And he was ethe y-nough to maken dwelle.

And after this, with-outen longe lette,

The spyces and the wyn men forth hem fette;

And forth they speke of this and that y-fere,

As freendes doon, of which som shal ye here.

123. He gan first fallen of the werre in speche

Bitwixe hem and the folk of Troye toun;

And of thassege he gan hir eek byseche,

To telle him what was hir opinioun.

Fro that demaunde he so descendeth doun

To asken hir, if that hir straunge thoughte

The Grekes gyse, and werkes that they wroughte?

124. And why hir fader tarieth so longe

To wedden hir un-to som worthy wight?

Criseyde, that was in hir peynes stronge

For love of Troilus, hir owene knight,

As fer-forth as she conning hadde or might,

Answerde him tho; but, as of his entente,

It semed not she wiste what he mente.

125. But natheles, this ilke Diomede

Gan in him-self assure, and thus he seyde,

'If ich aright have taken of yow hede,

Me thinketh thus, O lady myn, Criseyde,

That sin I first hond on your brydel leyde,

Whan ye out come of Troye by the morwe,

Ne coude I never seen yow but in sorwe.

126. Can I not seyn what may the cause be

But-if for love of som Troyan it were,

The which right sore wolde athinken me

That ye, for any wight that dwelleth there,

Sholden spille a quarter of a tere,

Or pitously your-selven so bigyle;

For dredelees, it is nought worth the whyle.

127. The folk of Troye, as who seyth, alle and some

In preson been, as ye your-selven see;

For thennes shal not oon on-lyve come

For al the gold bitwixen sonne and see.

Trusteth wel, and understondeth me,

Ther shal not oon to mercy goon on-lyve,

Al were he lord of worldes twyës fyve!

128. Swich wreche on hem, for fecching of Eleyne,

Ther shal be take, er that we hennes wende,

That Manes, which that goddes ben of peyne,

Shal been agast that Grekes wol hem shende.

And men shul drede, un-to the worldes ende,

From hennes-forth to ravisshe any quene,

So cruel shal our wreche on hem be sene.

129. And but-if Calkas lede us with ambages,

That is to seyn, with double wordes slye,

Swich as men clepe a "word with two visages,"

Ye shul wel knowen that I nought ne lye,

And al this thing right seen it with your yë,

And that anoon; ye nil not trowe how sone;

Now taketh heed, for it is for to done.

130. What wene ye your wyse fader wolde

Han yeven Antenor for yow anoon,

If he ne wiste that the citee sholde

Destroyed been? Why, nay, so mote I goon!

He knew ful wel ther shal not scapen oon

That Troyan is; and for the grete fere,

He dorste not, ye dwelte lenger there.

131. What wole ye more, lufsom lady dere?

Lat Troye and Troyan fro your herte pace!

Dryf out that bittre hope, and make good chere,

And clepe ayein the beautee of your face,

That ye with salte teres so deface.

For Troye is brought in swich a Iupartye,

That, it to save, is now no remedye.

132. And thenketh wel, ye shal in Grekes finde,

A more parfit love, er it be night,

Than any Troyan is, and more kinde,

And bet to serven yow wol doon his might.

And if ye vouche sauf, my lady bright,

I wol ben he to serven yow my-selve,

Ye, lever than be lord of Greces twelve!'

133. And with that word he gan to waxen reed,

And in his speche a litel wight he quook,

And caste a-syde a litel wight his heed,

And stinte a whyle; and afterward awook,

And sobreliche on hir he threw his look,

And seyde, 'I am, al be it yow no Ioye,

As gentil man as any wight in Troye.

134. For if my fader Tydeus,' he seyde,

'Y-lived hadde, I hadde been, er this,

Of Calidoine and Arge a king, Criseyde!

And so hope I that I shal yet, y-wis.

But he was slayn, allas! the more harm is,

Unhappily at Thebes al to rathe,

Polymites and many a man to scathe.

135. But herte myn, sin that I am your man,

And been the ferste of whom I seche grace,

To serven you as hertely as I can,

And ever shal, whyl I to live have space,

So, er that I departe out of this place,

Ye wol me graunte, that I may to-morwe,

At bettre leyser, telle yow my sorwe.'

136. What shold I telle his wordes that he seyde?

He spak y-now, for o day at the meste;

It preveth wel, he spak so that Criseyde

Graunted, on the morwe, at his requeste,

For to speken with him at the leste,

So that he nolde speke of swich matere;

And thus to him she seyde, as ye may here:

137. As she that hadde hir herte on Troilus

So faste, that ther may it noon arace;

And straungely she spak, and seyde thus:

'O Diomede, I love that ilke place

Ther I was born; and Ioves, for his grace,

Delivere it sone of al that doth it care!

God, for thy might, so leve it wel to fare!

138. That Grekes wolde hir wraththe on Troye wreke,

If that they mighte, I knowe it wel, y-wis.

But it shal not bifallen as ye speke;

And god to-forn, and ferther over this,

I wot my fader wys and redy is;

And that he me hath bought, as ye me tolde,

So dere, I am the more un-to him holde.

139. That Grekes been of heigh condicioun,

I woot eek wel; but certein, men shal finde

As worthy folk with-inne Troye toun,

As conning, and as parfit and as kinde,

As been bitwixen Orcades and Inde.

And that ye coude wel your lady serve,

I trowe eek wel, hir thank for to deserve.

140. But as to speke of love, y-wis,' she seyde,

'I hadde a lord, to whom I wedded was,

The whos myn herte al was, til that he deyde;

And other love, as helpe me now Pallas,

Ther in myn herte nis, ne never was.

And that ye been of noble and heigh kinrede,

I have wel herd it tellen, out of drede.

141. And that doth me to han so gret a wonder,

That ye wol scornen any womman so.

Eek, god wot, love and I be fer a-sonder;

I am disposed bet, so mote I go,

Un-to my deeth, to pleyne and maken wo.

What I shal after doon, I can not seye;

But trewely, as yet me list not pleye.

142. Myn herte is now in tribulacioun,

And ye in armes bisy, day by day.

Here-after, whan ye wonnen han the toun,

Paraunter, thanne so it happen may,

That whan I see that I never er say,

Than wole I werke that I never wroughte!

This word to yow y-nough suffysen oughte.

143. To-morwe eek wol I speke with yow fayn,

So that ye touchen nought of this matere.

And whan yow list, ye may come here ayeyn;

And, er ye gon, thus muche I seye yow here:

As helpe me Pallas with hir heres clere,

If that I sholde of any Greek han routhe,

It sholde be your-selven, by my trouthe!

144. I sey not therfore that I wol yow love,

Ne I sey not nay, but in conclusioun,

I mene wel, by god that sit above:'—

And ther-with-al she caste hir eyen doun,

And gan to syke, and seyde, 'O Troye toun,

Yet bidde I god, in quiete and in reste

I may yow seen, or do myn herte breste.'

145. But in effect, and shortly for to seye,

This Diomede al freshly newe ayeyn

Gan pressen on, and faste hir mercy preye;

And after this, the sothe for to seyn,

Hir glove he took, of which he was ful fayn.

And fynally, whan it was waxen eve,

And al was wel, he roos and took his leve.

146. The brighte Venus folwede and ay taughte

The wey, ther brode Phebus doun alighte;

And Cynthea hir char-hors over-raughte

To whirle out of the Lyon, if she mighte;

And Signifer his candeles shewed brighte,

Whan that Criseyde un-to hir bedde wente

In-with hir fadres faire brighte tente.

147. Retorning in hir soule ay up and doun

The wordes of this sodein Diomede,

His greet estat, and peril of the toun,

And that she was allone and hadde nede

Of freendes help; and thus bigan to brede

The cause why, the sothe for to telle,

That she tok fully purpos for to dwelle.

148. The morwe com, and goostly for to speke,

This Diomede is come un-to Criseyde,

And shortly, lest that ye my tale breke,

So wel he for him-selve spak and seyde,

That alle hir sykes sore adoun he leyde.

And fynally, the sothe for to seyne,

He refte hir of the grete of al hir peyne.

149. And after this the story telleth us,

That she him yaf the faire baye stede,

The which he ones wan of Troilus;

And eek a broche (and that was litel nede)

That Troilus was, she yaf this Diomede.

And eek, the bet from sorwe him to releve,

She made him were a pencel of hir sleve.

150. I finde eek in the stories elles-where,

Whan through the body hurt was Diomede

Of Troilus, tho weep she many a tere,

Whan that she saugh his wyde woundes blede;

And that she took to kepen him good hede,

And for to hele him of his sorwes smerte.

Men seyn, I not, that she yaf him hir herte.

151. But trewely, the story telleth us,

Ther made never womman more wo

Than she, whan that she falsed Troilus.

She seyde, 'allas! for now is clene a-go

My name of trouthe in love, for ever-mo!

For I have falsed oon, the gentileste

That ever was, and oon the worthieste!

152. Allas, of me, un-to the worldes ende,

Shal neither been y-writen nor y-songe

No good word, for thise bokes wol me shende.

O, rolled shal I been on many a tonge;

Through-out the world my belle shal be ronge;

And wommen most wol hate me of alle.

Allas, that swich a cas me sholde falle!

153. They wol seyn, in as muche as in me is,

I have hem don dishonour, weylawey!

Al be I not the firste that dide amis,

What helpeth that to do my blame awey?

But sin I see there is no bettre way,

And that to late is now for me to rewe,

To Diomede algate I wol be trewe.

154. But Troilus, sin I no better may,

And sin that thus departen ye and I,

Yet preye I god, so yeve yow right good day

As for the gentileste, trewely,

That ever I say, to serven feithfully,

And best can ay his lady honour kepe:'—

And with that word she brast anon to wepe.

155. 'And certes, yow ne haten shal I never,

And freendes love, that shal ye han of me,

And my good word, al mighte I liven ever.

And, trewely, I wolde sory be

For to seen yow in adversitee.

And giltelees, I woot wel, I yow leve;

But al shal passe; and thus take I my leve.'

156. But trewely, how longe it was bitwene,

That she for-sook him for this Diomede,

Ther is non auctor telleth it, I wene.

Take every man now to his bokes hede;

He shal no terme finden, out of drede.

For though that he bigan to wowe hir sone,

Er he hir wan, yet was ther more to done.

157. Ne me ne list this sely womman chyde

Ferther than the story wol devyse.

Hir name, allas! is publisshed so wyde,

That for hir gilt it oughte y-now suffyse.

And if I mighte excuse hir any wyse,

For she so sory was for hir untrouthe,

Y-wis, I wolde excuse hir yet for routhe.

158. This Troilus, as I biforn have told,

Thus dryveth forth, as wel as he hath might.

But often was his herte hoot and cold,

And namely, that ilke nynthe night,

Which on the morwe she hadde him byhight

To come ayein: god wot, ful litel reste

Hadde he that night; no-thing to slepe him leste.

159. The laurer-crouned Phebus, with his hete,

Gan, in his course ay upward as he wente,

To warmen of the est see the wawes wete;

And Nisus doughter song with fresh entente,

Whan Troilus his Pandare after sente;

And on the walles of the toun they pleyde,

To loke if they can seen ought of Criseyde.

160. Til it was noon, they stoden for to see

Who that ther come; and every maner wight,

That cam fro fer, they seyden it was she,

Til that they coude knowen him a-right.

Now was his herte dul, now was it light;

And thus by-iaped stonden for to stare

Aboute nought, this Troilus and Pandare.

161. To Pandarus this Troilus tho seyde,

'For ought I wot, bi-for noon, sikerly,

In-to this toun ne comth nought here Criseyde.

She hath y-now to done, hardily,

To winnen from hir fader, so trowe I;

Hir olde fader wol yet make hir dyne

Er that she go; god yeve his herte pyne!'

162. Pandare answerde, 'it may wel be, certeyn;

And for-thy lat us dyne, I thee biseche;

And after noon than mayst thou come ayeyn.'

And hoom they go, with-oute more speche;

And comen ayein, but longe may they seche

Er that they finde that they after cape;

Fortune hem bothe thenketh for to Iape.

163. Quod Troilus, 'I see wel now, that she

Is taried with hir olde fader so,

That er she come, it wol neigh even be.

Com forth, I wol un-to the yate go.

Thise portours been unkonninge ever-mo;

And I wol doon hem holden up the yate

As nought ne were, al-though she come late.'

164. The day goth faste, and after that comth eve,

And yet com nought to Troilus Criseyde.

He loketh forth by hegge, by tree, by greve,

And fer his heed over the wal he leyde.

And at the laste he torned him, and seyde,

'By god, I woot hir mening now, Pandare!

Al-most, y-wis, al newe was my care.

165. Now douteles, this lady can hir good;

I woot, she meneth ryden prively.

I comende hir wysdom, by myn hood!

She wol not maken peple nycely

Gaure on hir, whan she comth; but softely

By nighte in-to the toun she thenketh ryde.

And, dere brother, thenk not longe to abyde.

166. We han nought elles for to don, y-wis.

And Pandarus, now woltow trowen me?

Have here my trouthe, I see hir! yond she is.

Heve up thyn eyen, man! maystow not see?'

Pandare answerde, 'nay, so mote I thee!

Al wrong, by god; what seystow, man, wher art?

That I see yond nis but a fare-cart.'

167. 'Allas, thou seist right sooth,' quod Troilus;

'But hardely, it is not al for nought

That in myn herte I now reioyse thus.

It is ayein som good I have a thought.

Noot I not how, but sin that I was wrought,

Ne felte I swich a confort, dar I seye;

She comth to-night, my lyf, that dorste I leye!'

168. Pandare answerde, 'it may be wel, y-nough';

And held with him of al that ever he seyde;

But in his herte he thoughte, and softe lough,

And to him-self ful sobrely he seyde:

'From hasel-wode, ther Ioly Robin pleyde,

Shal come al that that thou abydest here;

Ye, fare-wel al the snow of ferne yere!'

169. The wardein of the yates gan to calle

The folk which that with-oute the yates were,

And bad hem dryven in hir bestes alle,

Or al the night they moste bleven there.

And fer with-in the night, with many a tere,

This Troilus gan hoomward for to ryde;

For wel he seeth it helpeth nought tabyde.

170. But natheles, he gladded him in this;

He thoughte he misacounted hadde his day,

And seyde, 'I understonde have al a-mis.

For thilke night I last Criseyde say,

She seyde, "I shal ben here, if that I may,

Er that the mone, O dere herte swete!

The Lyon passe, out of this Ariete."

171. For which she may yet holde al hir biheste.'

And on the morwe un-to the yate he wente,

And up and down, by west and eek by este,

Up-on the walles made he many a wente.

But al for nought; his hope alwey him blente;

For which at night, in sorwe and sykes sore

He wente him hoom, with-outen any more.

172. This hope al clene out of his herte fledde,

He nath wher-on now lenger for to honge;

But for the peyne him thoughte his herte bledde,

So were his throwes sharpe and wonder stronge.

For when he saugh that she abood so longe,

He niste what he iuggen of it mighte,

Sin she hath broken that she him bihighte.

173. The thridde, ferthe, fifte, sixte day

After tho dayes ten, of which I tolde,

Bitwixen hope and drede his herte lay,

Yet som-what trustinge on hir hestes olde.

But whan he saugh she nolde hir terme holde,

He can now seen non other remedye,

But for to shape him sone for to dye.

174. Ther-with the wikked spirit, god us blesse,

Which that men clepeth wode Ialousye,

Gan in him crepe, in al this hevinesse;

For which, by-cause he wolde sone dye,

He ne eet ne dronk, for his malencolye,

And eek from every companye he fledde;

This was the lyf that al the tyme he ledde.

175. He so defet was, that no maner man

Unnethe mighte him knowe ther he wente;

So was he lene, and ther-to pale and wan,

And feble, that he walketh by potente;

And with his ire he thus him-selven shente.

And who-so axed him wher-of him smerte,

He seyde, his harm was al aboute his herte.

176. Pryam ful ofte, and eek his moder dere,

His bretheren and his sustren gonne him freyne

Why he so sorwful was in al his chere,

And what thing was the cause of al his peyne?

But al for nought; he nolde his cause pleyne,

But seyde, he felte a grevous maladye

A-boute his herte, and fayn he wolde dye.

177. So on a day he leyde him doun to slepe,

And so bifel that in his sleep him thoughte,

That in a forest faste he welk to wepe

For love of hir that him these peynes wroughte;

And up and doun as he the forest soughte,

He mette he saugh a boor with tuskes grete,

That sleep ayein the brighte sonnes hete.

178. And by this boor, faste in his armes folde,

Lay kissing ay his lady bright Criseyde:

For sorwe of which, whan he it gan biholde,

And for despyt, out of his slepe he breyde,

And loude he cryde on Pandarus, and seyde,

'O Pandarus, now knowe I crop and rote!

I nam but deed, ther nis non other bote!

179. My lady bright Criseyde hath me bitrayed,

In whom I trusted most of any wight,

She elles-where hath now hir herte apayed;

The blisful goddes, through hir grete might,

Han in my dreem y-shewed it ful right.

Thus in my dreem Criseyde I have biholde'—

And al this thing to Pandarus he tolde.

180. 'O my Criseyde, allas! what subtiltee,

What newe lust, what beautee, what science,

What wratthe of iuste cause have ye to me?

What gilt of me, whal fel experience

Hath fro me raft, allas! thyn advertence?

O trust, O feyth, O depe asëuraunce,

Who hath me reft Criseyde, al my plesaunce?

181. Allas! why leet I you from hennes go,

For which wel neigh out of my wit I breyde?

Who shal now trowe on any othes mo?

God wot I wende, O lady bright, Criseyde,

That every word was gospel that ye seyde!

But who may bet bigylen, if him liste,

Than he on whom men weneth best to triste?

182. What shal I doon, my Pandarus, allas!

I fele now so sharpe a newe peyne,

Sin that ther is no remedie in this cas,

That bet were it I with myn hondes tweyne

My-selven slow, than alwey thus to pleyne.

For through my deeth my wo sholde han an ende,

Ther every day with lyf my-self I shende.'