love as men now do;Eek for to winne love in sondry ages,In sondry londes, sondry ben usages.
And for-thy if it happe in any wyse,That here be any lovere in this place 30That herkneth, as the storie wol devyse,How Troilus com to his lady grace,And thenketh, so nolde I nat love purchace,Or wondreth on his speche or his doinge,I noot; but it is me no wonderinge; 35
For every wight which that to Rome went,Halt nat o path, or alwey o manere;Eek in som lond were al the gamen shent,If that they ferde in love as men don here,As thus, in open doing or in chere, 40In visitinge, in forme, or seyde hire sawes;For-thy men seyn, ech contree hath his lawes.
Eek scarsly been ther in this place threeThat han in love seid lyk and doon in al;For to thy purpos this may lyken thee, 45And thee right nought, yet al is seyd or shal;Eek som men grave in tree, som in stoon wal,As it bitit; but sin I have begonne,Myn auctor shal I folwen, if I conne.
Exclipit prohemium Secundi Libri.
Incipit Liber Secundus.
In May, that moder is of monthes glade, 50That fresshe floures, blewe, and whyte, and rede,Ben quike agayn, that winter dede made,And ful of bawme is fleting every mede;Whan Phebus doth his brighte bemes spredeRight in the whyte Bole, it so bitidde 55As I shal singe, on Mayes day the thridde,
That Pandarus, for al his wyse speche,Felt eek his part of loves shottes kene,That, coude he never so wel of loving preche,It made his hewe a-day ful ofte grene; 60So shoop it, that hym fil that day a teneIn love, for which in wo to bedde he wente,And made, er it was day, ful many a wente.
The swalwe Proigne, with a sorwful lay,Whan morwe com, gan make hir waymentinge, 65Why she forshapen was; and ever layPandare a-bedde, half in a slomeringe,Til she so neigh him made hir chiteringeHow Tereus gan forth hir suster take,That with the noyse of hir he gan a-wake; 70
And gan to calle, and dresse him up to ryse,Remembringe him his erand was to doneFrom Troilus, and eek his greet empryse;And caste and knew in good plyt was the moneTo doon viage, and took his wey ful sone 75Un-to his neces paleys ther bi-syde;Now Ianus, god of entree, thou him gyde!
Whan he was come un-to his neces place,`Wher is my lady?’ to hir folk seyde he;And they him tolde; and he forth in gan pace, 80And fond, two othere ladyes sete and she,With-inne a paved parlour; and they threeHerden a mayden reden hem the gesteOf the Sege of Thebes, whyl hem leste.
Quod Pandarus, `Ma dame, god yow see, 85With al your book and al the companye!’`Ey, uncle myn, welcome y-wis,’ quod she,And up she roos, and by the hond in hyeShe took him faste, and seyde, `This night thrye,To goode mote it turne, of yow I mette!’ 90And with that word she doun on bench him sette.
`Ye, nece, ye shal fare wel the bet,If god wole, al this yeer,’ quod Pandarus;`But I am sory that I have yow letTo herknen of your book ye preysen thus; 95For goddes love, what seith it? tel it us.Is it of love? O, som good ye me lere!’`Uncle,’ quod she, `your maistresse is not here!’
With that they gonnen laughe, and tho she seyde,`This romaunce is of Thebes, that we rede; 100And we han herd how that king Laius deydeThurgh Edippus his sone, and al that dede;And here we stenten at these lettres rede,How the bisshop, as the book can telle,Amphiorax, fil thurgh the ground to helle.’ 105
Quod Pandarus, `Al this knowe I my-selve,And al the assege of Thebes and the care;For her-of been ther maked bokes twelve:—But lat be this, and tel me how ye fare;Do wey your barbe, and shew your face bare; 110Do wey your book, rys up, and lat us daunce,And lat us don to May som observaunce.’
`A! God forbede!’ quod she. `Be ye mad?Is that a widewes lyf, so god you save?By god, ye maken me right sore a-drad, 115Ye ben so wilde, it semeth as ye rave!It sete me wel bet ay in a caveTo bidde, and rede on holy seyntes lyves;Lat maydens gon to daunce, and yonge wyves.’
`As ever thryve I,’ quod this Pandarus, 120 `Yet coude I telle a thing to doon you pleye.’ `Now, uncle dere,’ quod she, `tel it us For goddes love; is than the assege aweye? I am of Grekes so ferd that I deye.’ `Nay, nay,’ quod he, `as ever mote I thryve! 125 It is a thing wel bet than swiche fyve.’
`Ye, holy god,’ quod she, `what thing is that?What! Bet than swiche fyve? Ey, nay, y-wis!For al this world ne can I reden whatIt sholde been; som Iape, I trowe, is this; 130And but your-selven telle us what it is,My wit is for to arede it al to lene;As help me god, I noot nat what ye meene.’
`And I your borow, ne never shal, for me,This thing be told to yow, as mote I thryve!’ 135`And why so, uncle myn? Why so?’ quod she.`By god,’ quod he, `that wole I telle as blyve;For prouder womman were ther noon on-lyve,And ye it wiste, in al the toun of Troye;I iape nought, as ever have I Ioye!’ 140
Tho gan she wondren more than bifornA thousand fold, and doun hir eyen caste;For never, sith the tyme that she was born,To knowe thing desired she so faste;And with a syk she seyde him at the laste, 145`Now, uncle myn, I nil yow nought displese,Nor axen more, that may do yow disese.’
So after this, with many wordes glade,And freendly tales, and with mery chere,Of this and that they pleyde, and gunnen wade 150In many an unkouth glad and deep matere,As freendes doon, whan they ben met y-fere;Til she gan axen him how Ector ferde,That was the tounes wal and Grekes yerde.
`Ful wel, I thanke it god,’ quod Pandarus, 155`Save in his arm he hath a litel wounde;And eek his fresshe brother Troilus,The wyse worthy Ector the secounde,In whom that ever vertu list abounde,As alle trouthe and alle gentillesse, 160Wysdom, honour, fredom, and worthinesse.’
`In good feith, eem,’ quod she, `that lyketh me;They faren wel, god save hem bothe two!For trewely I holde it greet deynteeA kinges sone in armes wel to do, 165And been of good condiciouns ther-to;For greet power and moral vertu hereIs selde y-seye in o persone y-fere.’
`In good feith, that is sooth,’ quod Pandarus;`But, by my trouthe, the king hath sones tweye, 170That is to mene, Ector and Troilus,That certainly, though that I sholde deye,They been as voyde of vyces, dar I seye,As any men that liveth under the sonne,Hir might is wyde y-knowe, and what they conne. 175
`Of Ector nedeth it nought for to telle:In al this world ther nis a bettre knightThan he, that is of worthinesse welle;And he wel more vertu hath than might.This knoweth many a wys and worthy wight. 180The same prys of Troilus I seye,God help me so, I knowe not swiche tweye.’
`By god,’ quod she, `of Ector that is sooth;Of Troilus the same thing trowe I;For, dredelees, men tellen that he dooth 185In armes day by day so worthily,And bereth him here at hoom so gentillyTo every wight, that al the prys hath heOf hem that me were levest preysed be.’
`Ye sey right sooth, y-wis,’ quod Pandarus; 190`For yesterday, who-so hadde with him been,He might have wondred up-on Troilus;For never yet so thikke a swarm of beenNe fleigh, as Grekes fro him gonne fleen;And thorugh the feld, in everi wightes ere, 195Ther nas no cry but “Troilus is there!”
`Now here, now there, he hunted hem so faste,Ther nas but Grekes blood; and Troilus,Now hem he hurte, and hem alle doun he caste;Ay where he wente, it was arayed thus: 200He was hir deeth, and sheld and lyf for us;That as that day ther dorste noon with-stonde,Whyl that he held his blody swerd in honde.
`Therto he is the freendlieste manOf grete estat, that ever I saw my lyve; 205And wher him list, best felawshipe canTo suche as him thinketh able for to thryve.’And with that word tho Pandarus, as blyve,He took his leve, and seyde, `I wol go henne.’`Nay, blame have I, myn uncle,’ quod she thenne. 210
`What eyleth yow to be thus wery sone,And namelich of wommen? Wol ye so?Nay, sitteth down; by god, I have to doneWith yow, to speke of wisdom er ye go.’And every wight that was a-boute hem tho, 215That herde that, gan fer a-wey to stonde,Whyl they two hadde al that hem liste in honde.
Whan that hir tale al brought was to an ende,Of hire estat and of hir governaunce,Quod Pandarus, `Now is it tyme I wende; 220But yet, I seye, aryseth, lat us daunce,And cast your widwes habit to mischaunce:What list yow thus your-self to disfigure,Sith yow is tid thus fair an aventure?’
`A! Wel bithought! For love of god,’ quod she, 225 `Shal I not witen what ye mene of this?’ `No, this thing axeth layser,’ tho quod he, `And eek me wolde muche greve, y-wis, If I it tolde, and ye it toke amis. Yet were it bet my tonge for to stille 230 Than seye a sooth that were ayeins your wille.
`For, nece, by the goddesse Minerve,And Iuppiter, that maketh the thonder ringe,And by the blisful Venus that I serve,Ye been the womman in this world livinge, 235With-oute paramours, to my wittinge,That I best love, and lothest am to greve,And that ye witen wel your-self, I leve.’
`Y-wis, myn uncle,’ quod she, `grant mercy;Your freendship have I founden ever yit; 240I am to no man holden trewely,So muche as yow, and have so litel quit;And, with the grace of god, emforth my wit,As in my gilt I shal you never offende;And if I have er this, I wol amende. 245
`But, for the love of god, I yow beseche,As ye ben he that I love most and triste,Lat be to me your fremde manere speche,And sey to me, your nece, what yow liste:’And with that word hir uncle anoon hir kiste, 250And seyde, `Gladly, leve nece dere,Tak it for good that I shal seye yow here.’
With that she gan hir eiyen doun to caste,And Pandarus to coghe gan a lyte,And seyde, `Nece, alwey, lo! To the laste, 255How-so it be that som men hem delyteWith subtil art hir tales for to endyte,Yet for al that, in hir entenciounHir tale is al for som conclusioun.
`And sithen thende is every tales strengthe, 260And this matere is so bihovely,What sholde I peynte or drawen it on lengtheTo yow, that been my freend so feithfully?’And with that word he gan right inwardlyBiholden hir, and loken on hir face, 265And seyde, `On suche a mirour goode grace!’
Than thoughte he thus: `If I my tale endyteOught hard, or make a proces any whyle,She shal no savour han ther-in but lyte,And trowe I wolde hir in my wil bigyle. 270For tendre wittes wenen al be wyleTher-as they can nat pleynly understonde;For-thy hir wit to serven wol I fonde—‘
And loked on hir in a besy wyse,And she was war that he byheld hir so, 275And seyde, `Lord! So faste ye me avyse!Sey ye me never er now? What sey ye, no?’`Yes, yes,’ quod he, `and bet wole er I go;But, by my trouthe, I thoughte now if yeBe fortunat, for now men shal it see. 280
`For to every wight som goodly aventureSom tyme is shape, if he it can receyven;And if that he wol take of it no cure,Whan that it commeth, but wilfully it weyven,Lo, neither cas nor fortune him deceyven, 285But right his verray slouthe and wrecchednesse;And swich a wight is for to blame, I gesse.
`Good aventure, O bele nece, have yeFul lightly founden, and ye conne it take;And, for the love of god, and eek of me, 290Cacche it anoon, lest aventure slake.What sholde I lenger proces of it make?Yif me your hond, for in this world is noon,If that yow list, a wight so wel begoon.
`And sith I speke of good entencioun, 295As I to yow have told wel here-biforn,And love as wel your honour and renounAs creature in al this world y-born;By alle the othes that I have yow sworn,And ye be wrooth therfore, or wene I lye, 300Ne shal I never seen yow eft with ye.
`Beth nought agast, ne quaketh nat; wher-to?Ne chaungeth nat for fere so your hewe;For hardely the werste of this is do;And though my tale as now be to yow newe, 305Yet trist alwey, ye shal me finde trewe;And were it thing that me thoughte unsittinge,To yow nolde I no swiche tales bringe.’
`Now, my good eem, for goddes love, I preye,’Quod she, `com of, and tel me what it is; 310For bothe I am agast what ye wol seye,And eek me longeth it to wite, y-wis.For whether it be wel or be amis,Say on, lat me not in this fere dwelle:’`So wol I doon; now herkneth, I shal telle: 315
`Now, nece myn, the kinges dere sone,The goode, wyse, worthy, fresshe, and free,Which alwey for to do wel is his wone,The noble Troilus, so loveth thee,That, bot ye helpe, it wol his bane be. 320Lo, here is al, what sholde I more seye?Doth what yow list, to make him live or deye.
`But if ye lete him deye, I wol sterve;Have her my trouthe, nece, I nil not lyen;Al sholde I with this knyf my throte kerve—‘ 325With that the teres braste out of his yen,And seyde, `If that ye doon us bothe dyen,Thus giltelees, than have ye fisshed faire;What mende ye, though that we bothe apeyre?
`Allas! He which that is my lord so dere, 330That trewe man, that noble gentil knight,That nought desireth but your freendly chere,I see him deye, ther he goth up-right,And hasteth him, with al his fulle might,For to be slayn, if fortune wol assente; 335Allas! That god yow swich a beautee sente!
`If it be so that ye so cruel be,That of his deeth yow liste nought to recche,That is so trewe and worthy, as ye see,No more than of a Iapere or a wrecche, 340If ye be swich, your beautee may not streccheTo make amendes of so cruel a dede;Avysement is good bifore the nede.
`Wo worth the faire gemme vertulees!Wo worth that herbe also that dooth no bote! 345Wo worth that beautee that is routhelees!Wo worth that wight that tret ech under fote!And ye, that been of beautee crop and rote,If therwith-al in you ther be no routhe,Than is it harm ye liven, by my trouthe! 350
`And also thenk wel that this is no gaude;For me were lever, thou and I and heWere hanged, than I sholde been his baude,As heyghe, as men mighte on us alle y-see:I am thyn eem, the shame were to me, 355As wel as thee, if that I sholde assente,Thorugh myn abet, that he thyn honour shente.
`Now understond, for I yow nought requere,To binde yow to him thorugh no beheste,But only that ye make him bettre chere 360Than ye han doon er this, and more feste,So that his lyf be saved, at the leste;This al and som, and playnly our entente;God help me so, I never other mente.
`Lo, this request is not but skile, y-wis, 365Ne doute of reson, pardee, is ther noon.I sette the worste that ye dredden this,Men wolden wondren seen him come or goon:Ther-ayeins answere I thus a-noon,That every wight, but he be fool of kinde, 370Wol deme it love of freendship in his minde.
`What? Who wol deme, though he see a manTo temple go, that he the images eteth?Thenk eek how wel and wysly that he canGoverne him-self, that he no-thing foryeteth, 375That, wher he cometh, he prys and thank him geteth;And eek ther-to, he shal come here so selde,What fors were it though al the toun behelde?
`Swich love of freendes regneth al this toun;And wrye yow in that mantel ever-mo; 380And god so wis be my savacioun,As I have seyd, your beste is to do so.But alwey, goode nece, to stinte his wo,So lat your daunger sucred ben a lyte,That of his deeth ye be nought for to wyte.’ 385
Criseyde, which that herde him in this wyse,Thoughte, `I shal fele what he meneth, y-wis.’`Now, eem,’ quod she, `what wolde ye devyse?What is your reed I sholde doon of this?’`That is wel seyd,’ quod be. `certayn, best is 390That ye him love ayein for his lovinge,As love for love is skilful guerdoninge.
`Thenk eek, how elde wasteth every houreIn eche of yow a party of beautee;And therfore, er that age thee devoure, 395Go love, for, olde, ther wol no wight of thee.Lat this proverbe a lore un-to yow be;“To late y-war, quod Beautee, whan it paste;”And elde daunteth daunger at the laste.
`The kinges fool is woned to cryen loude, 400Whan that him thinketh a womman bereth hir hye,“So longe mote ye live, and alle proude,Til crowes feet be growe under your ye,And sende yow thanne a mirour in to pryeIn whiche that ye may see your face a-morwe!” 405Nece, I bidde wisshe yow no more sorwe.’
With this he stente, and caste adoun the heed,And she bigan to breste a-wepe anoon,And seyde, `Allas, for wo! Why nere I deed?For of this world the feith is al agoon! 410Allas! What sholden straunge to me doon,Whan he, that for my beste freend I wende,Ret me to love, and sholde it me defende?
`Allas! I wolde han trusted, doutelees,That if that I, thurgh my disaventure, 415Had loved other him or Achilles,Ector, or any mannes creature,Ye nolde han had no mercy ne mesureOn me, but alwey had me in repreve;This false world, allas! Who may it leve? 420
`What? Is this al the Ioye and al the feste?Is this your reed, is this my blisful cas?Is this the verray mede of your beheste?Is al this peynted proces seyd, allas!Right for this fyn? O lady myn, Pallas! 425Thou in this dredful cas for me purveye;For so astonied am I that I deye!’
With that she gan ful sorwfully to syke;`A! May it be no bet?’ quod Pandarus;`By god, I shal no-more come here this wyke, 430And god to-forn, that am mistrusted thus;I see ful wel that ye sette lyte of us,Or of our deeth! Allas! I woful wrecche!Mighte he yet live, of me is nought to recche.
`O cruel god, O dispitouse Marte, 435O Furies three of helle, on yow I crye!So lat me never out of this hous departe,If that I mente harm or vilanye!But sith I see my lord mot nedes dye,And I with him, here I me shryve, and seye 440That wikkedly ye doon us bothe deye.
`But sith it lyketh yow that I be deed,By Neptunus, that god is of the see,Fro this forth shal I never eten breedTil I myn owene herte blood may see; 445For certayn, I wole deye as sone as he—‘And up he sterte, and on his wey he raughte,Til she agayn him by the lappe caughte.
Criseyde, which that wel neigh starf for fere,So as she was the ferfulleste wight 450That mighte be, and herde eek with hir ere,And saw the sorwful ernest of the knight,And in his preyere eek saw noon unright,And for the harm that mighte eek fallen more,She gan to rewe and dredde hir wonder sore; 455
And thoughte thus, `Unhappes fallen thikkeAlday for love, and in swich maner cas,As men ben cruel in hem-self and wikke;And if this man slee here him-self, allas!In my presence, it wol be no solas. 460What men wolde of hit deme I can nat seye;It nedeth me ful sleyly for to pleye.’
And with a sorwful syk she seyde thrye,`A! Lord! What me is tid a sory chaunce!For myn estat lyth in Iupartye, 465And eek myn emes lyf lyth in balaunce;But nathelees, with goddes governaunce,I shal so doon, myn honour shal I kepe,And eek his lyf;’ and stinte for to wepe.
`Of harmes two, the lesse is for to chese; 470Yet have I lever maken him good chereIn honour, than myn emes lyf to lese;Ye seyn, ye no-thing elles me requere?’`No, wis,’ quod he, `myn owene nece dere.’`Now wel,’ quod she, `and I wol doon my peyne; 475I shal myn herte ayeins my lust constreyne.
`But that I nil not holden him in honde,Ne love a man, ne can I not, ne mayAyeins my wil; but elles wol I fonde,Myn honour sauf, plese him fro day to day; 480Ther-to nolde I nought ones have seyd nay,But that I dredde, as in my fantasye;But cesse cause, ay cesseth maladye.
`And here I make a protestacioun,That in this proces if ye depper go, 485That certaynly, for no savaciounOf yow, though that ye sterve bothe two,Though al the world on o day be my fo,Ne shal I never on him han other routhe.—‘`I graunte wel,’ quod Pandare, `by my trouthe. 490
`But may I truste wel ther-to,’ quod he, `That of this thing that ye han hight me here, Ye wol it holden trewly un-to me?’ `Ye, doutelees,’ quod she, `myn uncle dere.’ `Ne that I shal han cause in this matere,’ 495 Quod he, `to pleyne, or after yow to preche?’ `Why, no, parde; what nedeth more speche?’
Tho fillen they in othere tales glade,Til at the laste, `O good eem,’ quod she tho,`For love of god, which that us bothe made, 500Tel me how first ye wisten of his wo:Wot noon of hit but ye?’ He seyde, `No.’`Can he wel speke of love?’ quod she, `I preye,Tel me, for I the bet me shal purveye.’
Tho Pandarus a litel gan to smyle, 505And seyde, `By my trouthe, I shal yow telle.This other day, nought gon ful longe whyle,In-with the paleys-gardyn, by a welle,Gan he and I wel half a day to dwelle,Right for to speken of an ordenaunce, 510How we the Grekes myghte disavaunce.
`Sone after that bigonne we to lepe,And casten with our dartes to and fro,Til at the laste he seyde he wolde slepe,And on the gres a-doun he leyde him tho; 515And I after gan rome to and froTil that I herde, as that I welk allone,How he bigan ful wofully to grone.
`Tho gan I stalke him softely bihinde,And sikerly, the sothe for to seyne, 520As I can clepe ayein now to my minde,Right thus to Love he gan him for to pleyne;He seyde, “Lord! Have routhe up-on my peyne,Al have I been rebel in myn entente;Now, MEA CULPA, lord! I me repente. 525
`”O god, that at thy disposiciounLedest the fyn by Iuste purveyaunce,Of every wight, my lowe confessiounAccepte in gree, and send me swich penaunceAs lyketh thee, but from desesperaunce, 530That may my goost departe awey fro thee,Thou be my sheld, for thy benignitee.
`”For certes, lord, so soore hath she me wounded,That stod in blak, with loking of hir yen,That to myn hertes botme it is y-sounded, 535Thorugh which I woot that I mot nedes dyen;This is the worste, I dar me not bi-wryen;And wel the hotter been the gledes rede,That men hem wryen with asshen pale and dede.”
`With that he smoot his heed adoun anoon, 540And gan to motre, I noot what, trewely.And I with that gan stille awey to goon,And leet ther-of as no-thing wist hadde I,And come ayein anoon and stood him by,And seyde, “A-wake, ye slepen al to longe; 545It semeth nat that love dooth yow longe,
`”That slepen so that no man may yow wake.Who sey ever or this so dul a man?”“Ye, freend,” quod he, “do ye your hedes akeFor love, and lat me liven as I can.” 550But though that he for wo was pale and wan,Yet made he tho as freshe a countenaunceAs though he shulde have led the newe daunce.
`This passed forth, til now, this other day,It fel that I com roming al allone 555Into his chaumbre, and fond how that he layUp-on his bed; but man so sore groneNe herde I never, and what that was his mone,Ne wist I nought; for, as I was cominge,Al sodeynly he lefte his compleyninge. 560
`Of which I took somwat suspecioun,And neer I com, and fond he wepte sore;And god so wis be my savacioun,As never of thing hadde I no routhe more.For neither with engyn, ne with no lore, 565Unethes mighte I fro the deeth him kepe;That yet fele I myn herte for him wepe.
`And god wot, never, sith that I was born,Was I so bisy no man for to preche,Ne never was to wight so depe y-sworn, 570Or he me tolde who mighte been his leche.But now to yow rehersen al his speche,Or alle his woful wordes for to soune,Ne bid me not, but ye wol see me swowne.
`But for to save his lyf, and elles nought, 575And to non harm of yow, thus am I driven;And for the love of god that us hath wrought,Swich chere him dooth, that he and I may liven.Now have I plat to yow myn herte shriven;And sin ye woot that myn entente is clene, 580Tak hede ther-of, for I non yvel mene.
`And right good thrift, I prey to god, have ye,That han swich oon y-caught with-oute net;And be ye wys, as ye ben fair to see,Wel in the ring than is the ruby set. 585Ther were never two so wel y-met,Whan ye ben his al hool, as he is youre:Ther mighty god yet graunte us see that houre!’
`Nay, therof spak I not, a, ha!’ quod she, `As helpe me god, ye shenden every deel!’ 590 `O mercy, dere nece,’ anoon quod he, `What-so I spak, I mente nought but weel, By Mars the god, that helmed is of steel; Now beth nought wrooth, my blood, my nece dere.’ `Now wel,’ quod she, `foryeven be it here!’ 595
With this he took his leve, and hoom he wente;And lord, he was glad and wel bigoon!Criseyde aroos, no lenger she ne stente,But straught in-to hir closet wente anoon,And sette here doun as stille as any stoon, 600And every word gan up and doun to winde,That he hadde seyd, as it com hir to minde;
And wex somdel astonied in hir thought,Right for the newe cas; but whan that sheWas ful avysed, tho fond she right nought 605Of peril, why she oughte afered be.For man may love, of possibilitee,A womman so, his herte may to-breste,And she nought love ayein, but-if hir leste.
But as she sat allone and thoughte thus, 610Thascry aroos at skarmish al with-oute,And men cryde in the strete, `See, TroilusHath right now put to flight the Grekes route!’With that gan al hir meynee for to shoute,`A! Go we see, caste up the latis wyde; 615For thurgh this strete he moot to palays ryde;
`For other wey is fro the yate noonOf Dardanus, ther open is the cheyne.’With that com he and al his folk anoonAn esy pas rydinge, in routes tweyne, 620Right as his happy day was, sooth to seyne,For which, men say, may nought disturbed beThat shal bityden of necessitee.
This Troilus sat on his baye stede,Al armed, save his heed, ful richely, 625And wounded was his hors, and gan to blede,On whiche he rood a pas, ful softely;But swych a knightly sighte, trewely,As was on him, was nought, with-outen faile,To loke on Mars, that god is of batayle. 630
So lyk a man of armes and a knightHe was to seen, fulfild of heigh prowesse;For bothe he hadde a body and a mightTo doon that thing, as wel as hardinesse;And eek to seen him in his gere him dresse, 635So fresh, so yong, so weldy semed he,It was an heven up-on him for to see.
His helm to-hewen was in twenty places,That by a tissew heng, his bak bihinde,His sheld to-dasshed was with swerdes and maces, 640In which men mighte many an arwe findeThat thirled hadde horn and nerf and rinde;And ay the peple cryde, `Here cometh our Ioye,And, next his brother, holdere up of Troye!’
For which he wex a litel reed for shame, 645Whan he the peple up-on him herde cryen,That to biholde it was a noble game,How sobreliche he caste doun his yen.Cryseyda gan al his chere aspyen,And leet so softe it in hir herte sinke, 650That to hir-self she seyde, `Who yaf me drinke?’
For of hir owene thought she wex al reed,Remembringe hir right thus, `Lo, this is heWhich that myn uncle swereth he moot be deed,But I on him have mercy and pitee;’ 655And with that thought, for pure a-shamed, sheGan in hir heed to pulle, and that as faste,Whyl he and al the peple for-by paste,
And gan to caste and rollen up and dounWith-inne hir thought his excellent prowesse, 660And his estat, and also his renoun,His wit, his shap, and eek his gentillesse;But most hir favour was, for his distresseWas al for hir, and thoughte it was a routheTo sleen swich oon, if that he mente trouthe. 665
Now mighte som envyous Iangle thus,`This was a sodeyn love; how mighte it beThat she so lightly lovede TroilusRight for the firste sighte; ye, pardee?’Now who-so seyth so, mote he never thee! 670For every thing, a ginning hath it nedeEr al be wrought, with-outen any drede.
For I sey nought that she so sodeynlyYaf him hir love, but that she gan enclyneTo lyke him first, and I have told yow why; 675And after that, his manhod and his pyneMade love with-inne hir for to myne,For which, by proces and by good servyse,He gat hir love, and in no sodeyn wyse.
And also blisful Venus, wel arayed, 680Sat in hir seventhe hous of hevene tho,Disposed wel, and with aspectes payed,To helpen sely Troilus of his wo.And, sooth to seyn, she nas not al a foTo Troilus in his nativitee; 685God woot that wel the soner spedde he.
Now lat us stinte of Troilus a throwe,That rydeth forth, and lat us tourne fasteUn-to Criseyde, that heng hir heed ful lowe,Ther-as she sat allone, and gan to caste 690Wher-on she wolde apoynte hir at the laste,If it so were hir eem ne wolde cesse,For Troilus, up-on hir for to presse.
And, lord! So she gan in hir thought argueIn this matere of which I have yow told, 695And what to doon best were, and what eschue,That plyted she ful ofte in many fold.Now was hir herte warm, now was it cold,And what she thoughte somwhat shal I wryte,As to myn auctor listeth for to endyte. 700
She thoughte wel that Troilus personeShe knew by sighte and eek his gentillesse,And thus she seyde, `Al were it nought to done,To graunte him love, yet, for his worthinesse,It were honour, with pley and with gladnesse, 705In honestee, with swich a lord to dele,For myn estat, and also for his hele.
`Eek, wel wot I my kinges sone is he;And sith he hath to see me swich delyt,If I wolde utterly his sighte flee, 710Peraunter he mighte have me in dispyt,Thurgh which I mighte stonde in worse plyt;Now were I wys, me hate to purchace,With-outen nede, ther I may stonde in grace?
`In every thing, I woot, ther lyth mesure. 715For though a man forbede dronkenesse,He nought for-bet that every creatureBe drinkelees for alwey, as I gesse;Eek sith I woot for me is his distresse,I ne oughte not for that thing him despyse, 720Sith it is so, he meneth in good wyse.
`And eek I knowe, of longe tyme agoon,His thewes goode, and that he is not nyce.Ne avauntour, seyth men, certein, he is noon;To wys is he to do so gret a vyce; 725Ne als I nel him never so cheryce,That he may make avaunt, by Iuste cause;He shal me never binde in swiche a clause.
`Now set a cas, the hardest is, y-wis,Men mighten deme that he loveth me; 730What dishonour were it un-to me, this?May I him lette of that? Why nay, pardee!I knowe also, and alday here and see,Men loven wommen al this toun aboute;Be they the wers? Why, nay, with-outen doute. 735
`I thenk eek how he able is for to haveOf al this noble toun the thriftieste,To been his love, so she hir honour save;For out and out he is the worthieste,Save only Ector, which that is the beste. 740And yet his lyf al lyth now in my cure,But swich is love, and eek myn aventure.
`Ne me to love, a wonder is it nought;For wel wot I my-self, so god me spede,Al wolde I that noon wiste of this thought, 745I am oon the fayreste, out of drede,And goodlieste, who-so taketh hede;And so men seyn in al the toun of Troye.What wonder is it though he of me have Ioye?
`I am myn owene woman, wel at ese, 750I thank it god, as after myn estat;Right yong, and stonde unteyd in lusty lese,With-outen Ialousye or swich debat;Shal noon housbonde seyn to me “Chekmat!”For either they ben ful of Ialousye, 755Or maisterful, or loven novelrye.
`What shal I doon? To what fyn live I thus?Shal I nat loven, in cas if that me leste?What, par dieux! I am nought religious!And though that I myn herte sette at reste 760Upon this knight, that is the worthieste,And kepe alwey myn honour and my name,By alle right, it may do me no shame.’
But right as whan the sonne shyneth brighte,In March, that chaungeth ofte tyme his face, 765And that a cloud is put with wind to flighteWhich over-sprat the sonne as for a space,A cloudy thought gan thorugh hir soule pace,That over-spradde hir brighte thoughtes alle,So that for fere almost she gan to falle. 770
That thought was this: `Allas! Sin I am free,Sholde I now love, and putte in IupartyeMy sikernesse, and thrallen libertee?Allas! How dorste I thenken that folye?May I nought wel in other folk aspye 775Hir dredful Ioye, hir constreynt, and hir peyne?Ther loveth noon, that she nath why to pleyne.
`For love is yet the moste stormy lyf,Right of him-self, that ever was bigonne;For ever som mistrust, or nyce stryf, 780Ther is in love, som cloud is over that sonne:Ther-to we wrecched wommen no-thing conne,Whan us is wo, but wepe and sitte and thinke;Our wreche is this, our owene wo to drinke.
`Also these wikked tonges been so prest 785To speke us harm, eek men be so untrewe,That, right anoon as cessed is hir lest,So cesseth love, and forth to love a newe:But harm y-doon, is doon, who-so it rewe.For though these men for love hem first to-rende, 790Ful sharp biginning breketh ofte at ende.
`How ofte tyme hath it y-knowen be,The treson, that to womman hath be do?To what fyn is swich love, I can nat see,Or wher bicometh it, whan it is ago; 795Ther is no wight that woot, I trowe so,Wher it bycomth; lo, no wight on it sporneth;That erst was no-thing, in-to nought it torneth.
`How bisy, if I love, eek moste I beTo plesen hem that Iangle of love, and demen, 800And coye hem, that they sey non harm of me?For though ther be no cause, yet hem semenAl be for harm that folk hir freendes quemen;And who may stoppen every wikked tonge,Or soun of belles whyl that they be ronge?’ 805
And after that, hir thought bigan to clere,And seyde, `He which that no-thing under-taketh,No thing ne acheveth, be him looth or dere.’And with an other thought hir herte quaketh;Than slepeth hope, and after dreed awaketh; 810Now hoot, now cold; but thus, bi-twixen tweye,She rist hir up, and went hir for to pleye.
Adoun the steyre anoon-right tho she wenteIn-to the gardin, with hir neces three,And up and doun ther made many a wente, 815Flexippe, she, Tharbe, and Antigone,To pleyen, that it Ioye was to see;And othere of hir wommen, a gret route,hir folwede in the gardin al aboute.
This yerd was large, and rayled alle the aleyes, 820And shadwed wel with blosmy bowes grene,And benched newe, and sonded alle the weyes,In which she walketh arm in arm bi-twene;Til at the laste Antigone the sheneGan on a Troian song to singe clere, 825That it an heven was hir voys to here.—
She seyde, `O love, to whom I have and shalBen humble subgit, trewe in myn entente,As I best can, to yow, lord, yeve ich alFor ever-more, myn hertes lust to rente. 830For never yet thy grace no wight senteSo blisful cause as me, my lyf to ledeIn alle Ioye and seurtee, out of drede.
`Ye, blisful god, han me so wel besetIn love, y-wis, that al that bereth lyf 835Imaginen ne cowde how to ben bet;For, lord, with-outen Ialousye or stryf,I love oon which that is most ententyfTo serven wel, unwery or unfeyned,That ever was, and leest with harm distreyned. 840
`As he that is the welle of worthinesse,Of trouthe ground, mirour of goodliheed,Of wit Appollo, stoon of sikernesse,Of vertu rote, of lust findere and heed,Thurgh which is alle sorwe fro me deed, 845Y-wis, I love him best, so doth he me;Now good thrift have he, wher-so that he be!
`Whom sholde I thanke but yow, god of love,Of al this blisse, in which to bathe I ginne?And thanked be ye, lord, for that I love! 850This is the righte lyf that I am inne,To flemen alle manere vyce and sinne:This doth me so to vertu for to entende,That day by day I in my wil amende.
`And who-so seyth that for to love is vyce, 855Or thraldom, though he fele in it distresse,He outher is envyous, or right nyce,Or is unmighty, for his shrewednesse,To loven; for swich maner folk, I gesse,Defamen love, as no-thing of him knowe; 860Thei speken, but they bente never his bowe.
`What is the sonne wers, of kinde righte,Though that a man, for feblesse of his yen,May nought endure on it to see for brighte?Or love the wers, though wrecches on it cryen? 865No wele is worth, that may no sorwe dryen.And for-thy, who that hath an heed of verre,Fro cast of stones war him in the werre!
`But I with al myn herte and al my might,As I have seyd, wol love, un-to my laste, 870My dere herte, and al myn owene knight,In which myn herte growen is so faste,And his in me, that it shal ever laste.Al dredde I first to love him to biginne,Now woot I wel, ther is no peril inne.’ 875
And of hir song right with that word she stente,And therwith-al, `Now, nece,’ quod Criseyde,`Who made this song with so good entente?’Antigone answerde anoon, and seyde,`Ma dame, y-wis, the goodlieste mayde 880Of greet estat in al the toun of Troye;And let hir lyf in most honour and Ioye.’
`Forsothe, so it semeth by hir song,’Quod tho Criseyde, and gan ther-with to syke,And seyde, `Lord, is there swich blisse among 885These lovers, as they conne faire endyte?’`Ye, wis,’ quod freshe Antigone the whyte,`For alle the folk that han or been on lyveNe conne wel the blisse of love discryve.
`But wene ye that every wrecche woot 890The parfit blisse of love? Why, nay, y-wis;They wenen al be love, if oon be hoot;Do wey, do wey, they woot no-thing of this!Men mosten axe at seyntes if it isAught fair in hevene; Why? For they conne telle; 895And axen fendes, is it foul in helle.’
Criseyde un-to that purpos nought answerde,But seyde, `Y-wis, it wol be night as faste.’But every word which that she of hir herde,She gan to prenten in hir herte faste; 900And ay gan love hir lasse for to agasteThan it dide erst, and sinken in hir herte,That she wex somwhat able to converte.
The dayes honour, and the hevenes ye,The nightes fo, al this clepe I the sonne, 905Gan westren faste, and dounward for to wrye,As he that hadde his dayes cours y-ronne;And whyte thinges wexen dimme and donneFor lak of light, and sterres for to appere,That she and al hir folk in wente y-fere. 910
So whan it lyked hir to goon to reste,And voyded weren they that voyden oughte,She seyde, that to slepe wel hir leste.Hir wommen sone til hir bed hir broughte.Whan al was hust, than lay she stille, and thoughte 915Of al this thing the manere and the wyse.Reherce it nedeth nought, for ye ben wyse.
A nightingale, upon a cedre grene,Under the chambre-wal ther as she lay,Ful loude sang ayein the mone shene, 920Paraunter, in his briddes wyse, a layOf love, that made hir herte fresh and gay.That herkned she so longe in good entente,Til at the laste the dede sleep hir hente.
And as she sleep, anoon-right tho hir mette, 925How that an egle, fethered whyt as boon,Under hir brest his longe clawes sette,And out hir herte he rente, and that a-noon,And dide his herte in-to hir brest to goon,Of which she nought agroos, ne no-thing smerte, 930And forth he fleigh, with herte left for herte.
Now lat hir slepe, and we our tales holdeOf Troilus, that is to paleys riden,Fro the scarmuch, of the whiche I tolde,And in his chaumbre sit, and hath abiden 935Til two or three of his messages yedenFor Pandarus, and soughten him ful faste,Til they him founde and broughte him at the laste.
This Pandarus com leping in at ones,And seiyde thus: `Who hath ben wel y-bete 940To-day with swerdes, and with slinge-stones,But Troilus, that hath caught him an hete?’And gan to Iape, and seyde, `Lord, so ye swete!But rys, and lat us soupe and go to reste;’ 944And he answerde him, `Do we as thee leste.’
With al the haste goodly that they mighte,They spedde hem fro the souper un-to bedde;And every wight out at the dore him dighte,And wher him liste upon his wey him spedde;But Troilus, that thoughte his herte bledde 950For wo, til that he herde som tydinge,He seyde, `Freend, shal I now wepe or singe?’
Quod Pandarus, `Ly stille and lat me slepe,And don thyn hood, thy nedes spedde be;And chese, if thou wolt singe or daunce or lepe; 955At shorte wordes, thow shal trowe me.—Sire, my nece wol do wel by thee,And love thee best, by god and by my trouthe,But lak of pursuit make it in thy slouthe.
`For thus ferforth I have thy work bigonne, 960Fro day to day, til this day, by the morwe,Hir love of freendship have I to thee wonne,And also hath she leyd hir feyth to borwe.Algate a foot is hameled of thy sorwe.’What sholde I lenger sermon of it holde? 965As ye han herd bifore, al he him tolde.
But right as floures, thorugh the colde of nightY-closed, stoupen on hir stalke lowe,Redressen hem a-yein the sonne bright,And spreden on hir kinde cours by rowe, 970Right so gan tho his eyen up to throweThis Troilus, and seyde, `O Venus dere,Thy might, thy grace, y-heried be it here!’
And to Pandare he held up bothe his hondes,And seyde, `Lord, al thyn be that I have; 975For I am hool, al brosten been my bondes;A thousand Troians who so that me yave,Eche after other, god so wis me save,Ne mighte me so gladen; lo, myn herte,It spredeth so for Ioye, it wol to-sterte! 980
`But Lord, how shal I doon, how shal I liven?Whan shal I next my dere herte see?How shal this longe tyme a-wey be driven,Til that thou be ayein at hir fro me?Thou mayst answere, “A-byd, a-byd,” but he 985That hangeth by the nekke, sooth to seyne,In grete disese abydeth for the peyne.’
`Al esily, now, for the love of Marte,’Quod Pandarus, `for every thing hath tyme;So longe abyd til that the night departe; 990For al so siker as thow lyst here by me,And god toforn, I wol be there at pryme,And for thy werk somwhat as I shal seye,Or on som other wight this charge leye.
`For pardee, god wot, I have ever yit 995Ben redy thee to serve, and to this nightHave I nought fayned, but emforth my witDon al thy lust, and shal with al my might.Do now as I shal seye, and fare a-right;And if thou nilt, wyte al thy-self thy care, 1000On me is nought along thyn yvel fare.
`I woot wel that thow wyser art than IA thousand fold, but if I were as thou,God help me so, as I wolde outrely,Right of myn owene hond, wryte hir right now 1005A lettre, in which I wolde hir tellen howI ferde amis, and hir beseche of routhe;Now help thy-self, and leve it not for slouthe.
`And I my-self shal ther-with to hir goon;And whan thou wost that I am with hir there, 1010Worth thou up-on a courser right anoon,Ye, hardily, right in thy beste gere,And ryd forth by the place, as nought ne were,And thou shalt finde us, if I may, sittingeAt som windowe, in-to the strete lokinge. 1015
`And if thee list, than maystow us saluwe,And up-on me make thy contenaunce;But, by thy lyf, be war and faste eschuweTo tarien ought, god shilde us fro mischaunce!Ryd forth thy wey, and hold thy governaunce; 1020And we shal speke of thee som-what, I trowe,Whan Thou art goon, to do thyne eres glowe!
`Touching thy lettre, thou art wys y-nough,I woot thow nilt it digneliche endyte;As make it with thise argumentes tough; 1025Ne scrivenish or craftily thou it wryte;Beblotte it with thy teres eek a lyte;And if thou wryte a goodly word al softe,Though it be good, reherce it not to ofte.
`For though the beste harpour upon lyve 1030Wolde on the beste souned Ioly harpeThat ever was, with alle his fingres fyve,Touche ay o streng, or ay o werbul harpe,Were his nayles poynted never so sharpe,It shulde maken every wight to dulle, 1035To here his glee, and of his strokes fulle.
`Ne Iompre eek no discordaunt thing y-fere,As thus, to usen termes of phisyk;In loves termes, hold of thy matereThe forme alwey, and do that it be lyk; 1040For if a peyntour wolde peynte a pykWith asses feet, and hede it as an ape,It cordeth nought; so nere it but a Iape.’
This counseyl lyked wel to Troilus;But, as a dreedful lover, he seyde this:—1045`Allas, my dere brother Pandarus,I am ashamed for to wryte, y-wis,Lest of myn innocence I seyde a-mis,Or that she nolde it for despyt receyve;Thanne were I deed, ther mighte it no-thing weyve.’ 1050
To that Pandare answerde, `If thee lest,Do that I seye, and lat me therwith goon;For by that lord that formed est and west,I hope of it to bringe answere anoonRight of hir hond, and if that thou nilt noon, 1055Lat be; and sory mote he been his lyve,Ayeins thy lust that helpeth thee to thryve.’
Quod Troilus, `Depardieux, I assente;Sin that thee list, I will aryse and wryte;And blisful god preye ich, with good entente, 1060The vyage, and the lettre I shal endyte,So spede it; and thou, Minerva, the whyte,Yif thou me wit my lettre to devyse:’And sette him doun, and wroot right in this wyse.—
First he gan hir his righte lady calle, 1065His hertes lyf, his lust, his sorwes leche,His blisse, and eek these othere termes alle,That in swich cas these loveres alle seche;And in ful humble wyse, as in his speche,He gan him recomaunde un-to hir grace; 1070To telle al how, it axeth muchel space.
And after this, ful lowly he hir praydeTo be nought wrooth, though he, of his folye,So hardy was to hir to wryte, and seyde,That love it made, or elles moste he dye, 1075And pitously gan mercy for to crye;And after that he seyde, and ley ful loude,Him-self was litel worth, and lesse he coude;
And that she sholde han his conning excused,That litel was, and eek he dredde hir so, 1080And his unworthinesse he ay acused;And after that, than gan he telle his woo;But that was endeles, with-outen ho;And seyde, he wolde in trouthe alwey him holde;—And radde it over, and gan the lettre folde. 1085
And with his salte teres gan he batheThe ruby in his signet, and it setteUpon the wex deliverliche and rathe;Ther-with a thousand tymes, er he lette,He kiste tho the lettre that he shette, 1090And seyde, `Lettre, a blisful desteneeThee shapen is, my lady shal thee see.’
This Pandare took the lettre, and that by tymeA-morwe, and to his neces paleys sterte,And faste he swoor, that it was passed pryme, 1095And gan to Iape, and seyde, `Y-wis, myn herte,So fresh it is, al-though it sore smerte,I may not slepe never a Mayes morwe;I have a Ioly wo, a lusty sorwe.’
Criseyde, whan that she hir uncle herde, 1100With dreedful herte, and desirous to hereThe cause of his cominge, thus answerde:`Now by your feyth, myn uncle,’ quod she, `dere,What maner windes gydeth yow now here?Tel us your Ioly wo and your penaunce, 1105How ferforth be ye put in loves daunce.’
`By god,’ quod he, `I hoppe alwey bihinde!’And she to-laugh, it thoughte hir herte breste.Quod Pandarus, `Loke alwey that ye findeGame in myn hood, but herkneth, if yow leste; 1110Ther is right now come in-to toune a geste,A Greek espye, and telleth newe thinges,For which I come to telle yow tydinges.
`Into the gardin go we, and we shal here,Al prevely, of this a long sermoun.’ 1115With that they wenten arm in arm y-fereIn-to the gardin from the chaumbre doun.And whan that he so fer was that the sounOf that he speke, no man here mighte,He seyde hir thus, and out the lettre plighte, 1120
`Lo, he that is al hoolly youres freeHim recomaundeth lowly to your grace,And sent to you this lettre here by me;Avyseth you on it, whan ye han space,And of som goodly answere yow purchace; 1125Or, helpe me god, so pleynly for to seyne,He may not longe liven for his peyne.’
Ful dredfully tho gan she stonde stille,And took it nought, but al hir humble chereGan for to chaunge, and seyde, `Scrit ne bille, 1130For love of god, that toucheth swich matere,Ne bring me noon; and also, uncle dere,To myn estat have more reward, I preye,Than to his lust; what sholde I more seye?
`And loketh now if this be resonable, 1135And letteth nought, for favour ne for slouthe,To seyn a sooth; now were it covenableTo myn estat, by god, and by your trouthe,To taken it, or to han of him routhe,In harming of my-self or in repreve? 1140Ber it a-yein, for him that ye on leve!’
This Pandarus gan on hir for to stare,And seyde, `Now is this the grettest wonderThat ever I sey! Lat be this nyce fare!To deethe mote I smiten be with thonder, 1145If, for the citee which that stondeth yonder,Wolde I a lettre un-to yow bringe or takeTo harm of yow; what list yow thus it make?
`But thus ye faren, wel neigh alle and some,That he that most desireth yow to serve, 1150Of him ye recche leest wher he bicome,And whether that he live or elles sterve.But for al that that ever I may deserve,Refuse it nought,’ quod he, and hente hir faste,And in hir bosom the lettre doun he thraste, 1155
And seyde hire, `Now cast it awey anoon,That folk may seen and gauren on us tweye.’Quod she, `I can abyde til they be goon,’And gan to smyle, and seyde hym, `Eem, I preye,Swich answere as yow list, your-self purveye, 1160For trewely I nil no lettre wryte.’`No? than wol I,’ quod he, `so ye endyte.’
Therwith she lough, and seyde, `Go we dyne.’And he gan at him-self to iape faste,And seyde, `Nece, I have so greet a pyne 1165For love, that every other day I faste’—And gan his beste Iapes forth to caste;And made hir so to laughe at his folye,That she for laughter wende for to dye.
And whan that she was comen in-to halle, 1170`Now, eem,’ quod she, `we wol go dine anoon;’And gan some of hir women to hir calle,And streyght in-to hir chaumbre gan she goon;But of hir besinesses, this was oonA-monges othere thinges, out of drede, 1175Ful prively this lettre for to rede;
Avysed word by word in every lyne,And fond no lak, she thoughte he coude good;And up it putte, and went hir in to dyne.But Pandarus, that in a study stood, 1180Er he was war, she took him by the hood,And seyde, `Ye were caught er that ye wiste;’`I vouche sauf,’ quod he. `do what yow liste.’
Tho wesshen they, and sette hem doun and ete;And after noon ful sleyly Pandarus 1185Gan drawe him to the window next the strete,And seyde, `Nece, who hath arayed thusThe yonder hous, that stant afor-yeyn us?’`Which hous?’ quod she, and gan for to biholde,And knew it wel, and whos it was him tolde, 1190
And fillen forth in speche of thinges smale,And seten in the window bothe tweye.Whan Pandarus saw tyme un-to his tale,And saw wel that hir folk were alle aweye,`Now, nece myn, tel on,’ quod he; `I seye, 1195How liketh yow the lettre that ye woot?Can he ther-on? For, by my trouthe, I noot.’
Therwith al rosy hewed tho wex she,And gan to humme, and seyde, `So I trowe.’`Aquyte him wel, for goddes love,’ quod he; 1200`My-self to medes wol the lettre sowe.’And held his hondes up, and sat on knowe,`Now, goode nece, be it never so lyte,Yif me the labour, it to sowe and plyte.’
`Ye, for I can so wryte,’ quod she tho; 1205`And eek I noot what I sholde to him seye.’`Nay, nece,’ quod Pandare, `sey nat so;Yet at the leste thanketh him, I preye,Of his good wil, and doth him not to deye.Now for the love of me, my nece dere, 1210Refuseth not at this tyme my preyere.’
`Depar-dieux,’ quod she, `God leve al be wel!God help me so, this is the firste lettreThat ever I wroot, ye, al or any del.’And in-to a closet, for to avyse hir bettre, 1215She wente allone, and gan hir herte unfettreOut of disdaynes prison but a lyte;And sette hir doun, and gan a lettre wryte,
Of which to telle in short is myn ententeTheffect, as fer as I can understonde:—1220She thonked him of al that he wel menteTowardes hir, but holden him in hondeShe nolde nought, ne make hir-selven bondeIn love, but as his suster, him to plese,She wolde fayn to doon his herte an ese. 1225
She shette it, and to Pandarus in gan goon,There as he sat and loked in-to the strete,And doun she sette hir by him on a stoonOf Iaspre, up-on a quisshin gold y-bete,And seyde, `As wisly helpe me god the grete, 1230I never dide a thing with more peyneThan wryte this, to which ye me constreyne;’
And took it him: He thonked hir and seyde,`God woot, of thing ful ofte looth bigonneCometh ende good; and nece myn, Criseyde, 1235That ye to him of hard now ben y-wonneOughte he be glad, by god and yonder sonne!For-why men seyth, “Impressiounes lighteFul lightly been ay redy to the flighte.’
`But ye han pleyed tyraunt neigh to longe, 1240And hard was it your herte for to grave;Now stint, that ye no longer on it honge,Al wolde ye the forme of daunger save.But hasteth yow to doon him Ioye have;For trusteth wel, to longe y-doon hardnesse 1245Causeth despyt ful often, for destresse.’
And right as they declamed this matere,Lo, Troilus, right at the stretes ende,Com ryding with his tenthe some y-fere,Al softely, and thiderward gan bende 1250Ther-as they sete, as was his way to wendeTo paleys-ward; and Pandare him aspyde,And seyde, `Nece, y-see who cometh here ryde!
`O flee not in, he seeth us, I suppose;Lest he may thinke that ye him eschuwe.’ 1255`Nay, nay,’ quod she, and wex as reed as rose.With that he gan hir humbly to saluweWith dreedful chere, and oft his hewes muwe;And up his look debonairly he caste,And bekked on Pandare, and forth he paste. 1260
God woot if he sat on his hors a-right,Or goodly was beseyn, that ilke day!God woot wher he was lyk a manly knight!What sholde I drecche, or telle of his aray?Criseyde, which that alle these thinges say, 1265To telle in short, hir lyked al y-fere,His persone, his aray, his look, his chere,
His goodly manere, and his gentillesse,So wel, that never, sith that she was born,Ne hadde she swich routhe of his distresse; 1270And how-so she hath hard ben her-biforn,To god hope I, she hath now caught a thorn,She shal not pulle it out this nexte wyke;God sende mo swich thornes on to pyke!
Pandare, which that stood hir faste by, 1275Felte iren hoot, and he bigan to smyte,And seyde, `Nece, I pray yow hertely,Tel me that I shal axen yow a lyte:A womman, that were of his deeth to wyte,With-outen his gilt, but for hir lakked routhe, 1280Were it wel doon?’ Quod she, `Nay, by my trouthe!’
`God help me so,’ quod he, `ye sey me sooth.Ye felen wel your-self that I not lye;Lo, yond he rit!’ Quod she, `Ye, so he dooth!’`Wel,’ quod Pandare, `as I have told yow thrye, 1285Lat be youre nyce shame and youre folye,And spek with him in esing of his herte;Lat nycetee not do yow bothe smerte.’
But ther-on was to heven and to done;Considered al thing, it may not be; 1290And why, for shame; and it were eek to soneTo graunten him so greet a libertee.`For playnly hir entente,’ as seyde she,`Was for to love him unwist, if she mighte,And guerdon him with no-thing but with sighte.’ 1295
But Pandarus thoughte, `It shal not be so,If that I may; this nyce opiniounShal not be holden fully yeres two.’What sholde I make of this a long sermoun?He moste assente on that conclusioun, 1300As for the tyme; and whan that it was eve,And al was wel, he roos and took his leve.
And on his wey ful faste homward he spedde,And right for Ioye he felte his herte daunce;And Troilus he fond alone a-bedde, 1305That lay as dooth these loveres, in a traunce,Bitwixen hope and derk desesperaunce.But Pandarus, right at his in-cominge,He song, as who seyth, `Lo! Sumwhat I bringe,’
And seyde, `Who is in his bed so sone 1310Y-buried thus?’ `It am I, freend,’ quod he.`Who, Troilus? Nay, helpe me so the mone,’Quod Pandarus, `Thou shalt aryse and seeA charme that was sent right now to thee,The which can helen thee of thyn accesse, 1315If thou do forth-with al thy besinesse.’
`Ye, through the might of god!’ quod Troilus.And Pandarus gan him the lettre take,And seyde, `Pardee, god hath holpen us;Have here a light, and loke on al this blake.’ 1320But ofte gan the herte glade and quakeOf Troilus, whyl that he gan it rede,So as the wordes yave him hope or drede.
But fynally, he took al for the besteThat she him wroot, for somwhat he biheld 1325On which, him thoughte, he mighte his herte reste,Al covered she the wordes under sheld.Thus to the more worthy part he held,That, what for hope and Pandarus biheste,His grete wo for-yede he at the leste. 1330
But as we may alday our-selven see,Through more wode or col, the more fyr;Right so encrees hope, of what it be,Therwith ful ofte encreseth eek desyr;Or, as an ook cometh of a litel spyr, 1335So through this lettre, which that she him sente,Encresen gan desyr, of which he brente.
Wherfore I seye alwey, that day and nightThis Troilus gan to desiren moreThan he dide erst, thurgh hope, and dide his might 1340To pressen on, as by Pandarus lore,And wryten to hir of his sorwes soreFro day to day; he leet it not refreyde,That by Pandare he wroot somwhat or seyde;
And dide also his othere observaunces 1345That to a lovere longeth in this cas;And, after that these dees turnede on chaunces,So was he outher glad or seyde `Allas!’And held after his gestes ay his pas;And aftir swiche answeres as he hadde, 1350So were his dayes sory outher gladde.
But to Pandare alwey was his recours,And pitously gan ay til him to pleyne,And him bisoughte of rede and som socours;And Pandarus, that sey his wode peyne, 1355Wex wel neigh deed for routhe, sooth to seyne,And bisily with al his herte casteSom of his wo to sleen, and that as faste;
And seyde, `Lord, and freend, and brother dere,God woot that thy disese dooth me wo. 1360But woltow stinten al this woful chere,And, by my trouthe, or it be dayes two,And god to-forn, yet shal I shape it so,That thou shalt come in-to a certayn place,Ther-as thou mayst thy-self hir preye of grace. 1365
`And certainly, I noot if thou it wost,But tho that been expert in love it seye,It is oon of the thinges that furthereth most,A man to have a leyser for to preye,And siker place his wo for to biwreye; 1370For in good herte it moot som routhe impresse,To here and see the giltles in distresse.
`Paraunter thenkestow: though it be soThat kinde wolde doon hir to biginneTo han a maner routhe up-on my wo, 1375Seyth Daunger, “Nay, thou shalt me never winne;So reuleth hir hir hertes goost with-inne,That, though she bende, yet she stant on rote;What in effect is this un-to my bote?”
`Thenk here-ayeins, whan that the sturdy ook, 1380On which men hakketh ofte, for the nones,Receyved hath the happy falling strook,The grete sweigh doth it come al at ones,As doon these rokkes or these milne-stones.For swifter cours cometh thing that is of wighte, 1385Whan it descendeth, than don thinges lighte.
`And reed that boweth doun for every blast,Ful lightly, cesse wind, it wol aryse;But so nil not an ook whan it is cast;It nedeth me nought thee longe to forbyse. 1390Men shal reioysen of a greet empryseAcheved wel, and stant with-outen doute,Al han men been the lenger ther-aboute.
`But, Troilus, yet tel me, if thee lest,A thing now which that I shal axen thee; 1395Which is thy brother that thou lovest bestAs in thy verray hertes privetee?’`Y-wis, my brother Deiphebus,’ quod he.`Now,’ quod Pandare, `er houres twyes twelve,He shal thee ese, unwist of it him-selve. 1400
`Now lat me allone, and werken as I may,’Quod he; and to Deiphebus wente he thoWhich hadde his lord and grete freend ben ay;Save Troilus, no man he lovede so.To telle in short, with-outen wordes mo, 1405Quod Pandarus, `I pray yow that ye beFreend to a cause which that toucheth me.’
`Yis, pardee,’ quod Deiphebus, `wel thow wost,In al that ever I may, and god to-fore,Al nere it but for man I love most, 1410My brother Troilus; but sey wherforeIt is; for sith that day that I was bore,I nas, ne never-mo to been I thinke,Ayeins a thing that mighte thee for-thinke.’
Pandare gan him thonke, and to him seyde, 1415`Lo, sire, I have a lady in this toun,That is my nece, and called is Criseyde,Which some men wolden doon oppressioun,And wrongfully have hir possessioun:Wherfor I of your lordship yow biseche 1420To been our freend, with-oute more speche.’
Deiphebus him answerde, `O, is not this,That thow spekest of to me thus straungely,Criseyda, my freend?’ He seyde, `Yis.’`Than nedeth,’ quod Deiphebus, `hardely, 1425Na-more to speke, for trusteth wel, that IWol be hir champioun with spore and yerde;I roughte nought though alle hir foos it herde.
`But tel me how, thou that woost al this matere,How I might best avaylen? Now lat see.’ 1430Quod Pandarus; `If ye, my lord so dere,Wolden as now don this honour to me,To preyen hir to-morwe, lo, that sheCome un-to yow hir pleyntes to devyse,Hir adversaries wolde of it agryse. 1435
`And if I more dorste preye as now,And chargen yow to have so greet travayle,To han som of your bretheren here with yow,That mighten to hir cause bet avayle,Than, woot I wel, she mighte never fayle 1440For to be holpen, what at your instaunce,What with hir othere freendes governaunce.’
Deiphebus, which that comen was, of kinde,To al honour and bountee to consente,Answerde, `It shal be doon; and I can finde 1445Yet gretter help to this in myn entente.What wolt thow seyn, if I for Eleyne senteTo speke of this? I trowe it be the beste;For she may leden Paris as hir leste.
`Of Ector, which that is my lord, my brother, 1450It nedeth nought to preye him freend to be;For I have herd him, o tyme and eek other,Speke of Criseyde swich honour, that heMay seyn no bet, swich hap to him hath she.It nedeth nought his helpes for to crave; 1455He shal be swich, right as we wole him have.
`Spek thou thy-self also to TroilusOn my bihalve, and pray him with us dyne.’`Sire, al this shal be doon,’ quod Pandarus;And took his leve, and never gan to fyne, 1460But to his neces hous, as streyt as lyne,He com; and fond hir fro the mete aryse;And sette him doun, and spak right in this wyse.
He seyde, `O veray god, so have I ronne!Lo, nece myn, see ye nought how I swete? 1465I noot whether ye the more thank me conne.Be ye nought war how that fals PolipheteIs now aboute eft-sones for to plete,And bringe on yow advocacyes newe?’`I? No,’ quod she, and chaunged al hir hewe. 1470
`What is he more aboute, me to dreccheAnd doon me wrong? What shal I do, allas?Yet of him-self no-thing ne wolde I recche,Nere it for Antenor and Eneas,That been his freendes in swich maner cas; 1475But, for the love of god, myn uncle dere,No fors of that; lat him have al y-fere;
`With-outen that I have ynough for us.’`Nay,’ quod Pandare, `it shal no-thing be so.For I have been right now at Deiphebus, 1480And Ector, and myne othere lordes mo,And shortly maked eche of hem his fo;That, by my thrift, he shal it never winneFor ought he can, whan that so he biginne.’
And as they casten what was best to done, 1485Deiphebus, of his owene curtasye,Com hir to preye, in his propre persone,To holde him on the morwe companyeAt diner, which she nolde not denye,But goodly gan to his preyere obeye. 1490He thonked hir, and wente up-on his weye.
Whanne this was doon, this Pandare up a-noon,To telle in short, and forth gan for to wendeTo Troilus, as stille as any stoon;And al this thing he tolde him, word and ende; 1495And how that he Deiphebus gan to blende;And seyde him, `Now is tyme, if that thou conne,To bere thee wel to-morwe, and al is wonne.
`Now spek, now prey, now pitously compleyne;Lat not for nyce shame, or drede, or slouthe; 1500Som-tyme a man mot telle his owene peyne;Bileve it, and she shal han on thee routhe;Thou shalt be saved by thy feyth, in trouthe.But wel wot I, thou art now in a drede;And what it is, I leye, I can arede. 1505
`Thow thinkest now, “How sholde I doon al this?For by my cheres mosten folk aspye,That for hir love is that I fare a-mis;Yet hadde I lever unwist for sorwe dye.”Now thenk not so, for thou dost greet folye. 1510For I right now have founden o manereOf sleighte, for to coveren al thy chere.
`Thow shalt gon over night, and that as blyve,Un-to Deiphebus hous, as thee to pleye,Thy maladye a-wey the bet to dryve, 1515For-why thou semest syk, soth for to seye.Sone after that, doun in thy bed thee leye,And sey, thow mayst no lenger up endure,And ly right there, and byde thyn aventure.
`Sey that thy fever is wont thee for to take 1520The same tyme, and lasten til a-morwe;And lat see now how wel thou canst it make,For, par-dee, syk is he that is in sorwe.Go now, farwel! And, Venus here to borwe,I hope, and thou this purpos holde ferme, 1525Thy grace she shal fully ther conferme.’
Quod Troilus, `Y-wis, thou nedeleesConseylest me, that sykliche I me feyne,For I am syk in ernest, doutelees,So that wel neigh I sterve for the peyne.’ 1530Quod Pandarus, `Thou shalt the bettre pleyne,And hast the lasse need to countrefete;For him men demen hoot that men seen swete.
`Lo, holde thee at thy triste cloos, and IShal wel the deer un-to thy bowe dryve.’ 1535Therwith he took his leve al softely,And Troilus to paleys wente blyve.So glad ne was he never in al his lyve;And to Pandarus reed gan al assente,And to Deiphebus hous at night he wente. 1540
What nedeth yow to tellen al the chereThat Deiphebus un-to his brother made,Or his accesse, or his siklych manere,How men gan him with clothes for to lade,Whan he was leyd, and how men wolde him glade? 1545But al for nought; he held forth ay the wyseThat ye han herd Pandare er this devyse.
But certeyn is, er Troilus him leyde,Deiphebus had him prayed, over night,To been a freend and helping to Criseyde. 1550God woot, that he it grauntede anon-right,To been hir fulle freend with al his might.But swich a nede was to preye him thenne,As for to bidde a wood man for to renne.
The morwen com, and neighen gan the tyme 1555Of meel-tyd, that the faire quene EleyneShoop hir to been, an houre after the pryme,With Deiphebus, to whom she nolde feyne;But as his suster, hoomly, sooth to seyne,She com to diner in hir playn entente. 1560But god and Pandare wiste al what this mente.
Com eek Criseyde, al innocent of this,Antigone, hir sister Tarbe also;But flee we now prolixitee best is,For love of god, and lat us faste go 1565Right to the effect, with-oute tales mo,Why al this folk assembled in this place;And lat us of hir saluinges pace.
Gret honour dide hem Deiphebus, certeyn,And fedde hem wel with al that mighte lyke. 1570But ever-more, `Allas!’ was his refreyn,`My goode brother Troilus, the syke,Lyth yet”—and therwith-al he gan to syke;And after that, he peyned him to gladeHem as he mighte, and chere good he made. 1575
Compleyned eek Eleyne of his syknesseSo feithfully, that pitee was to here,And every wight gan waxen for accesseA leche anoon, and seyde, `In this manereMen curen folk; this charme I wol yow lere.’ 1580But ther sat oon, al list hir nought to teche,That thoughte, best coude I yet been his leche.
After compleynt, him gonnen they to preyse,As folk don yet, whan som wight hath bigonneTo preyse a man, and up with prys him reyse 1585A thousand fold yet hyer than the sonne:—`He is, he can, that fewe lordes conne.’And Pandarus, of that they wolde afferme,He not for-gat hir preysing to conferme.
Herde al this thing Criseyde wel y-nough, 1590And every word gan for to notifye;For which with sobre chere hir herte lough;For who is that ne wolde hir glorifye,To mowen swich a knight don live or dye?But al passe I, lest ye to longe dwelle; 1595For for o fyn is al that ever I telle.
The tyme com, fro diner for to ryse,And, as hem oughte, arisen everychoon,And gonne a while of this and that devyse.But Pandarus brak al this speche anoon, 1600And seyde to Deiphebus, `Wole ye goon,If youre wille be, as I yow preyde,To speke here of the nedes of Criseyde?’
Eleyne, which that by the hond hir held,Took first the tale, and seyde, `Go we blyve;’ 1605And goodly on Criseyde she biheld,And seyde, `Ioves lat him never thryve,That dooth yow harm, and bringe him sone of lyve!And yeve me sorwe, but he shal it rewe,If that I may, and alle folk be trewe.’ 1610
`Tel thou thy neces cas,’ quod DeiphebusTo Pandarus, `for thou canst best it telle.’—`My lordes and my ladyes, it stant thus;What sholde I lenger,’ quod he, `do yow dwelle?’He rong hem out a proces lyk a belle, 1615Up-on hir fo, that highte Poliphete,So heynous, that men mighte on it spete.
Answerde of this ech worse of hem than other,And Poliphete they gonnen thus to warien,`An-honged be swich oon, were he my brother; 1620And so he shal, for it ne may not varien.’What sholde I lenger in this tale tarien?Pleynly, alle at ones, they hir hightenTo been hir helpe in al that ever they mighten.
Spak than Eleyne, and seyde, `Pandarus, 1625Woot ought my lord, my brother, this matere,I mene, Ector? Or woot it Troilus?’He seyde, `Ye, but wole ye now me here?Me thinketh this, sith Troilus is here,It were good, if that ye wolde assente, 1630She tolde hir-self him al this, er she wente.
`For he wole have the more hir grief at herte,By cause, lo, that she a lady is;And, by your leve, I wol but right in sterte,And do yow wite, and that anoon, y-wis, 1635If that he slepe, or wole ought here of this.’And in he lepte, and seyde him in his ere,`God have thy soule, y-brought have I thy bere!’
To smylen of this gan tho Troilus,And Pandarus, with-oute rekeninge, 1640Out wente anoon to Eleyne and Deiphebus,And seyde hem, `So there be no taryinge,Ne more pres, he wol wel that ye bringeCriseyda, my lady, that is here;And as he may enduren, he wole here. 1645
`But wel ye woot, the chaumbre is but lyte,And fewe folk may lightly make it warm;Now loketh ye, (for I wol have no wyte,To bringe in prees that mighte doon him harmOr him disesen, for my bettre arm), 1650Wher it be bet she byde til eft-sones;Now loketh ye, that knowen what to doon is.
`I sey for me, best is, as I can knowe,That no wight in ne wente but ye tweye,But it were I, for I can, in a throwe, 1655Reherce hir cas unlyk that she can seye;And after this, she may him ones preyeTo ben good lord, in short, and take hir leve;This may not muchel of his ese him reve.
`And eek, for she is straunge, he wol forbere 1660His ese, which that him thar nought for yow;Eek other thing that toucheth not to here,He wol me telle, I woot it wel right now,That secret is, and for the tounes prow.’And they, that no-thing knewe of his entente, 1665With-oute more, to Troilus in they wente.
Eleyne, in al hir goodly softe wyse,Gan him saluwe, and womanly to pleye,And seyde, `Ywis, ye moste alweyes aryse!Now fayre brother, beth al hool, I preye!’ 1670And gan hir arm right over his sholder leye,And him with al hir wit to recomforte;As she best coude, she gan him to disporte.
So after this quod she, `We yow biseke,My dere brother, Deiphebus and I, 1675For love of god, and so doth Pandare eke,To been good lord and freend, right hertely,Un-to Criseyde, which that certeinlyReceyveth wrong, as woot wel here Pandare,That can hir cas wel bet than I declare.’ 1680
This Pandarus gan newe his tunge affyle,And al hir cas reherce, and that anoon;Whan it was seyd, sone after, in a whyle,Quod Troilus, `As sone as I may goon,I wol right fayn with al my might ben oon, 1685Have god my trouthe, hir cause to sustene.’`Good thrift have ye,’ quod Eleyne the quene.
Quod Pandarus, `And it your wille beThat she may take hir leve, er that she go?’`O, elles god for-bede,’ tho quod he, 1690`If that she vouche sauf for to do so.’And with that word quod Troilus, `Ye two,Deiphebus, and my suster leef and dere,To yow have I to speke of o matere,
`To been avysed by your reed the bettre’:—1695And fond, as hap was, at his beddes heed,The copie of a tretis and a lettre,That Ector hadde him sent to axen reed,If swich a man was worthy to ben deed,Woot I nought who; but in a grisly wyse 1700He preyede hem anoon on it avyse.
Deiphebus gan this lettre to unfoldeIn ernest greet; so did Eleyne the quene;And rominge outward, fast it gan biholde,Downward a steyre, in-to an herber grene. 1705This ilke thing they redden hem bi-twene;And largely, the mountaunce of an houre,Thei gonne on it to reden and to poure.
Now lat hem rede, and turne we anoonTo Pandarus, that gan ful faste prye 1710That al was wel, and out he gan to goonIn-to the grete chambre, and that in hye,And seyde, `God save al this companye!Com, nece myn; my lady quene EleyneAbydeth yow, and eek my lordes tweyne. 1715
`Rys, take with yow your nece Antigone,Or whom yow list, or no fors, hardily;The lesse prees, the bet; com forth with me,And loke that ye thonke humblelyHem alle three, and, whan ye may goodly 1720Your tyme y-see, taketh of hem your leve,Lest we to longe his restes him bireve.’
Al innocent of Pandarus entente,Quod tho Criseyde, `Go we, uncle dere’;And arm in arm inward with him she wente, 1725Avysed wel hir wordes and hir chere;And Pandarus, in ernestful manere,Seyde, `Alle folk, for goddes love, I preye,Stinteth right here, and softely yow pleye.
`Aviseth yow what folk ben here with-inne, 1730And in what plyt oon is, god him amende!And inward thus ful softely biginne;Nece, I conjure and heighly yow defende,On his half, which that sowle us alle sende,And in the vertue of corounes tweyne, 1735Slee nought this man, that hath for yow this peyne!
`Fy on the devel! Thenk which oon he is,And in what plyt he lyth; com of anoon;Thenk al swich taried tyd, but lost it nis!That wol ye bothe seyn, whan ye ben oon. 1740Secoundelich, ther yet devyneth noonUp-on yow two; come of now, if ye conne;Whyl folk is blent, lo, al the tyme is wonne!
`In titering, and pursuite, and delayes,The folk devyne at wagginge of a stree; 1745And though ye wolde han after merye dayes,Than dar ye nought, and why? For she, and sheSpak swich a word; thus loked he, and he;Lest tyme I loste, I dar not with yow dele;Com of therfore, and bringeth him to hele.’ 1750
But now to yow, ye lovers that ben here,Was Troilus nought in a cankedort,That lay, and mighte whispringe of hem here,And thoughte, `O lord, right now renneth my sortFully to dye, or han anoon comfort’; 1755And was the firste tyme he shulde hir preyeOf love; O mighty god, what shal he seye?
Explicit Secundus Liber.