68. 'Of harmes two, the lesse is for to chese;

Yet have I lever maken him good chere

In 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;

I shal myn herte ayeins my lust constreyne,

69. But that I nil not holden him in honde,

Ne love a man, ne can I not, ne may

Ayeins my wil; but elles wol I fonde,

Myn honour sauf, plese him fro day to day;

Ther-to nolde I nought ones have seyd nay,

But that I dredde, as in my fantasye;

But cesse cause, ay cesseth maladye.

70. And here I make a protestacioun,

That in this proces if ye depper go,

That certaynly, for no savacioun

Of 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.

71. 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,'

Quod he, 'to pleyne, or after yow to preche?'

'Why, no, pardee; what nedeth more speche?'

72. 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,

Tel 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.'

73. Tho Pandarus a litel gan to smyle,

And 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,

How we the Grekes mighte disavaunce.

74. 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;

And I after gan rome to and fro

Til that I herde, as that I welk allone,

How he bigan ful wofully to grone.

75. Tho gan I stalke him softely bihinde,

And sikerly, the sothe for to seyne,

As 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.

76. O god, that at thy disposicioun

Ledest the fyn, by Iuste purveyaunce,

Of every wight, my lowe confessioun

Accepte in gree, and send me swich penaunce

As lyketh thee, but from desesperaunce,

That may my goost departe awey fro thee,

Thou be my sheld, for thy benignitee.

77. For certes, lord, so sore hath she me wounded

That stod in blak, with loking of hir yën,

That to myn hertes botme it is y-sounded,

Thorugh 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."

78. With that he smoot his heed adoun anoon,

And 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;

It semeth nat that love dooth yow longe,

79. 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 ake

For love, and lat me liven as I can."

But though that he for wo was pale and wan,

Yet made he tho as fresh a contenaunce,

As though he shulde have led the newe daunce.

80. This passed forth, til now, this other day,

It fel that I com roming al allone

Into his chaumbre, and fond how that he lay

Up-on his bed; but man so sore grone

Ne herde I never, and what that was his mone,

Ne wiste I nought; for, as I was cominge,

Al sodeynly he lefte his compleyninge.

81. Of which I took somwhat 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,

Unethes mighte I fro the deeth him kepe;

That yet fele I myn herte for him wepe.

82. 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,

Or 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.

83. But for to save his lyf, and elles nought,

And 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 schriven;

And sin ye woot that myn entente is clene,

Tak hede ther-of, for I non yvel mene.

84. And right good thrift, I pray 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.

Ther 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!'

85. 'Nay, therof spak I not, a, ha!' quod she,

'As helpe me god, ye shenden every deel!'

'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!'

86. With this he took his leve, and hoom he wente;

And lord, how 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,

And every word gan up and doun to winde,

That he hadde seyd, as it com hir to minde;

87. And wex somdel astonied in hir thought,

Right for the newe cas; but whan that she

Was ful avysed, tho fond she right nought

Of 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.

88. But as she sat allone and thoughte thus,

Thascry aroos at skarmish al with-oute,

And men cryde in the strete, 'see, Troilus

Hath 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;

For thurgh this strete he moot to palays ryde;

89. For other wey is fro the yate noon

Of Dardanus, ther open is the cheyne.'

With that com he and al his folk anoon

An esy pas rydinge, in routes tweyne,

Right as his happy day was, sooth to seyne,

For which, men say, may nought disturbed be

That shal bityden of necessitee.

90. This Troilus sat on his baye stede,

Al armed, save his heed, ful richely,

And 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.

91. So lyk a man of armes and a knight

He was to seen, fulfild of heigh prowesse;

For bothe he hadde a body and a might

To doon that thing, as wel as hardinesse;

And eek to seen him in his gere him dresse,

So fresh, so yong, so weldy semed he,

It was an heven up-on him for to see.

92. 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,

In which men mighte many an arwe finde

That thirled hadde horn and nerf and rinde;

And ay the peple cryde, 'here cometh our Ioye,

And, next his brother, holdere up of Troye!'

93. For which he wex a litel reed for shame,

Whan he the peple up-on him herde cryen,

That to biholde it was a noble game,

How sobreliche he caste doun his yën.

Cryseyda gan al his chere aspyen,

And leet so softe it in hir herte sinke,

That to hir-self she seyde, 'who yaf me drinke?'

94. For of hir owene thought she wex al reed,

Remembringe hir right thus, 'lo, this is he

Which that myn uncle swereth he moot be deed,

But I on him have mercy and pitee;'

And with that thought, for pure a-shamed, she

Gan in hir heed to pulle, and that as faste,

Whyl he and al the peple for-by paste,

95. And gan to caste and rollen up and doun

With-inne hir thought his excellent prowesse,

And his estat, and also his renoun,

His wit, his shap, and eek his gentillesse;

But most hir favour was, for his distresse

Was al for hir, and thoughte it was a routhe

To sleen swich oon, if that he mente trouthe.

96. Now mighte som envyous Iangle thus,

'This was a sodeyn love, how mighte it be

That she so lightly lovede Troilus

Right for the firste sighte; ye, pardee?'

Now who-so seyth so, mote he never thee!

For every thing, a ginning hath it nede

Er al be wrought, with-outen any drede.

97. For I sey nought that she so sodeynly

Yaf him hir love, but that she gan enclyne

To lyke him first, and I have told yow why;

And after that, his manhod and his pyne

Made love with-inne hir for to myne,

For which, by proces and by good servyse,

He gat hir love, and in no sodeyn wyse.

98. And also blisful Venus, wel arayed,

Sat 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 nat al a fo

To Troilus in his nativitee;

God woot that wel the soner spedde he.

99. Now lat us stinte of Troilus a throwe,

That rydeth forth, and lat us tourne faste

Un-to Criseyde, that heng hir heed ful lowe,

Ther-as she sat allone, and gan to caste

Wher-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.

100. And, lord! so she gan in hir thought argue

In this matere of which I have yow told,

And 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.

101. She thoughte wel, that Troilus persone

She 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,

In honestee, with swich a lord to dele,

For myn estat, and also for his hele.

102. 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,

Paraunter 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?

103. In every thing, I woot, ther lyth mesure.

For though a man forbede dronkenesse,

He nought for-bet that every creature

Be drinkelees for alwey, as I gesse;

Eek sith I woot for me is his distresse,

I ne oughte not for that thing him despyse,

Sith it is so, he meneth in good wyse.

104. And eek I knowe, of longe tyme agoon,

His thewes goode, and that he is not nyce.

Ne avauntour, seyth men, certein, is he noon;

To wys is he to do so gret a vyce;

Ne als I nel him never so cheryce,

That he may make avaunt, by Iuste cause;

He shal me never binde in swiche a clause.

105. Now set a cas, the hardest is, y-wis,

Men mighten deme that he loveth me:

What 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.

106. I thenk eek how he able is for to have

Of 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.

And yet his lyf al lyth now in my cure,

But swich is love, and eek myn aventure.

107. Ne me to love, a wonder is it nought;

For wel wot I my-self, so god me spede,

Al wolde I that noon wistë of this thought,

I 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?

108. I am myn owene woman, wel at ese,

I 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,

Or maisterful, or loven novelrye.

109. 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

Upon this knight, that is the worthieste,

And kepe alwey myn honour and my name,

By alle right, it may do me no shame.'

110. But right as whan the sonne shyneth brighte,

In March, that chaungeth ofte tyme his face,

And that a cloud is put with wind to flighte

Which 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.

111. That thought was this, 'allas! sin I am free,

Sholde I now love, and putte in Iupartye

My sikernesse, and thrallen libertee?

Allas! how dorste I thenken that folye?

May I nought wel in other folk aspye

Hir dredful Ioye, hir constreynt, and hir peyne?

Ther loveth noon, that she nath why to pleyne.

112. For love is yet the moste stormy lyf,

Right of him-self, that ever was bigonne;

For ever som mistrust, or nyce stryf,

Ther is in love, som cloud is over the 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.

113. Also these wikked tonges been so prest

To 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,

Ful sharp biginning breketh ofte at ende.

114. 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 bicomth it, whan it is ago;

Ther 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.

115. How bisy, if I love, eek moste I be

To plesen hem that Iangle of love, and demen,

And coye hem, that they sey non harm of me?

For though ther be no cause, yet hem semen

Al be for harm that folk hir freendes quemen;

And who may stoppen every wikked tonge,

Or soun of belles whyl that they be ronge?'

116. 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;

Now hoot, now cold; but thus, bi-twixen tweye,

She rist hir up, and went hir for to pleye.

117. Adoun the steyre anoon-right tho she wente

In-to the gardin, with hir neces three,

And up and doun ther made many a wente,

Flexippe, 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.

118. This yerd was large, and rayled alle the aleyes,

And 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 shene

Gan on a Troian song to singe clere,

That it an heven was hir voys to here.—

119. She seyde, 'O love, to whom I have and shal

Ben humble subgit, trewe in myn entente,

As I best can, to yow, lord, yeve ich al

For ever-more, myn hertes lust to rente.

For never yet thy grace no wight sente

So blisful cause as me, my lyf to lede

In alle Ioye and seurtee, out of drede.

120. Ye, blisful god, han me so wel beset

In love, y-wis, that al that bereth lyf

Imaginen ne cowde how to ben bet;

For, lord, with-outen Ialousye or stryf,

I love oon which that is most ententyf

To serven wel, unwery or unfeyned,

That ever was, and leest with harm distreyned.

121. 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,

Y-wis, I love him best, so doth he me;

Now good thrift have he, wher-so that he be!

122. 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!

This 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.

123. And who-so seyth that for to love is vyce,

Or thraldom, though he fele in it distressse,

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;

They speken, but they bente never his bowe.

124. What is the sonne wers, of kinde righte,

Though that a man, for feblesse of his yën,

May nought endure on it to see for brighte?

Or love the wers, though wrecches on it cryen?

No 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!

125. But I with al myn herte and al my might,

As I have seyd, wol love, un-to my laste,

My 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.'

126. 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

Of greet estat in al the toun of Troye;

And let hir lyf in most honour and Ioye.'

127. 'Forsothe, so it semeth by hir song,'

Quod tho Criseyde, and gan ther-with to syke,