This knowen folk that han y-suffred peyne,

That though he wepe and make sorwful chere,

That feleth harm and smert in every veyne,

No wonder is; and though I ever pleyne,

Or alwey wepe, I am no-thing to blame,

Sin I have lost the cause of al my game.

61. But sin of fyne force I moot aryse,

I shal aryse, as sone as ever I may;

And god, to whom myn herte I sacrifyse,

So sende us hastely the tenthe day!

For was ther never fowl so fayn of May,

As I shal been, whan that she cometh in Troye,

That cause is of my torment and my Ioye.

62. But whider is thy reed,' quod Troilus,

'That we may pleye us best in al this toun?'

'By god, my conseil is,' quod Pandarus,

'To ryde and pleye us with king Sarpedoun.'

So longe of this they speken up and doun,

Til Troilus gan at the laste assente

To ryse, and forth to Sarpedoun they wente.

63. This Sarpedoun, as he that honourable

Was ever his lyve, and ful of heigh prowesse,

With al that mighte y-served been on table,

That deyntee was, al coste it greet richesse,

He fedde hem day by day, that swich noblesse,

As seyden bothe the moste and eek the leste,

Was never er that day wist at any feste.

64. Nor in this world ther is non instrument

Delicious, through wind, or touche, or corde,

As fer as any wight hath ever y-went,

That tonge telle or herte may recorde,

That at that feste it nas wel herd acorde;

Ne of ladies eek so fayr a companye

On daunce, er tho, was never y-seyn with yë.

65. But what avayleth this to Troilus,

That for his sorwe no-thing of it roughte?

For ever in oon his herte piëtous

Ful bisily Criseyde his lady soughte.

On hir was ever al that his herte thoughte.

Now this, now that, so faste imagininge,

That glade, y-wis, can him no festeyinge.

66. These ladies eek that at this feste been,

Sin that he saw his lady was a-weye,

It was his sorwe upon hem for to seen,

Or for to here on instrumentz so pleye.

For she, that of his herte berth the keye,

Was absent, lo, this was his fantasye,

That no wight sholde make melodye.

67. Nor ther nas houre in al the day or night,

Whan he was ther-as no wight mighte him here,

That he ne seyde, 'O lufsom lady bright,

How have ye faren, sin that ye were here?

Wel-come, y-wis, myn owene lady dere.'

But welaway, al this nas but a mase;

Fortune his howve entended bet to glase.

68. The lettres eek, that she of olde tyme

Hadde him y-sent, he wolde allone rede,

An hundred sythe, a-twixen noon and pryme;

Refiguringe hir shap, hir womanhede,

With-inne his herte, and every word and dede

That passed was, and thus he droof to an ende

The ferthe day, and seyde, he wolde wende.

69. And seyde, 'leve brother Pandarus,

Intendestow that we shul herë bleve

Til Sarpedoun wol forth congeyen us?

Yet were it fairer that we toke our leve.

For goddes love, lat us now sone at eve

Our leve take, and homward lat us torne;

For trewely, I nil not thus soiorne.'

70. Pandare answerde, 'be we comen hider

To fecchen fyr, and rennen hoom ayeyn?

God helpe me so, I can not tellen whider

We mighten goon, if I shal soothly seyn,

Ther any wight is of us more fayn

Than Sarpedoun; and if we hennes hye

Thus sodeinly, I holde it vilanye,

71. Sin that we seyden that we wolde bleve

With him a wouke; and now, thus sodeinly,

The ferthe day to take of him our leve,

He wolde wondren on it, trewely!

Lat us holde forth our purpos fermely;

And sin that ye bihighten him to byde,

Hold forward now, and after lat us ryde.'

72. Thus Pandarus, with alle peyne and wo,

Made him to dwelle; and at the woukes ende,

Of Sarpedoun they toke hir leve tho,

And on hir wey they spedden hem to wende.

Quod Troilus, 'now god me grace sende,

That I may finden, at myn hom-cominge,

Criseyde comen!' and ther-with gan he singe.

73. 'Ye, hasel-wode!' thoughte this Pandare,

And to him-self ful softely he seyde,

'God woot, refreyden may this hote fare

Er Calkas sende Troilus Criseyde!'

But natheles, he Iaped thus, and seyde,

And swor, y-wis, his herte him wel bihighte,

She wolde come as sone as ever she mighte.

74. Whan they un-to the paleys were y-comen

Of Troilus, they doun of hors alighte,

And to the chambre hir wey than han they nomen.

And in-to tyme that it gan to nighte,

They spaken of Crisëyde the brighte.

And after this, whan that hem bothe leste,

They spedde hem fro the soper un-to reste.

75. On morwe, as sone as day bigan to clere,

This Troilus gan of his sleep tabreyde,

And to Pandare, his owene brother dere,

'For love of god,' ful pitously he seyde,

'As go we seen the paleys of Criseyde;

For sin we yet may have namore feste,

So lat us seen hir paleys at the leste.'

76. And ther-with-al, his meyne for to blende,

A cause he fond in toune for to go,

And to Criseydes hous they gonnen wende.

But lord! this sely Troilus was wo!

Him thoughte his sorweful herte braste a-two.

For whan he saugh hir dores sperred alle,

Wel neigh for sorwe a-doun he gan to falle.

77. Therwith whan he was war and gan biholde

How shet was every windowe of the place,

As frost, him thoughte, his herte gan to colde;

For which with chaunged deedlich pale face,

With-outen word, he forth bigan to pace;

And, as god wolde, he gan so faste ryde,

That no wight of his contenaunce aspyde.

78. Than seyde he thus, 'O paleys desolat,

O hous, of houses whylom best y-hight,

O paleys empty and disconsolat,

O thou lanterne, of which queynt is the light,

O paleys, whylom day, that now art night,

Wel oughtestow to falle, and I to dye,

Sin she is went that wont was us to gye!

79. O paleys, whylom croune of houses alle,

Enlumined with sonne of alle blisse!

O ring, fro which the ruby is out-falle,

O cause of wo, that cause hast been of lisse!

Yet, sin I may no bet, fayn wolde I kisse

Thy colde dores, dorste I for this route;

And fare-wel shryne, of which the seynt is oute!'

80. Ther-with he caste on Pandarus his yë

With chaunged face, and pitous to biholde;

And whan he mighte his tyme aright aspye,

Ay as he rood, to Pandarus he tolde

His newe sorwe, and eek his Ioyes olde,

So pitously and with so dede an hewe,

That every wight mighte on his sorwe rewe.

81. Fro thennesforth he rydeth up and doun,

And every thing com him to remembraunce

As he rood forth by places of the toun

In whiche he whylom hadde al his plesaunce.

'Lo, yond saugh I myn owene lady daunce;

And in that temple, with hir eyen clere,

Me caughte first my righte lady dere.

82. And yonder have I herd ful lustily

My dere herte laughe, and yonder pleye

Saugh I hir ones eek ful blisfully.

And yonder ones to me gan she seye,

"Now goode swete, love me wel, I preye."

And yond so goodly gan she me biholde,

That to the deeth myn herte is to hir holde.

83. And at that corner, in the yonder hous,

Herde I myn alderlevest lady dere

So wommanly, with voys melodious,

Singen so wel, so goodly, and so clere,

That in my soule yet me thinketh I here

The blisful soun; and, in that yonder place,

My lady first me took un-to hir grace.'

84. Thanne thoughte he thus, 'O blisful lord Cupyde,

Whanne I the proces have in my memorie,

How thou me hast werreyed on every syde,

Men mighte a book make of it, lyk a storie.

What nede is thee to seke on me victorie,

Sin I am thyn, and hoolly at thy wille?

What Ioye hastow thyn owene folk to spille?

85. Wel hastow, lord, y-wroke on me thyn ire,

Thou mighty god, and dredful for to greve!

Now mercy, lord, thou wost wel I desire

Thy grace most, of alle lustes leve.

And live and deye I wol in thy bileve;

For which I naxe in guerdon but a bone,

That thou Criseyde ayein me sende sone.

86. Distreyne hir herte as faste to retorne

As thou dost myn to longen hir to see;

Than woot I wel, that she nil not soiorne.

Now, blisful lord, so cruel thou ne be

Un-to the blood of Troye, I preye thee,

As Iuno was un-to the blood Thebane,

For which the folk of Thebes caughte hir bane.'

87. And after this he to the yates wente

Ther-as Criseyde out-rood a ful good paas,

And up and doun ther made he many a wente,

And to him-self ful ofte he seyde 'allas!

From hennes rood my blisse and my solas!

As wolde blisful god now, for his Ioye,

I mighte hir seen ayein come in-to Troye.

88. And to the yonder hille I gan hir gyde,

Allas! and there I took of hir my leve!

And yond I saugh hir to hir fader ryde,

For sorwe of which myn herte shal to-cleve.

And hider hoom I com whan it was eve;

And here I dwelle out-cast from alle Ioye,

And shal, til I may seen hir eft in Troye.'

89. And of him-self imagined he ofte

To ben defet, and pale, and waxen lesse

Than he was wont, and that men seyde softe,

'What may it be? who can the sothe gesse

Why Troilus hath al this hevinesse?'

And al this nas but his malencolye,

That he hadde of him-self swich fantasye.

90. Another tyme imaginen he wolde

That every wight that wente by the weye

Had of him routhe, and that they seyen sholde,

'I am right sory Troilus wol deye.'

And thus he droof a day yet forth or tweye.

As ye have herd, swich lyf right gan he lede,

As he that stood bitwixen hope and drede.

91. For which him lyked in his songes shewe

Thencheson of his wo, as he best mighte,

And make a song of wordes but a fewe,

Somwhat his woful herte for to lighte.

And whan he was from every mannes sighte,

With softe voys he, of his lady dere,

That was absent, gan singe as ye may here.

92. 'O sterre, of which I lost have al the light,

With herte soor wel oughte I to bewayle,

That ever derk in torment, night by night,

Toward my deeth with wind in stere I sayle;

For which the tenthe night if that I fayle

The gyding of thy bemes brighte an houre,

My ship and me Caribdis wol devoure.'

93. This song when he thus songen hadde, sone

He fil ayein in-to his sykes olde;

And every night, as was his wone to done,

He stood the brighte mone to beholde,

And al his sorwe he to the mone tolde;

And seyde, 'y-wis, whan thou art horned newe,

I shal be glad, if al the world be trewe!

94. I saugh thyn hornes olde eek by the morwe,

Whan hennes rood my righte lady dere,

That cause is of my torment and my sorwe;

For whiche, O brighte Lucina the clere,

For love of god, ren faste aboute thy spere!

For whan thyn hornes newe ginne springe,

Than shal she come, that may my blisse bringe!'

95. The day is more, and lenger every night,

Than they be wont to be, him thoughte tho;

And that the sonne wente his course unright

By lenger wey than it was wont to go;

And seyde, 'y-wis, me dredeth ever-mo,

The sonnes sone, Pheton, be on-lyve,

And that his fadres cart amis he dryve.'

96. Upon the walles faste eek wolde he walke,

And on the Grekes ost he wolde see,

And to him-self right thus he wolde talke,

'Lo, yonder is myn owene lady free,

Or elles yonder, ther tho tentes be!

And thennes comth this eyr, that is so sote,

That in my soule I fele it doth me bote.

97. And hardely this wind, that more and more

Thus stoundemele encreseth in my face,

Is of my ladyes depe sykes sore.

I preve it thus, for in non othere place

Of al this toun, save onliche in this space,

Fele I no wind that souneth so lyk peyne;

It seyth, "allas! why twinned be we tweyne?"'

98. This longe tyme he dryveth forth right thus,

Til fully passed was the nynthe night;

And ay bi-syde him was this Pandarus,

That bisily dide alle his fulle might

Him to comforte, and make his herte light;

Yevinge him hope alwey, the tenthe morwe

That she shal come, and stinten al his sorwe.

99. Up-on that other syde eek was Criseyde,

With wommen fewe, among the Grekes stronge;

For which ful ofte a day 'allas!' she seyde,

'That I was born! Wel may myn herte longe

After my deeth; for now live I to longe!

Allas! and I ne may it not amende;

For now is wors than ever yet I wende.

100. My fader nil for no-thing do me grace

To goon ayein, for nought I can him queme;

And if so be that I my terme passe,

My Troilus shal in his herte deme

That I am fals, and so it may wel seme.

Thus shal I have unthank on every syde;

That I was born, so weylawey the tyde!

101. And if that I me putte in Iupartye,

To stele awey by nighte, and it bifalle

That I be caught, I shal be holde a spye;

Or elles, lo, this drede I most of alle,

If in the hondes of som wrecche I falle,

I am but lost, al be myn herte trewe;

Now mighty god, thou on my sorwe rewe!'

102. Ful pale y-waxen was hir brighte face,

Hir limes lene, as she that al the day

Stood whan she dorste, and loked on the place

Ther she was born, and ther she dwelt hadde ay.

And al the night wepinge, allas! she lay.

And thus despeired, out of alle cure,

She ladde hir lyf, this woful creature.

103. Ful ofte a day she sighte eek for destresse,

And in hir-self she wente ay portrayinge

Of Troilus the grete worthinesse,

And alle his goodly wordes recordinge

Sin first that day hir love bigan to springe.

And thus she sette hir woful herte a-fyre

Thorugh remembraunce of that she gan desyre.

104. In al this world ther nis so cruel herte

That hir hadde herd compleynen in hir sorwe,

That nolde han wopen for hir peynes smerte,

So tendrely she weep, bothe eve and morwe.

Hir nedede no teres for to borwe.

And this was yet the worste of al hir peyne,

Ther was no wight to whom she dorste hir pleyne.

105. Ful rewfully she loked up-on Troye,

Biheld the toures heighe and eek the halles;

'Allas!' quod she, 'the plesaunce and the Ioye

The whiche that now al torned in-to galle is,

Have I had ofte with-inne yonder walles!

O Troilus, what dostow now,' she seyde;

'Lord! whether yet thou thenke up-on Criseyde?

106. Allas! I ne hadde trowed on your lore,

And went with yow, as ye me radde er this!

Thanne hadde I now not syked half so sore.

Who mighte have seyd, that I had doon a-mis

To stele awey with swich on as he is?

But al to late cometh the letuarie,

Whan men the cors un-to the grave carie.

107. To late is now to speke of this matere;

Prudence, allas! oon of thyn eyen three

Me lakked alwey, er that I cam here;

On tyme y-passed, wel remembred me;

And present tyme eek coude I wel y-see.

But futur tyme, er I was in the snare,

Coude I not seen; that causeth now my care.

108. But natheles, bityde what bityde,

I shal to-morwe at night, by est or weste,

Out of this ost stele on som maner syde,

And go with Troilus wher-as him leste.

This purpos wol I holde, and this is beste.

No fors of wikked tonges Ianglerye,

For ever on love han wrecches had envye.

109. For who-so wole of every word take hede,

Or rewlen him by every wightes wit,

Ne shal he never thryven, out of drede.

For that that som men blamen ever yit,

Lo, other maner folk commenden it.

And as for me, for al swich variaunce,

Felicitee clepe I my suffisaunce.

110. For which, with-outen any wordes mo,

To Troye I wol, as for conclusioun.'

But god it wot, er fully monthes two,

She was ful fer fro that entencioun.

For bothe Troilus and Troye toun

Shal knotteles through-out hir herte slyde;

For she wol take a purpos for tabyde.

111. This Diomede, of whom yow telle I gan,

Goth now, with-inne him-self ay arguinge

With al the sleighte and al that ever he can,

How he may best, with shortest taryinge,

In-to his net Criseydes herte bringe.

To this entente he coude never fyne;

To fisshen hir, he leyde out hook and lyne.

112. But natheles, wel in his herte he thoughte,

That she nas nat with-oute a love in Troye.

For never, sithen he hir thennes broughte,

Ne coude he seen her laughe or make Ioye.

He niste how best hir herte for tacoye.

'But for to assaye,' he seyde, 'it nought ne greveth;

For he that nought nassayeth, nought nacheveth.'

113. Yet seide he to him-self upon a night,

'Now am I not a fool, that woot wel how

Hir wo for love is of another wight,

And here-up-on to goon assaye hir now?

I may wel wite, it nil not been my prow.

For wyse folk in bokes it expresse,

"Men shal not wowe a wight in hevinesse."

114. But who-so mighte winnen swich a flour

From him, for whom she morneth night and day,

He mighte seyn, he were a conquerour.'

And right anoon, as he that bold was ay,

Thoughte in his herte, 'happe, how happe may,

Al sholde I deye, I wole hir herte seche;

I shal no more lesen but my speche.'

115. This Diomede, as bokes us declare,

Was in his nedes prest and corageous;

With sterne voys and mighty limes square,

Hardy, testif, strong, and chevalrous

Of dedes, lyk his fader Tideus.

And som men seyn, he was of tunge large;

And heir he was of Calidoine and Arge.

116. Criseyde mene was of hir stature,

Ther-to of shap, of face, and eek of chere,

Ther mighte been no fairer creature.

And ofte tyme this was hir manere,

To gon y-tressed with hir heres clere

Doun by hir coler at hir bak bihinde,

Which with a threde of gold she wolde binde.

117. And, save hir browes ioyneden y-fere,

Ther nas no lak, in ought I can espyen;

But for to speken of hir eyen clere,

Lo, trewely, they writen that hir syen,

That Paradys stood formed in hir yën.

And with hir riche beautee ever-more

Strof love in hir, ay which of hem was more.

118. She sobre was, eek simple, and wys with-al,

The beste y-norisshed eek that mighte be,

And goodly of hir speche in general,

Charitable, estatliche, lusty, and free;

Ne never-mo ne lakkede hir pitee;

Tendre-herted, slydinge of corage;

But trewely, I can not telle hir age.

119. And Troilus wel waxen was in highte,

And complet formed by proporcioun

So wel, that kinde it not amenden mighte;

Yong, fresshe, strong, and hardy as lyoun;

Trewe as steel in ech condicioun;

On of the beste enteched creature,

That is, or shal, whyl that the world may dure.

120. And certainly in storie it is y-founde,

That Troilus was never un-to no wight,

As in his tyme, in no degree secounde

In durring don that longeth to a knight.

Al mighte a geaunt passen him of might,

His herte ay with the firste and with the beste

Stod paregal, to durre don that him leste.

121. But for to tellen forth of Diomede:—

It fil that after, on the tenthe day,

Sin that Criseyde out of the citee yede,

This Diomede, as fresshe as braunche in May,

Com to the tente ther-as Calkas lay,

And feyned him with Calkas han to done;

But what he mente, I shal yow telle sone.

122. Criseyde, at shorte wordes for to telle,

Welcomed him, and doun by hir him sette;