183. Pandare answerde and seyde, 'allas the whyle

That I was born; have I not seyd er this,

That dremes many a maner man bigyle?

And why? for folk expounden hem a-mis.

How darstow seyn that fals thy lady is,

For any dreem, right for thyn owene drede?

Lat be this thought, thou canst no dremes rede.

184. Paraunter, ther thou dremest of this boor,

It may so be that it may signifye

Hir fader, which that old is and eek hoor,

Ayein the sonne lyth, on poynt to dye,

And she for sorwe ginneth wepe and crye,

And kisseth him, ther he lyth on the grounde;

Thus shuldestow thy dreem a-right expounde.'

185. 'How mighte I thanne do?' quod Troilus,

'To knowe of this, ye, were it never so lyte?'

'Now seystow wysly,' quod this Pandarus,

'My reed is this, sin thou canst wel endyte,

That hastely a lettre thou hir wryte,

Thorugh which thou shalt wel bringen it aboute,

To knowe a sooth of that thou art in doute.

186. And see now why; for this I dar wel seyn,

That if so is that she untrewe be,

I can not trowe that she wol wryte ayeyn.

And if she wryte, thou shalt ful sone see,

As whether she hath any libertee

To come ayein, or elles in som clause,

If she be let, she wol assigne a cause.

187. Thou hast not writen hir sin that she wente,

Nor she to thee, and this I dorste leye,

Ther may swich cause been in hir entente,

That hardely thou wolt thy-selven seye,

That hir a-bood the beste is for yow tweye.

Now wryte hir thanne, and thou shalt fele sone

A sothe of al; ther is no more to done.'

188. Acorded been to this conclusioun,

And that anoon, these ilke lordes two;

And hastely sit Troilus adoun,

And rolleth in his herte to and fro,

How he may best discryven hir his wo.

And to Criseyde, his owene lady dere,

He wroot right thus, and seyde as ye may here.

189. 'Right fresshe flour, whos I have been and shal,

With-outen part of elles-where servyse,

With herte, body, lyf, lust, thought, and al;

I, woful wight, in every humble wyse

That tonge telle or herte may devyse,

As ofte as matere occupyeth place,

Me recomaunde un-to your noble grace.

190. Lyketh it yow to witen, swete herte,

As ye wel knowe how longe tyme agoon

That ye me lafte in aspre peynes smerte,

Whan that ye wente, of which yet bote noon

Have I non had, but ever wers bigoon

Fro day to day am I, and so mot dwelle,

While it yow list, of wele and wo my welle!

191. For which to yow, with dredful herte trewe,

I wryte, as he that sorwe dryfth to wryte,

My wo, that every houre encreseth newe,

Compleyninge as I dar or can endyte.

And that defaced is, that may ye wyte

The teres, which that fro myn eyen reyne,

That wolde speke, if that they coude, and pleyne.

192. Yow first biseche I, that your eyen clere

To look on this defouled ye not holde;

And over al this, that ye, my lady dere,

Wol vouche-sauf this lettre to biholde.

And by the cause eek of my cares colde,

That sleeth my wit, if ought amis me asterte,

For-yeve it me, myn owene swete herte.

193. If any servant dorste or oughte of right

Up-on his lady pitously compleyne,

Than wene I, that ich oughte be that wight,

Considered this, that ye these monthes tweyne

Han taried, ther ye seyden, sooth to seyne,

But dayes ten ye nolde in ost soiourne,

But in two monthes yet ye not retourne.

194. But for-as-muche as me mot nedes lyke

Al that yow list, I dar not pleyne more,

But humbely with sorwful sykes syke;

Yow wryte ich myn unresty sorwes sore,

Fro day to day desyring ever-more

To knowen fully, if your wil it were,

How ye han ferd and doon, whyl ye be there.

195. The whos wel-fare and hele eek god encresse

In honour swich, that upward in degree

It growe alwey, so that it never cesse;

Right as your herte ay can, my lady free,

Devyse, I prey to god so mote it be.

And graunte it that ye sone up-on me rewe

As wisly as in al I am yow trewe.

196. And if yow lyketh knowen of the fare

Of me, whos wo ther may no wight discryve,

I can no more but, cheste of every care,

At wrytinge of this lettre I was on-lyve,

Al redy out my woful gost to dryve;

Which I delaye, and holde him yet in honde,

Upon the sight of matere of your sonde.

197. Myn eyen two, in veyn with which I see,

Of sorweful teres salte arn waxen welles;

My song, in pleynte of myn adversitee;

My good, in harm; myn ese eek waxen helle is.

My Ioye, in wo; I can sey yow nought elles,

But turned is, for which my lyf I warie,

Everich Ioye or ese in his contrarie.

198. Which with your cominge hoom ayein to Troye

Ye may redresse, and, more a thousand sythe

Than ever ich hadde, encressen in me Ioye.

For was ther never herte yet so blythe

To han his lyf, as I shal been as swythe

As I yow see; and, though no maner routhe

Commeve yow, yet thinketh on your trouthe.

199. And if so be my gilt hath deeth deserved,

Or if you list no more up-on me see,

In guerdon yet of that I have you served,

Biseche I yow, myn hertes lady free,

That here-upon ye wolden wryte me,

For love of god, my righte lode-sterre,

Ther deeth may make an ende of al my werre.

200. If other cause aught doth yow for to dwelle,

That with your lettre ye me recomforte;

For though to me your absence is an helle,

With pacience I wol my wo comporte.

And with your lettre of hope I wol desporte.

Now wryteth, swete, and lat me thus not pleyne;

With hope, or deeth, delivereth me fro peyne.

201. Y-wis, myn owene dere herte trewe,

I woot that, whan ye next up-on me see,

So lost have I myn hele and eek myn hewe,

Criseyde shal nought conne knowe me!

Y-wis, myn hertes day, my lady free,

So thursteth ay myn herte to biholde

Your beautee, that my lyf unnethe I holde.

202. I sey no more, al have I for to seye

To you wel more than I telle may;

But whether that ye do me live or deye,

Yet pray I god, so yeve yow right good day.

And fareth wel, goodly fayre fresshe may,

As ye that lyf or deeth me may comaunde;

And to your trouthe ay I me recomaunde

203. With hele swich that, but ye yeven me

The same hele, I shal noon hele have.

In you lyth, whan yow list that it so be,

The day in which me clothen shal my grave.

In yow my lyf, in yow might for to save

Me from disese of alle peynes smerte;

And fare now wel, myn owene swete herte!

Le vostre T.'

204. This lettre forth was sent un-to Criseyde,

Of which hir answere in effect was this;

Ful pitously she wroot ayein, and seyde,

That al-so sone as that she might, y-wis,

She wolde come, and mende al that was mis.

And fynally she wroot and seyde him thanne,

She wolde come, ye, but she niste whanne.

205. But in hir lettre made she swich festes,

That wonder was, and swereth she loveth him best,

Of which he fond but botmelees bihestes.

But Troilus, thou mayst now, est or west,

Pype in an ivy leef, if that thee lest;

Thus gooth the world; god shilde us fro mischaunce,

And every wight that meneth trouthe avaunce!

206. Encresen gan the wo fro day to night

Of Troilus, for taryinge of Criseyde;

And lessen gan his hope and eek his might,

For which al doun he in his bed him leyde;

He ne eet, ne dronk, ne sleep, ne word he seyde,

Imagininge ay that she was unkinde;

For which wel neigh he wex out of his minde.

207. This dreem, of which I told have eek biforn,

May never come out of his remembraunce;

He thoughte ay wel he hadde his lady lorn,

And that Ioves, of his purveyaunce,

Him shewed hadde in sleep the signifiaunce

Of hir untrouthe and his disaventure,

And that the boor was shewed him in figure.

208. For which he for Sibille his suster sente,

That called was Cassandre eek al aboute;

And al his dreem he tolde hir er he stente,

And hir bisoughte assoilen him the doute

Of the stronge boor, with tuskes stoute;

And fynally, with-inne a litel stounde,

Cassandre him gan right thus his dreem expounde.

209. She gan first smyle, and seyde, 'O brother dere,

If thou a sooth of this desyrest knowe,

Thou most a fewe of olde stories here,

To purpos, how that fortune over-throwe

Hath lordes olde; through which, with-inne a throwe,

Thou wel this boor shalt knowe, and of what kinde

He comen is, as men in bokes finde.

210. Diane, which that wrooth was and in ire

For Grekes nolde doon hir sacrifyse,

Ne encens up-on hir auter sette a-fyre,

She, for that Grekes gonne hir so dispyse,

Wrak hir in a wonder cruel wyse.

For with a boor as greet as oxe in stalle

She made up frete hir corn and vynes alle.

211. To slee this boor was al the contree reysed,

A-monges which ther com, this boor to see,

A mayde, oon of this world the best y-preysed;

And Meleagre, lord of that contree,

He lovede so this fresshe mayden free

That with his manhod, er he wolde stente,

This boor he slow, and hir the heed he sente;

212. Of which, as olde bokes tellen us,

Ther roos a contek and a greet envye;

And of this lord descended Tydeus

By ligne, or elles olde bokes lye;

But how this Meleagre gan to dye

Thorugh his moder, wol I yow not telle,

For al to long it were for to dwelle.'

[Argument of the 12 Books of Statius' Thebais.]

Associat profugum Tideo primus Polimitem;

Tidea legatum docet insidiasque secundus;

Tercius Hemoniden canit et vates latitantes;

Quartus habet reges ineuntes prelia septem;

Mox furie Lenne quinto narratur et anguis;

Archimori bustum sexto ludique leguntur;

Dat Graios Thebes et vatem septimus vmbris;

Octauo cecidit Tideus, spes, vita Pelasgis;

Ypomedon nono moritur cum Parthonopeo;

Fulmine percussus, decimo Capaneus superatur;

Vndecimo sese perimunt per vulnera fratres;

Argiuam flentem narrat duodenus et ignem.

213. She toldë eek how Tydeus, er she stente,

Un-to the stronge citee of Thebes,

To cleyme kingdom of the citee, wente,

For his felawe, daun Polymites,

Of which the brother, daun Ethyocles

Ful wrongfully of Thebes held the strengthe;

This tolde she by proces, al by lengthe.

214. She tolde eek how Hemonides asterte,

Whan Tydeus slough fifty knightes stoute.

She told eek al the prophesyes by herte,

And how that sevene kinges, with hir route,

Bisegeden the citee al aboute;

And of the holy serpent, and the welle,

And of the furies, al she gan him telle.

215. Of Archimoris buryinge and the pleyes,

And how Amphiorax fil through the grounde,

How Tydeus was slayn, lord of Argeyes,

And how Ypomedoun in litel stounde

Was dreynt, and deed Parthonope of wounde;

And also how Cappanëus the proude

With thonder-dint was slayn, that cryde loude.

216. She gan eek telle him how that either brother,

Ethyocles and Polimyte also,

At a scarmyche, eche of hem slough other,

And of Argyves wepinge and hir wo;

And how the town was brent she tolde eek tho.

And so descendeth doun from gestes olde

To Diomede, and thus she spak and tolde.

217. 'This ilke boor bitokneth Diomede,

Tydeus sone, that doun descended is

Fro Meleagre, that made the boor to blede.

And thy lady, wher-so she be, y-wis,

This Diomede hir herte hath, and she his.

Weep if thou wolt, or leef; for, out of doute,

This Diomede is inne, and thou art oute.'

218. 'Thou seyst nat sooth,' quod he, 'thou sorceresse,

With al thy false goost of prophesye!

Thou wenest been a greet devyneresse;

Now seestow not this fool of fantasye

Peyneth hir on ladyes for to lye?

Awey,' quod he, 'ther Ioves yeve thee sorwe!

Thou shalt be fals, paraunter, yet to-morwe!

219. As wel thou mightest lyen on Alceste,

That was of creatures, but men lye,

That ever weren, kindest and the beste.

For whanne hir housbonde was in Iupartye

To dye him-self, but-if she wolde dye,

She chees for him to dye and go to helle,

And starf anoon, as us the bokes telle.'

220. Cassandre goth, and he with cruel herte

For-yat his wo, for angre of hir speche;

And from his bed al sodeinly he sterte,

As though al hool him hadde y-mad a leche.

And day by day he gan enquere and seche

A sooth of this, with al his fulle cure;

And thus he dryeth forth his aventure.

221. Fortune, whiche that permutacioun

Of thinges hath, as it is hir committed

Through purveyaunce and disposicioun

Of heighe Iove, as regnes shal ben flitted

Fro folk in folk, or whan they shal ben smitted,

Gan pulle awey the fetheres brighte of Troye

Fro day to day, til they ben bare of Ioye.

222. Among al this, the fyn of the parodie

Of Ector gan approchen wonder blyve;

The fate wolde his soule sholde unbodie,

And shapen hadde a mene it out to dryve;

Ayeins which fate him helpeth not to stryve;

But on a day to fighten gan he wende,

At which, allas! he caughte his lyves ende.

223. For which me thinketh every maner wight

That haunteth armes oughte to biwayle

The deeth of him that was so noble a knight;

For as he drough a king by thaventayle,

Unwar of this, Achilles through the mayle

And through the body gan him for to ryve;

And thus this worthy knight was brought of lyve.

224. For whom, as olde bokes tellen us,

Was mad swich wo, that tonge it may not telle;

And namely, the sorwe of Troilus,

That next him was of worthinesse welle.

And in this wo gan Troilus to dwelle,

That, what for sorwe, and love, and for unreste,

Ful ofte a day he bad his herte breste.

225. But natheles, though he gan him dispeyre,

And dradde ay that his lady was untrewe,

Yet ay on hir his herte gan repeyre.

And as these loveres doon, he soughte ay newe

To gete ayein Criseyde, bright of hewe.

And in his herte he wente hir excusinge,

That Calkas causede al hir taryinge.

226. And ofte tyme he was in purpos grete

Him-selven lyk a pilgrim to disgyse,

To seen hir; but he may not contrefete

To been unknowen of folk that weren wyse,

Ne finde excuse aright that may suffyse,

If he among the Grekes knowen were;

For which he weep ful ofte many a tere.

227. To hir he wroot yet ofte tyme al newe

Ful pitously, he lefte it nought for slouthe,

Biseching hir that, sin that he was trewe,

She wolde come ayein and holde hir trouthe.

For which Criseyde up-on a day, for routhe,

I take it so, touchinge al this matere,

Wrot him ayein, and seyde as ye may here.

228. 'Cupydes sone, ensample of goodlihede,

O swerd of knighthod, sours of gentilesse!

How mighte a wight in torment and in drede

And helelees, yow sende as yet gladnesse?

I hertelees, I syke, I in distresse;

Sin ye with me, nor I with yow may dele,

Yow neither sende ich herte may nor hele.

229. Your lettres ful, the papir al y-pleynted,

Conseyved hath myn hertes piëtee;

I have eek seyn with teres al depeynted

Your lettre, and how that ye requeren me

To come ayein, which yet ne may not be.

But why, lest that this lettre founden were,

No mencioun ne make I now, for fere.

230. Grevous to me, god woot, is your unreste,

Your haste, and that, the goddes ordenaunce,

It semeth not ye take it for the beste.

Nor other thing nis in your remembraunce,

As thinketh me, but only your plesaunce.

But beth not wrooth, and that I yow biseche;

For that I tarie, is al for wikked speche.

231. For I have herd wel more than I wende,

Touchinge us two, how thinges han y-stonde;

Which I shal with dissimulinge amende.

And beth nought wrooth, I have eek understonde,

How ye ne doon but holden me in honde.

But now no fors, I can not in yow gesse

But alle trouthe and alle gentilesse.

232. Comen I wol, but yet in swich disioynte

I stonde as now, that what yeer or what day

That this shal be, that can I not apoynte.

But in effect, I prey yow, as I may,

Of your good word and of your frendship ay.

For trewely, whyl that my lyf may dure,

As for a freend, ye may in me assure.

233. Yet preye I yow on yvel ye ne take,

That it is short which that I to yow wryte;

I dar not, ther I am, wel lettres make,

Ne never yet ne coude I wel endyte.

Eek greet effect men wryte in place lyte.

Thentente is al, and nought the lettres space;

And fareth now wel, god have you in his grace!

La vostre C.'

234. This Troilus this lettre thoughte al straunge,

Whan he it saugh, and sorwefully he sighte;

Him thoughte it lyk a kalendes of chaunge;

But fynally, he ful ne trowen mighte

That she ne wolde him holden that she highte;

For with ful yvel wil list him to leve

That loveth wel, in swich cas, though him greve.

235. But natheles, men seyn that, at the laste,

For any thing, men shal the sothe see;

And swich a cas bitidde, and that as faste,

That Troilus wel understood that she

Nas not so kinde as that hir oughte be.

And fynally, he woot now, out of doute,

That al is lost that he hath been aboute.

236. Stood on a day in his malencolye

This Troilus, and in suspecioun

Of hir for whom he wende for to dye.

And so bifel, that through-out Troye toun,

As was the gyse, y-bore was up and doun

A maner cote-armure, as seyth the storie,

Biforn Deiphebe, in signe of his victorie,

237. The whiche cote, as telleth Lollius,

Deiphebe it hadde y-rent from Diomede

The same day; and whan this Troilus

It saugh, he gan to taken of it hede,

Avysing of the lengthe and of the brede,

And al the werk; but as he gan biholde,

Ful sodeinly his herte gan to colde,

238. As he that on the coler fond with-inne

A broche, that he Criseyde yaf that morwe

That she from Troye moste nedes twinne,

In remembraunce of him and of his sorwe;

And she him leyde ayein hir feyth to borwe

To kepe it ay; but now, ful wel he wiste,

His lady nas no lenger on to triste.

239. He gooth him hoom, and gan ful sone sende

For Pandarus; and al this newe chaunce,

And of this broche, he tolde him word and ende,

Compleyninge of hir hertes variaunce,

His longe love, his trouthe, and his penaunce;

And after deeth, with-outen wordes more,

Ful faste he cryde, his reste him to restore.

240. Than spak he thus, 'O lady myn Criseyde,

Wher is your feyth, and wher is your biheste?

Wher is your love, wher is your trouthe,' he seyde;

'Of Diomede have ye now al this feste!

Allas, I wolde have trowed at the leste,

That, sin ye nolde in trouthe to me stonde,

That ye thus nolde han holden me in honde!

241. Who shal now trowe on any othes mo?

Allas, I never wolde han wend, er this,

That ye, Criseyde, coude han chaunged so;

Ne, but I hadde a-gilt and doon amis,