And ner he com, and seyde hir in hir ere, 'No word, for love of G.o.d I yow biseche; 755 Lat no wight ryse and heren of oure speche.'

'What! Which wey be ye comen, benedicite?'

Quod she; 'And how thus unwist of hem alle?'

'Here at this secre trappe-dore,' quod he.

Quod tho Criseyde, 'Lat me som wight calle.' 760 'Ey! G.o.d forbede that it sholde falle,'

Quod Pandarus, 'that ye swich foly wroughte!

They mighte deme thing they never er thoughte!

'It is nought good a sleping hound to wake, Ne yeve a wight a cause to devyne; 765 Your wommen slepen alle, I under-take, So that, for hem, the hous men mighte myne; And slepen wolen til the sonne shyne.

And whan my tale al brought is to an ende, Unwist, right as I com, so wol I wende. 770

'Now, nece myn, ye shul wel understonde,'

Quod he, 'so as ye wommen demen alle, That for to holde in love a man in honde, And him hir "leef" and "dere herte" calle, And maken him an howve above a calle, 775 I mene, as love an other in this whyle, She doth hir-self a shame, and him a gyle.

'Now wherby that I telle yow al this?

Ye woot your-self, as wel as any wight, How that your love al fully graunted is 780 To Troilus, the worthieste knight, Oon of this world, and ther-to trouthe plyght, That, but it were on him along, ye nolde Him never falsen, whyle ye liven sholde.

'Now stant it thus, that sith I fro yow wente, 785 This Troilus, right platly for to seyn, Is thurgh a goter, by a prive wente, In-to my chaumbre come in al this reyn, Unwist of every maner wight, certeyn, Save of my-self, as wisly have I Ioye, 790 And by that feith I shal Pryam of Troye!

'And he is come in swich peyne and distresse That, but he be al fully wood by this, He sodeynly mot falle in-to wodnesse, But-if G.o.d helpe; and cause why this is, 795 He seyth him told is, of a freend of his, How that ye sholde love oon that hatte Horaste, For sorwe of which this night shalt been his laste.'

Criseyde, which that al this wonder herde, Gan sodeynly aboute hir herte colde, 800 And with a syk she sorwfully answerde, 'Allas! I wende, who-so tales tolde, My dere herte wolde me not holde So lightly fals! Allas! Conceytes wronge, What harm they doon, for now live I to longe! 805

'Horaste! Allas! And falsen Troilus?

I knowe him not, G.o.d helpe me so,' quod she; 'Allas! What wikked spirit tolde him thus?

Now certes, eem, to-morwe, and I him see, I shal ther-of as ful excusen me 810 As ever dide womman, if him lyke'; And with that word she gan ful sore syke.

'O G.o.d!' quod she, 'So worldly selinesse, Which clerkes callen fals felicitee, Y-medled is with many a bitternesse! 815 Ful anguisshous than is, G.o.d woot,' quod she, 'Condicioun of veyn prosperitee; For either Ioyes comen nought y-fere, Or elles no wight hath hem alwey here.

'O brotel wele of mannes Ioye unstable! 820 With what wight so thou be, or how thou pleye, Either he woot that thou, Ioye, art muable, Or woot it not, it moot ben oon of tweye; Now if he woot it not, how may he seye That he hath verray Ioye and selinesse, 825 That is of ignoraunce ay in derknesse?

'Now if he woot that Ioye is transitorie, As every Ioye of worldly thing mot flee, Than every tyme he that hath in memorie, The drede of lesing maketh him that he 830 May in no perfit selinesse be.

And if to lese his Ioye he set a myte, Than semeth it that Ioye is worth ful lyte.

'Wherfore I wol deffyne in this matere, That trewely, for ought I can espye, 835 Ther is no verray wele in this world here.

But O, thou wikked serpent, Ialousye, Thou misbeleved and envious folye, Why hastow Troilus me mad untriste, That never yet agilte him, that I wiste?' 840

Quod Pandarus, 'Thus fallen is this cas.'

'Why, uncle myn,' quod she, 'who tolde him this?

Why doth my dere herte thus, allas?'

'Ye woot, ye nece myn,' quod he, 'what is; I hope al shal be wel that is amis, 845 For ye may quenche al this, if that yow leste, And doth right so, for I holde it the beste.'

'So shal I do to-morwe, y-wis,' quod she, 'And G.o.d to-forn, so that it shal suffyse.'

'To-morwe? Allas, that were a fair!' quod he, 850 'Nay, nay, it may not stonden in this wyse; For, nece myn, thus wryten clerkes wyse, That peril is with drecching in y-drawe; Nay, swich abodes been nought worth an hawe.

'Nece, al thing hath tyme, I dar avowe; 855 For whan a chaumber a-fyr is, or an halle, Wel more nede is, it sodeynly rescowe Than to dispute, and axe amonges alle How is this candele in the straw y-falle?

A! Benedicite! For al among that fare 860 The harm is doon, and fare-wel feldefare!

'And, nece myn, ne take it not a-greef, If that ye suffre him al night in this wo, G.o.d help me so, ye hadde him never leef, That dar I seyn, now there is but we two; 865 But wel I woot, that ye wol not do so; Ye been to wys to do so gret folye, To putte his lyf al night in Iupertye.

'Hadde I him never leef? By G.o.d, I wene Ye hadde never thing so leef,' quod she. 870 'Now by my thrift,' quod he, 'that shal be sene; For, sin ye make this ensample of me, If I al night wolde him in sorwe see For al the tresour in the toun of Troye, I bidde G.o.d, I never mote have Ioye! 875

'Now loke thanne, if ye, that been his love, Shul putte al night his lyf in Iupartye For thing of nought! Now, by that G.o.d above, Nought only this delay comth of folye, But of malyce, if that I shal nought lye. 880 What, platly, and ye suffre him in distresse, Ye neither bountee doon ne gentilesse!'

Quod tho Criseyde, 'Wole ye doon o thing, And ye therwith shal stinte al his disese?

Have here, and bereth him this blewe ringe, 885 For ther is no-thing mighte him bettre plese, Save I my-self, ne more his herte apese; And sey my dere herte, that his sorwe Is causeles, that shal be seen to-morwe.'

'A ring?' quod he, 'Ye, hasel-wodes shaken! 890 Ye nece myn, that ring moste han a stoon That mighte dede men alyve maken; And swich a ring trowe I that ye have noon.

Discrecioun out of your heed is goon; That fele I now,' quod he, 'and that is routhe; 895 O tyme y-lost, wel maystow cursen slouthe!

'Wot ye not wel that n.o.ble and heigh corage Ne sorweth not, ne stinteth eek for lyte?

But if a fool were in a Ialous rage, I nolde setten at his sorwe a myte, 900 But feffe him with a fewe wordes whyte Another day, whan that I mighte him finde; But this thing stant al in another kinde.

'This is so gentil and so tendre of herte, That with his deeth he wol his sorwes wreke; 905 For trusteth wel, how sore that him smerte, He wol to yow no Ialouse wordes speke.

And for-thy, nece, er that his herte breke, So spek your-self to him of this matere; For with o word ye may his herte stere. 910

'Now have I told what peril he is inne, And his coming unwist is to every wight; Ne, pardee, harm may ther be noon, ne sinne; I wol my-self be with yow al this night.

Ye knowe eek how it is your owne knight, 915 And that, by right, ye moste upon him triste, And I al prest to fecche him whan yow liste.'

This accident so pitous was to here, And eek so lyk a sooth, at pryme face, And Troilus hir knight to hir so dere, 920 His prive coming, and the siker place, That, though that she dide him as thanne a grace, Considered alle thinges as they stode, No wonder is, sin she dide al for G.o.de.

Cryseyde answerde, 'As wisly G.o.d at reste 925 My sowle bringe, as me is for him wo!

And eem, y-wis, fayn wolde I doon the beste, If that I hadde grace to do so.

But whether that ye dwelle or for him go, I am, til G.o.d me bettre minde sende, 930 At dulcarnon, right at my wittes ende.'

Quod Pandarus, 'Ye, nece, wol ye here?

Dulcarnon called is "fleminge of wrecches"; It semeth hard, for wrecches wol not lere For verray slouthe or othere wilful tecches; 935 This seyd by hem that be not worth two fecches.

But ye ben wys, and that we han on honde Nis neither hard, ne skilful to withstonde.'

'Thanne, eem,' quod she, 'doth her-of as yow list; But er he come, I wil up first aryse; 940 And, for the love of G.o.d, sin al my trist Is on yow two, and ye ben bothe wyse, So wircheth now in so discreet a wyse, That I honour may have, and he plesaunce; For I am here al in your governaunce.' 945

'That is wel seyd,' quod he, 'my nece dere'

Ther good thrift on that wyse gentil herte!

But liggeth stille, and taketh him right here, It nedeth not no ferther for him sterte; And ech of yow ese otheres sorwes smerte, 950 For love of G.o.d; and, Venus, I the herie; For sone hope I we shulle ben alle merie.'

This Troilus ful sone on knees him sette Ful sobrely, right be hir beddes heed, And in his beste wyse his lady grette; 955 But lord, so she wex sodeynliche reed!

Ne, though men sholden smyten of hir heed, She coude nought a word a-right out-bringe So sodeynly, for his sodeyn cominge.

But Pandarus, that so wel coude fele 960 In every thing, to pleye anoon bigan, And seyde, 'Nece, see how this lord can knele!

Now, for your trouthe, seeth this gentil man!'

And with that word he for a quisshen ran, And seyde, 'Kneleth now, whyl that yow leste, 965 Ther G.o.d your hertes bringe sone at reste!'

Can I not seyn, for she bad him not ryse, If sorwe it putte out of hir remembraunce, Or elles that she toke it in the wyse Of duetee, as for his observaunce; 970 But wel finde I she dide him this plesaunce, That she him kiste, al-though she syked sore; And bad him sitte a-doun with-outen more.

Quod Pandarus, 'Now wol ye wel biginne; Now doth him sitte, G.o.de nece dere, 975 Upon your beddes syde al there with-inne, That ech of yow the bet may other here.'

And with that word he drow him to the fere, And took a light, and fond his contenaunce, As for to loke up-on an old romaunce. 980

Criseyde, that was Troilus lady right, And cleer stood on a ground of sikernesse, Al thoughte she, hir servaunt and hir knight Ne sholde of right non untrouthe in hir gesse, Yet nathelees, considered his distresse, 985 And that love is in cause of swich folye, Thus to him spak she of his Ialousye: