'For-thy rys up, as nought ne were, anoon, 645 And wash thy face, and to the king thou wende, Or he may wondren whider thou art goon.

Thou most with wisdom him and othere blende; Or, up-on cas, he may after thee sende Er thou be war; and shortly, brother dere, 650 Be glad, and lat me werke in this matere.

'For I shal shape it so, that sikerly Thou shalt this night som tyme, in som manere, Com speke with thy lady prevely, And by hir wordes eek, and by hir chere, 655 Thou shalt ful sone aperceyve and wel here Al hir entente, and in this cas the beste; And fare now wel, for in this point I reste.'

The swifte Fame, whiche that false thinges Egal reporteth lyk the thinges trewe, 660 Was thorugh-out Troye y-fled with preste winges Fro man to man, and made this tale al newe, How Calkas doughter, with hir brighte hewe, At parlement, with-oute wordes more, I-graunted was in chaunge of Antenore. 665

The whiche tale anoon-right as Criseyde Had herd, she, which that of hir fader roughte, As in this cas, right nought, ne whanne he deyde, Ful bisily to Iuppiter bisoughte Yeve hem mischaunce that this tretis broughte. 670 But shortly, lest thise tales sothe were, She dorste at no wight asken it, for fere.

As she that hadde hir herte and al hir minde On Troilus y-set so wonder faste, That al this world ne mighte hir love unbinde, 675 Ne Troilus out of hir herte caste; She wol ben his, whyl that hir lyf may laste.

And thus she brenneth bothe in love and drede, So that she niste what was best to rede.

But as men seen in toune, and al aboute, 680 That wommen usen frendes to visyte, So to Criseyde of wommen com a route For pitous Ioye, and wenden hir delyte; And with hir tales, dere y-nough a myte, These wommen, whiche that in the cite dwelle, 685 They sette hem doun, and seyde as I shal telle.

Quod first that oon, 'I am glad, trewely, By-cause of yow, that shal your fader see.'

A-nother seyde, 'Y-wis, so nam not I, For al to litel hath she with us be.' 690 Quod tho the thridde, 'I hope, y-wis, that she Shal bringen us the pees on every syde, That, whan she gooth, almighty G.o.d hir gyde!'

Tho wordes and tho wommanisshe thinges, She herde hem right as though she thennes were; 695 For, G.o.d it wot, hir herte on other thing is, Although the body sat among hem there.

Hir advertence is alwey elles-where; For Troilus ful faste hir soule soughte; With-outen word, alwey on him she thoughte. 700

Thise wommen, that thus wenden hir to plese, Aboute nought gonne alle hir tales spende; Swich vanitee ne can don hir non ese, As she that, al this mene whyle. brende Of other pa.s.sioun than that they wende, 705 So that she felte almost hir herte deye For wo, and wery of that companye.

For which no lenger mighte she restreyne Hir teres, so they gonnen up to welle, That yaven signes of the bitter peyne 710 In whiche hir spirit was, and moste dwelle; Remembring hir, fro heven unto which h.e.l.le She fallen was, sith she forgoth the sighte Of Troilus, and sorowfully she sighte.

And thilke foles sittinge hir aboute 715 Wenden, that she wepte and syked sore By-cause that she sholde out of that route Departe, and never pleye with hem more.

And they that hadde y-knowen hir of yore Seye hir so wepe, and thoughte it kindenesse, 720 And eche of hem wepte eek for hir destresse;

And bisily they gonnen hir conforten Of thing, G.o.d wot, on which she litel thoughte; And with hir tales wenden hir disporten, And to be glad they often hir bisoughte. 725 But swich an ese ther-with they hir wroughte Right as a man is esed for to fele, For ache of heed, to clawen him on his hele!

But after al this nyce vanitee They took hir leve, and hoom they wenten alle. 730 Criseyde, ful of sorweful pitee, In-to hir chaumbre up wente out of the halle, And on hir bed she gan for deed to falle, In purpos never thennes for to ryse; And thus she wroughte, as I shal yow devyse. 735

Hir ounded heer, that sonnish was of hewe, She rente, and eek hir fingres longe and smale She wrong ful ofte, and bad G.o.d on hir rewe, And with the deeth to doon bote on hir bale.

Hir hewe, whylom bright, that tho was pale, 740 Bar witnes of hir wo and hir constreynte; And thus she spak, sobbinge, in hir compleynte:

'Alas!' quod she, 'out of this regioun I, woful wrecche and infortuned wight, And born in corsed constellacioun, 745 Mot goon, and thus departen fro my knight; Wo worth, allas! That ilke dayes light On which I saw him first with eyen tweyne, That causeth me, and I him, al this peyne!'

Therwith the teres from hir eyen two 750 Doun fille, as shour in Aperill ful swythe; Hir whyte brest she bet, and for the wo After the deeth she cryed a thousand sythe, Sin he that wont hir wo was for to lythe, She mot for-goon; for which disaventure 755 She held hir-self a forlost creature.

She seyde, 'How shal he doon, and I also?

How sholde I live, if that I from him twinne?

O dere herte eek, that I love so, Who shal that sorwe sleen that ye ben inne? 760 O Calkas, fader, thyn be al this sinne!

O moder myn, that cleped were Argyve, Wo worth that day that thou me bere on lyve!

'To what fyn sholde I live and sorwen thus?

How sholde a fish with-oute water dure? 765 What is Criseyde worth, from Troilus?

How sholde a plaunte or lyves creature Live, with-oute his kinde noriture?

For which ful oft a by-word here I seye, That "rotelees, mot grene sone deye." 770

'I shal don thus, sin neither swerd ne darte Dar I non handle, for the crueltee, That ilke day that I from yow departe, If sorwe of that nil not my bane be, Than shal no mete or drinke come in me 775 Til I my soule out of my breste unshethe; And thus my-selven wol I do to dethe.

'And, Troilus, my clothes everichoon Shul blake been, in tokeninge, herte swete, That I am as out of this world agoon, 780 That wont was yow to setten in quiete; And of myn ordre, ay til deeth me mete, The observaunce ever, in your absence, Shal sorwe been, compleynte, and abstinence.

'Myn herte and eek the woful goost ther-inne 785 Biquethe I, with your spirit to compleyne Eternally, for they shal never twinne.

For though in erthe y-twinned be we tweyne, Yet in the feld of pitee, out of peyne, That hight Elysos, shul we been y-fere, 790 As Orpheus and Erudice, his fere.

'Thus, herte myn, for Antenor, allas!

I sone shal be chaunged, as I wene.

But how shul ye don in this sorwful cas, How shal youre tendre herte this sustene? 795 But herte myn, for-yet this sorwe and tene, And me also; for, soothly for to seye, So ye wel fare, I recche not to deye.'

How mighte it ever y-red ben or y-songe, The pleynte that she made in hir distresse? 800 I noot; but, as for me, my litel tonge, If I discreven wolde hir hevinesse, It sholde make hir sorwe seme lesse Than that it was, and childishly deface Hir heigh compleynte, and therfore I it pace. 805

Pandare, which that sent from Troilus Was to Criseyde, as ye han herd devyse, That for the beste it was accorded thus, And he ful glad to doon him that servyse, Un-to Criseyde, in a ful secree wyse, 810 Ther-as she lay in torment and in rage, Com hir to telle al hoolly his message,

And fond that she hir-selven gan to trete Ful pitously; for with hir salte teres Hir brest, hir face, y-bathed was ful wete; 815 The mighty tresses of hir sonnish heres, Unbroyden, hangen al aboute hir eres; Which yaf him verray signal of martyre Of deeth, which that hir herte gan desyre.

Whan she him saw, she gan for sorwe anoon 820 Hir tery face a-twixe hir armes hide, For which this Pandare is so wo bi-goon, That in the hous he mighte unnethe abyde, As he that pitee felte on every syde.

For if Criseyde hadde erst compleyned sore, 825 Tho gan she pleyne a thousand tymes more.

And in hir aspre pleynte than she seyde, 'Pandare first of Ioyes mo than two Was cause causinge un-to me, Criseyde, That now transmuwed been in cruel wo. 830 Wher shal I seye to yow "wel come" or no, That alderfirst me broughte in-to servyse Of love, allas! That endeth in swich wyse?

'Endeth than love in wo? Ye, or men lyeth!

And alle worldly blisse, as thinketh me. 835 The ende of blisse ay sorwe it occupyeth; And who-so troweth not that it so be, Lat him upon me, woful wrecche, y-see, That my-self hate, and ay my birthe acorse, Felinge alwey, fro wikke I go to worse. 840

'Who-so me seeth, he seeth sorwe al at ones, Peyne, torment, pleynte, wo, distresse.

Out of my woful body harm ther noon is, As anguish, langour, cruel bitternesse, A-noy, smert, drede, fury, and eek siknesse. 845 I trowe, y-wis, from hevene teres reyne, For pitee of myn aspre and cruel peyne! '

'And thou, my suster, ful of discomfort,'

Quod Pandarus, 'what thenkestow to do?

Why ne hastow to thy-selven som resport, 850 Why woltow thus thy-selve, allas, for-do?

Leef al this werk and tak now hede to That I shal seyn, and herkne, of good entente, This, which by me thy Troilus thee sente.'

Torned hir tho Criseyde, a wo makinge 855 So greet that it a deeth was for to see: -- 'Allas!' quod she, 'what wordes may ye bringe?

What wol my dere herte seyn to me, Which that I drede never-mo to see?

Wol he have pleynte or teres, er I wende? 860 I have y-nowe, if he ther-after sende!'

She was right swich to seen in hir visage As is that wight that men on bere binde; Hir face, lyk of Paradys the image, Was al y-chaunged in another kinde. 865 The pleye, the laughtre men was wont to finde On hir, and eek hir Ioyes everychone, Ben fled, and thus lyth now Criseyde allone.

Aboute hir eyen two a purpre ring Bi-trent, in sothfast tokninge of hir peyne, 870 That to biholde it was a dedly thing, For which Pandare mighte not restreyne The teres from his eyen for to reyne.

But nathelees, as he best mighte, he seyde From Troilus thise wordes to Criseyde. 875

'Lo, nece, I trowe ye han herd al how The king, with othere lordes, for the beste, Hath mad eschaunge of Antenor and yow, That cause is of this sorwe and this unreste.

But how this cas doth Troilus moleste, 880 That may non erthely mannes tonge seye; For verray wo his wit is al aweye.

'For which we han so sorwed, he and I, That in-to litel bothe it hadde us slawe; But thurgh my conseil this day, fynally, 885 He somwhat is fro weping now with-drawe.

And semeth me that he desyreth fawe With yow to been al night, for to devyse Remede in this, if ther were any wyse.

'This, short and pleyne, theffect of my message, 890 As ferforth as my wit can comprehende.

For ye, that been of torment in swich rage, May to no long prologe as now entende; And her-upon ye may answere him sende.

And, for the love of G.o.d, my nece dere, 895 So leef this wo er Troilus be here.'