'Lo, herte myn, as wolde the excellence Of love, ayeins the which that no man may, Ne oughte eek goodly maken resistence 990 And eek bycause I felte wel and say Youre grete trouthe, and servyse every day; And that your herte al myn was, sooth to seyne, This droof me for to rewe up-on your peyne.

'And your goodnesse have I founde alwey yit, 995 Of whiche, my dere herte and al my knight, I thonke it yow, as fer as I have wit, Al can I nought as muche as it were right; And I, emforth my conninge and my might, Have and ay shal, how sore that me smerte, 1000 Ben to yow trewe and hool, with a myn herte;

'And dredelees, that shal be founde at preve. -- But, herte myn, what al this is to seyne Shal wel be told, so that ye noght yow greve, Though I to yow right on your-self compleyne. 1005 For ther-with mene I fynally the peyne, That halt your herte and myn in hevinesse, Fully to sleen, and every wrong redresse.

'My goode, myn, not I for-why ne how That Ialousye, allas! That wikked wivere, 1010 Thus causelees is cropen in-to yow; The harm of which I wolde fayn delivere!

Allas! That he, al hool, or of him slivere, Shuld have his refut in so digne a place, Ther Iove him sone out of your herte arace! 1015

'But O, thou Iove, O auctor of nature, Is this an honour to thy deitee, That folk ungiltif suffren here iniure, And who that giltif is, al quit goth he?

O were it leful for to pleyne on thee, 1020 That undeserved suffrest Ialousye, Of that I wolde up-on thee pleyne and crye!

'Eek al my wo is this, that folk now usen To seyn right thus, "Ye, Ialousye is love!"

And wolde a busshel venim al excusen, 1025 For that o greyn of love is on it shove!

But that wot heighe G.o.d that sit above, If it be lyker love, or hate, or grame; And after that, it oughte bere his name.

'But certeyn is, som maner Ialousye 1030 Is excusable more than som, y-wis.

As whan cause is, and som swich fantasye With pietee so wel repressed is, That it unnethe dooth or seyth amis, But goodly drinketh up al his distresse; 1035 And that excuse I, for the gentilesse.

'And som so ful of furie is and despyt That it sourmounteth his repressioun; But herte myn, ye be not in that plyt, That thanke I G.o.d, for whiche your pa.s.sioun 1040 I wol not calle it but illusioun, Of habundaunce of love and bisy cure, That dooth your herte this disese endure.

'Of which I am right sory but not wrooth; But, for my devoir and your hertes reste, 1045 Wher-so yow list, by ordal or by ooth, By sort, or in what wyse so yow leste, For love of G.o.d, lat preve it for the beste!

And if that I be giltif, do me deye, Allas! What mighte I more doon or seye?' 1050

With that a fewe brighte teres newe Owt of hir eyen fille, and thus she seyde, 'Now G.o.d, thou wost, in thought ne dede untrewe To Troilus was never yet Criseyde.'

With that hir heed doun in the bed she leyde, 1055 And with the shete it wreigh, and syghed sore, And held hir pees; not o word spak she more.

But now help G.o.d to quenchen al this sorwe, So hope I that he shal, for he best may; For I have seyn, of a ful misty morwe 1060 Folwen ful ofte a mery someres day; And after winter folweth grene May.

Men seen alday, and reden eek in stories, That after sharpe shoures been victories.

This Troilus, whan he hir wordes herde, 1065 Have ye no care, him liste not to slepe; For it thoughte him no strokes of a yerde To here or seen Criseyde, his lady wepe; But wel he felte aboute his herte crepe, For every teer which that Criseyde asterte, 1070 The crampe of deeth, to streyne him by the herte.

And in his minde he gan the tyme acurse That he cam there, and that that he was born; For now is wikke y-turned in-to worse, And al that labour he hath doon biforn, 1075 He wende it lost, he thoughte he nas but lorn.

'O Pandarus,' thoughte he, 'allas! Thy wyle Serveth of nought, so weylaway the whyle!'

And therwithal he heng a-doun the heed, And fil on knees, and sorwfully he sighte; 1080 What mighte he seyn? He felte he nas but deed, For wrooth was she that shulde his sorwes lighte.

But nathelees, whan that he speken mighte, Than seyde he thus, 'G.o.d woot, that of this game, Whan al is wist, than am I not to blame!' 1085

Ther-with the sorwe so his herte shette, That from his eyen fil there not a tere, And every spirit his vigour in-knette, So they astoned or oppressed were.

The feling of his sorwe, or of his fere, 1090 Or of ought elles, fled was out of towne; And doun he fel al sodeynly a-swowne.

This was no litel sorwe for to see; But al was hust, and Pandare up as faste, 'O nece, pees, or we be lost,' quod he, 1095 'Beth nought agast;' But certeyn, at the laste, For this or that, he in-to bedde him caste, And seyde, 'O theef, is this a mannes herte?'

And of he rente al to his bare sherte;

And seyde, 'Nece, but ye helpe us now, 1100 Allas, your owne Troilus is lorn!'

'Y-wis, so wolde I, and I wiste how, Ful fayn,' quod she; 'Allas! That I was born!'

'Ye, nece, wole ye pullen out the thorn That stiketh in his herte?' quod Pandare; 1105 'Sey "Al foryeve," and stint is al this fare!'

'Ye, that to me,' quod she, 'ful lever were Than al the good the sonne aboute gooth'; And therwith-al she swoor him in his ere, 'Y-wis, my dere herte, I am nought wrooth, 1110 Have here my trouthe and many another ooth; Now speek to me, for it am I, Cryseyde!'

But al for nought; yet mighte he not a-breyde.

Therwith his pous and pawmes of his hondes They gan to frote, and wete his temples tweyne, 1115 And, to deliveren him from bittre bondes, She ofte him kiste; and, shortly for to seyne, Him to revoken she dide al hir peyne.

And at the laste, he gan his breeth to drawe, And of his swough sone after that adawe, 1120

And gan bet minde and reson to him take, But wonder sore he was abayst, y-wis.

And with a syk, whan he gan bet a-wake, He seyde, 'O mercy, G.o.d, what thing is this?'

'Why do ye with your-selven thus amis?' 1125 Quod tho Criseyde, 'Is this a mannes game?

What, Troilus! Wol ye do thus, for shame?'

And therwith-al hir arm over him she leyde, And al foryaf, and ofte tyme him keste.

He thonked hir, and to hir spak, and seyde 1130 As fil to purpos for his herte reste.

And she to that answerde him as hir leste; And with hir goodly wordes him disporte She gan, and ofte his sorwes to comforte.

Quod Pandarus, 'For ought I can espyen, 1135 This light, nor I ne serven here of nought; Light is not good for syke folkes yen.

But for the love of G.o.d, sin ye be brought In thus good plyt, lat now non hevy thought Ben hanginge in the hertes of yow tweye:' 1140 And bar the candele to the chimeneye.

Sone after this, though it no nede were, Whan she swich othes as hir list devyse Hadde of him take, hir thoughte tho no fere, Ne cause eek non, to bidde him thennes ryse. 1145 Yet lesse thing than othes may suffyse In many a cas; for every wight, I gesse, That loveth wel meneth but gentilesse.

But in effect she wolde wite anoon Of what man, and eek where, and also why 1150 He Ielous was, sin ther was cause noon; And eek the signe, that he took it by, She bad him that to telle hir bisily, Or elles, certeyn, she bar him on honde, That this was doon of malis, hir to fonde. 1155

With-outen more, shortly for to seyne, He moste obeye un-to his lady heste; And for the la.s.se harm, he moste feyne.

He seyde hir, whan she was at swiche a feste, She mighte on him han loked at the leste; 1160 Not I not what, al dere y-nough a risshe, As he that nedes moste a cause fisshe.

And she answerde, 'Swete, al were it so, What harm was that, sin I non yvel mene?

For, by that G.o.d that boughte us bothe two, 1165 In alle thinge is myn entente clene.

Swich arguments ne been not worth a bene; Wol ye the childish Ialous contrefete?

Now were it worthy that ye were y-bete.'

Tho Troilus gan sorwfully to syke, 1170 Lest she be wrooth, him thoughte his herte deyde; And seyde, 'Allas! Up-on my sorwes syke Have mercy, swete herte myn, Cryseyde!

And if that, in tho wordes that I seyde, Be any wrong, I wol no more tres.p.a.ce; 1175 Do what yow list, I am al in your grace.'

And she answerde, 'Of gilt misericorde!

That is to seyn, that I foryeve al this; And ever-more on this night yow recorde, And beth wel war ye do no more amis.' 1180 'Nay, dere herte myn,' quod he, 'y-wis.'

'And now,' quod she, 'that I have do yow smerte, Foryeve it me, myn owene swete herte.'

This Troilus, with blisse of that supprysed, Put al in G.o.ddes hond, as he that mente 1185 No-thing but wel; and, sodeynly avysed, He hir in armes faste to him hente.

And Pandarus, with a ful good entente, Leyde him to slepe, and seyde, 'If ye ben wyse, Swowneth not now, lest more folk aryse.' 1190

What mighte or may the sely larke seye, Whan that the sperhauk hath it in his foot?

I can no more, but of thise ilke tweye, To whom this tale sucre be or soot, Though that I tarie a yeer, som-tyme I moot, 1195 After myn auctor, tellen hir gladnesse, As wel as I have told hir hevinesse.

Criseyde, which that felte hir thus y-take, As writen clerkes in hir bokes olde, Right as an aspes leef she gan to quake, 1200 Whan she him felte hir in his armes folde.

But Troilus, al hool of cares colde, Gan thanken tho the blisful G.o.ddes sevene; Thus sondry peynes bringen folk in hevene.

This Troilus in armes gan hir streyne, 1205 And seyde, 'O swete, as ever mote I goon, Now be ye caught, now is ther but we tweyne; Now yeldeth yow, for other boot is noon.'

To that Criseyde answerde thus anoon, 'Ne hadde I er now, my swete herte dere, 1210 Ben yolde, y-wis, I were now not here!'

O! Sooth is seyd, that heled for to be As of a fevre or othere greet syknesse, Men moste drinke, as men may often see, Ful bittre drink; and for to han gladnesse, 1215 Men drinken often peyne and greet distresse; I mene it here, as for this aventure, That thourgh a peyne hath founden al his cure.

And now swetnesse semeth more sweet, That bitternesse a.s.sayed was biforn; 1220 For out of wo in blisse now they flete; Non swich they felten, sith they were born; Now is this bet, than bothe two be lorn!