8. In May, that moder is of monthes glade,

That fresshe floures, blewe, and whyte, and rede,

Ben quike agayn, that winter dede made,

And ful of bawme is fletinge every mede;

Whan Phebus doth his brighte bemes sprede

Right in the whyte Bole, it so bitidde

As I shal singe, on Mayes day the thridde,

9. That Pandarus, for al his wyse speche,

Felte 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;

So shoop it, that him fil that day a tene

In love, for which in wo to bedde he wente,

And made, er it was day, ful many a wente.

10. The swalwe Proignè, with a sorwful lay,

Whan morwe com, gan make hir weymentinge,

Why she forshapen was; and ever lay

Pandare a-bedde, half in a slomeringe,

Til she so neigh him made hir chiteringe

How Tereus gan forth hir suster take,

That with the noyse of hir he gan a-wake;

11. And gan to calle, and dresse him up to ryse,

Remembringe him his erand was to done

From Troilus, and eek his greet empryse;

And caste and knew in good plyt was the mone

To doon viage, and took his wey ful sone

Un-to his neces paleys ther bi-syde;

Now Ianus, god of entree, thou him gyde!

12. 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,

And fond, two othere ladyes sete and she

With-inne a paved parlour; and they three

Herden a mayden reden hem the geste

Of the Sege of Thebes, whyl hem leste.

13. Quod Pandarus, 'ma dame, god yow see,

With al your book and al the companye!'

'Ey, uncle myn, welcome y-wis,' quod she,

And up she roos, and by the hond in hye

She took him faste, and seyde, 'this night thrye,

To goode mote it turne, of yow I mette!'

And with that word she doun on bench him sette.

14. 'Ye, nece, ye shal fare wel the bet,

If god wole, al this yeer,' quod Pandarus;

'But I am sory that I have yow let

To herknen of your book ye preysen thus;

For 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!'

15. With that they gonnen laughe, and tho she seyde,

'This romaunce is of Thebes, that we rede;

And we han herd how that king Laius deyde

Thurgh 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.'

16. 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;

Do wey your book, rys up, and lat us daunce,

And lat us don to May som observaunce.'

17. '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,

Ye ben so wilde, it semeth as ye rave!

It sete me wel bet ay in a cave

To bidde, and rede on holy seyntes lyves:

Lat maydens gon to daunce, and yonge wyves.'

18. 'As ever thryve I,' quod this Pandarus,

'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!

It is a thing wel bet than swiche fyve.'

19. '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 what

It sholde been; som Iape, I trowe, is this;

And 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 mene.'

20. 'And I your borow, ne never shal, for me,

This thing be told to yow, as mote I thryve!'

'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!'

21. Tho gan she wondren more than biforn

A 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,

'Now, uncle myn, I nil yow nought displese,

Nor axen more, that may do yow disese.'

22. So after this, with many wordes glade,

And freendly tales, and with mery chere,

Of this and that they pleyde, and gunnen wade

In 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.

23. 'Ful wel, I thanke it god,' quod Pandarus,

'Save in his arm he hath a litel wounde;

And eek his fresshe brother Troilus,

The wyse worthy Ector the secounde,

In whom that every vertu list abounde,

As alle trouthe and alle gentillesse,

Wysdom, honour, fredom, and worthinesse.'

24. 'In good feith, eem,' quod she, 'that lyketh me;

They faren wel, god save hem bothe two!

For trewely I holde it greet deyntee

A kinges sone in armes wel to do,

And been of good condiciouns ther-to;

For greet power and moral vertu here

Is selde y-seye in o persone y-fere.'

25. 'In good feith, that is sooth,' quod Pandarus;

But, by my trouthe, the king hath sones tweye,

That 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.

26. Of Ector nedeth it nought for to telle;

In al this world ther nis a bettre knight

Than he, that is of worthinesse welle;

And he wel more vertu hath than might.

This knoweth many a wys and worthy wight.

The same prys of Troilus I seye,

God help me so, I knowe not swiche tweye.'

27. 'By god,' quod she, 'of Ector that is sooth;

Of Troilus the same thing trowe I;

For dredelees, men tellen that he dooth

In armes day by day so worthily,

And bereth him here at hoom so gentilly

To every wight, that al the prys hath he

Of hem that me were levest preysed be.'

28. 'Ye sey right sooth, y-wis,' quod Pandarus;

'For yesterday, who-so hadde with him been,

He might have wondred up-on Troilus;

For never yet so thikke a swarm of been

Ne fleigh, as Grekes fro him gonne fleen;

And thorugh the feld, in every wightes ere,

Ther nas no cry but "Troilus is there!"

29. 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:

He 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.

30. Therto he is the freendlieste man

Of grete estat, that ever I saw my lyve;

And wher him list, best felawshipe can

To 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.

31. 'What eyleth yow to be thus wery sone,

And namelich of wommen? wol ye so?

Nay, sitteth down; by god, I have to done

With yow, to speke of wisdom er ye go.'

And every wight that was a-boute hem tho,

That herde that, gan fer a-wey to stonde,

Whyl they two hadde al that hem liste in honde.

32. 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;

But 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?'

33. 'A! wel bithought! for love of god,' quod she,

'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

Than seye a sooth that were ayeins your wille.

34. 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,

With-oute paramours, to my witinge,

That I best love, and lothest am to greve,

And that ye witen wel your-self, I leve.'

35. 'Y-wis, myn uncle,' quod she, 'grant mercy;

Your freendship have I founden ever yit;

I 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.

36. But, for the love of god, I yow beseche,

As ye ben he that I most love and triste,

Lat be to me your fremde maner speche,

And sey to me, your nece, what yow liste:'

And with that word hir uncle anoon hir kiste,

And seyde, 'gladly, leve nece dere,

Tak it for good that I shal seye yow here.'

37. With that she gan hir eyen doun to caste,

And Pandarus to coghe gan a lyte,

And seyde, 'nece, alwey, lo! to the laste,

How-so it be that som men hem delyte

With subtil art hir tales for to endyte,

Yet for al that, in hir entencioun,

Hir tale is al for som conclusioun.

38. And sithen thende is every tales strengthe,

And this matere is so bihovely,

What sholde I peynte or drawen it on lengthe

To yow, that been my freend so feithfully?'

And with that word he gan right inwardly

Biholden hir, and loken on hir face,

And seyde, 'on suche a mirour goode grace!'

39. Than thoughte he thus, 'if I my tale endyte

Ought 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.

For tendre wittes wenen al be wyle

Ther-as they can nat pleynly understonde;

For-thy hir wit to serven wol I fonde'—

40. And loked on hir in a besy wyse,

And she was war that he byheld hir so,

And 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 ye

Be fortunat, for now men shal it see.

41. For to every wight som goodly aventure

Som tyme is shape, if he it can receyven;

And if that he wol take of it no cure,

Whan that it cometh, but wilfully it weyven,

Lo, neither cas nor fortune him deceyven,

But right his verray slouthe and wrecchednesse;

And swich a wight is for to blame, I gesse.

42. Good aventure, O bele nece, have ye

Ful lightly founden, and ye conne it take;

And, for the love of god, and eek of me,

Cacche 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 you list, a wight so wel begoon.

43. And sith I speke of good entencioun,

As I to yow have told wel here-biforn,

And love as wel your honour and renoun

As 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,

Ne shal I never seen yow eft with yë.

44. 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,

Yet trist alwey, ye shal me finde trewe;

And were it thing that me thoughte unsittinge,

To yow nolde I no swiche tales bringe.'

45. 'Now, my good eem, for goddes love, I preye,'

Quod she, 'com of, and tel me what it is;

For 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,

Sey on, lat me not in this fere dwelle:'

'So wol I doon, now herkneth, I shal telle:

46. 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.

Lo, here is al, what sholde I more seye?

Doth what yow list, to make him live or deye.

47. 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'—

With that the teres braste out of his yën,

And seyde, 'if that ye doon us bothe dyen,

Thus giltelees, than have ye fisshed faire;

What mende ye, though that we bothe apeyre?

48. Allas! he which that is my lord so dere,

That 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;

Allas! that god yow swich a beautee sente!

49. 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,

If ye be swich, your beautee may not strecche

To make amendes of so cruel a dede;

Avysement is good bifore the nede.

50. Wo worth the faire gemme vertulees!

Wo worth that herbe also that dooth no bote!

Wo 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!

51. And also thenk wel, that this is no gaude;

For me were lever, thou and I and he

Were 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,

As wel as thee, if that I sholde assente,

Thorugh myn abet, that he thyn honour shente.

52. Now understond, for I yow nought requere,

To binde yow to him thorugh no beheste,

But only that ye make him bettre chere

Than 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 helpe me so, I never other mente.

53. Lo, this request is not but skile, y-wis,

Ne 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,

Wol deme it love of freendship in his minde.

54. What? who wol deme, though he see a man

To temple go, that he the images eteth?

Thenk eek how wel and wysly that he can

Governe him-self, that he no-thing foryeteth,

That, 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?

55. Swich love of freendes regneth al this toun;

And wrye yow in that mantel ever-mo;

And, 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.'

56. 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 he, 'certayn, best is

That ye him love ayein for his lovinge,

As love for love is skilful guerdoninge.

57. Thenk eek, how elde wasteth every houre

In eche of yow a party of beautee;

And therfore, er that age thee devoure,

Go 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.

58. The kinges fool is woned to cryen loude,

Whan that him thinketh a womman bereth hir hyë,

"So longe mote ye live, and alle proude,

Til crowes feet be growe under your yë,

And sende yow thanne a mirour in to pryë

In whiche ye may see your face a-morwe!"

Nece, I bidde wisshe yow no more sorwe.'

59. 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!

Allas! what sholden straunge to me doon,

When he, that for my beste freend I wende,

Ret me to love, and sholde it me defende?

60. Allas! I wolde han trusted, doutelees,

That if that I, thurgh my disaventure,

Had loved other him or Achilles,

Ector, or any mannes creature,

Ye nolde han had no mercy ne mesure

On me, but alwey had me in repreve;

This false world, allas! who may it leve?

61. 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!

Thou in this dredful cas for me purveye;

For so astonied am I that I deye!'

62. With that she gan ful sorwfully to syke;

'A! may it be no bet?' quod Pandarus;

'By god, I shal no-more com here this wyke,

And 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.

63. O cruel god, O dispitouse Marte,

O 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

That wikkedly ye doon us bothe deye.

64. But sith it lyketh yow that I be deed,

By Neptunus, that god is of the see,

Fro this forth shal I never eten breed

Til I myn owene herte blood may see;

For 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.

65. Criseyde, which that wel neigh starf for fere,

So as she was the ferfulleste wight

That 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 dradde hir wonder sore;

66. And thoughte thus, 'unhappes fallen thikke

Alday 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.

What men wolde of hit deme I can nat seye;

It nedeth me ful sleyly for to pleye.'

67. And with a sorwful syk she seyde thrye,

'A! lord! what me is tid a sory chaunce!

For myn estat now lyth in Iupartye,

And 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.