But natheles she thonked Diomede Of al his travaile, and his goode chere, And that him liste his friendship hir to bede; 185 And she accepteth it in good manere, And wolde do fayn that is him leef and dere; And trusten him she wolde, and wel she mighte, As seyde she, and from hir hors she alighte.

Hir fader hath hir in his armes nome, 190 And tweynty tyme he kiste his doughter swete, And seyde, 'O dere doughter myn, wel-come!'

She seyde eek, she was fayn with him to mete, And stood forth mewet, milde, and mansuete.

But here I leve hir with hir fader dwelle, 195 And forth I wol of Troilus yow telle.

To Troye is come this woful Troilus, In sorwe aboven alle sorwes smerte, With felon look, and face dispitous.

Tho sodeinly doun from his hors he sterte, 200 And thorugh his paleys, with a swollen herte, To chambre he wente; of no-thing took he hede, Ne noon to him dar speke a word for drede.

And there his sorwes that he spared hadde He yaf an issue large, and 'Deeth!' he cryde; 205 And in his throwes frenetyk and madde He cursed Iove, Appollo, and eek Cupyde, He cursed Ceres, Bacus, and Cipryde, His burthe, him-self, his fate, and eek nature, And, save his lady, every creature. 210

To bedde he goth, and weyleth there and torneth In furie, as dooth he, Ixion in h.e.l.le; And in this wyse he neigh til day soiorneth.

But tho bigan his herte a lyte unswelle Thorugh teres which that gonnen up to welle; 215 And pitously he cryde up-on Criseyde, And to him-self right thus he spak, and seyde: --

'Wher is myn owene lady lief and dere, Wher is hir whyte brest, wher is it, where?

Wher ben hir armes and hir eyen clere, 220 That yesternight this tyme with me were?

Now may I wepe allone many a tere, And graspe aboute I may, but in this place, Save a pilowe, I finde nought tenbrace.

'How shal I do? Whan shal she com ayeyn? 225 I noot, allas! Why leet ich hir to go?

As wolde G.o.d, ich hadde as tho be sleyn!

O herte myn, Criseyde, O swete fo!

O lady myn, that I love and no mo!

To whom for ever-mo myn herte I dowe; 230 See how I deye, ye nil me not rescowe!

'Who seeth yow now, my righte lode-sterre?

Who sit right now or stant in your presence?

Who can conforten now your hertes werre?

Now I am gon, whom yeve ye audience? 235 Who speketh for me right now in myn absence?

Allas, no wight; and that is al my care; For wel wot I, as yvel as I ye fare.

'How sholde I thus ten dayes ful endure, Whan I the firste night have al this tene? 240 How shal she doon eek, sorwful creature?

For tendernesse, how shal she this sustene, Swich wo for me? O pitous, pale, and grene Shal been your fresshe wommanliche face For langour, er ye torne un-to this place.' 245

And whan he fil in any slomeringes, Anoon biginne he sholde for to grone, And dremen of the dredfulleste thinges That mighte been; as, mete he were allone In place horrible, makinge ay his mone, 250 Or meten that he was amonges alle His enemys, and in hir hondes falle.

And ther-with-al his body sholde sterte, And with the stert al sodeinliche awake, And swich a tremour fele aboute his herte, 255 That of the feer his body sholde quake; And there-with-al he sholde a noyse make, And seme as though he sholde falle depe From heighe a-lofte; and than he wolde wepe,

And rewen on him-self so pitously, 260 That wonder was to here his fantasye.

Another tyme he sholde mightily Conforte him-self, and seyn it was folye, So causeles swich drede for to drye, And eft biginne his aspre sorwes newe, 265 That every man mighte on his sorwes rewe.

Who coude telle aright or ful discryve His wo, his pleynt, his langour, and his pyne?

Nought al the men that han or been on-lyve.

Thou, redere, mayst thy-self ful wel devyne 270 That swich a wo my wit can not defyne.

On ydel for to wryte it sholde I swinke, Whan that my wit is wery it to thinke.

On hevene yet the sterres were sene, Al-though ful pale y-waxen was the mone; 275 And whyten gan the orisonte shene Al estward, as it woned is for to done.

And Phebus with his rosy carte sone Gan after that to dresse him up to fare, Whan Troilus hath sent after Pandare. 280

This Pandare, that of al the day biforn Ne mighte han comen Troilus to see, Al-though he on his heed it hadde y-sworn, For with the king Pryam alday was he, So that it lay not in his libertee 285 No-wher to gon, but on the morwe he wente To Troilus, whan that he for him sente.

For in his herte he coude wel devyne, That Troilus al night for sorwe wook; And that he wolde telle him of his pyne, 290 This knew he wel y-nough, with-oute book.

For which to chaumbre streight the wey he took, And Troilus tho sobreliche he grette, And on the bed ful sone he gan him sette.

'My Pandarus,' quod Troilus, 'the sorwe 295 Which that I drye, I may not longe endure.

I trowe I shal not liven til to-morwe; For whiche I wolde alwey, on aventure, To thee devysen of my sepulture The forme, and of my moeble thou dispone 300 Right as thee semeth best is for to done.

'But of the fyr and flaumbe funeral In whiche my body brenne shal to glede, And of the feste and pleyes palestral At my vigile, I prey thee tak good hede 305 That be wel; and offre Mars my stede, My swerd, myn helm, and, leve brother dere, My sheld to Pallas yef, that shyneth clere.

'The poudre in which myn herte y-brend shal torne, That preye I thee thou take and it conserve 310 In a vessel, that men clepeth an urne, Of gold, and to my lady that I serve, For love of whom thus pitously I sterve, So yeve it hir, and do me this plesaunce, To preye hir kepe it for a remembraunce. 315

'For wel I fele, by my maladye, And by my dremes now and yore ago, Al certeinly, that I mot nedes dye.

The owle eek, which that hight Ascaphilo, Hath after me shright alle thise nightes two. 320 And, G.o.d Mercurie! Of me now, woful wrecche, The soule gyde, and, whan thee list, it fecche!'

Pandare answerde, and seyde, 'Troilus, My dere freend, as I have told thee yore, That it is folye for to sorwen thus, 325 And causeles, for whiche I can no-more.

But who-so wol not trowen reed ne lore, I can not seen in him no remedye, But lete him worthen with his fantasye.

'But Troilus, I pray thee tel me now, 330 If that thou trowe, er this, that any wight Hath loved paramours as wel as thou?

Ye, G.o.d wot, and fro many a worthy knight Hath his lady goon a fourtenight, And he not yet made halvendel the fare. 335 What nede is thee to maken al this care?

'Sin day by day thou mayst thy-selven see That from his love, or elles from his wyf, A man mot twinnen of necessitee, Ye, though he love hir as his owene lyf; 340 Yet nil he with him-self thus maken stryf.

For wel thow wost, my leve brother dere, That alwey freendes may nought been y-fere.

'How doon this folk that seen hir loves wedded By freendes might, as it bi-t.i.t ful ofte, 345 And seen hem in hir spouses bed y-bedded?

G.o.d woot, they take it wysly, faire and softe.

For-why good hope halt up hir herte on-lofte, And for they can a tyme of sorwe endure; As tyme hem hurt, a tyme doth hem cure. 350

'So sholdestow endure, and late slyde The tyme, and fonde to ben glad and light.

Ten dayes nis so longe not tabyde.

And sin she thee to comen hath bihight, She nil hir hestes breken for no wight. 355 For dred thee not that she nil finden weye To come ayein, my lyf that dorste I leye.

'Thy swevenes eek and al swich fantasye Dryf out, and lat hem faren to mischaunce; For they procede of thy malencolye, 360 That doth thee fele in sleep al this penaunce.

A straw for alle swevenes signifiaunce!

G.o.d helpe me so, I counte hem not a bene, Ther woot no man aright what dremes mene.

'For prestes of the temple tellen this, 365 That dremes been the revelaciouns Of G.o.ddes, and as wel they telle, y-wis, That they ben infernals illusiouns; And leches seyn, that of complexiouns Proceden they, or fast, or glotonye. 370 Who woot in sooth thus what they signifye?

'Eek othere seyn that thorugh impressiouns, As if a wight hath faste a thing in minde, That ther-of cometh swiche avisiouns; And othere seyn, as they in bokes finde, 375 That, after tymes of the yeer by kinde, Men dreme, and that theffect goth by the mone; But leve no dreem, for it is nought to done.

'Wel worth of dremes ay thise olde wyves, And treweliche eek augurie of thise foules; 380 For fere of which men wenen lese her lyves, As ravenes qualm, or shryking of thise oules.

To trowen on it bothe fals and foul is.

Allas, allas, so n.o.ble a creature As is a man, shal drede swich ordure! 385

'For which with al myn herte I thee beseche, Un-to thy-self that al this thou foryive; And rys up now with-oute more speche, And lat us caste how forth may best be drive This tyme, and eek how freshly we may live 390 Whan that she cometh, the which shal be right sone; G.o.d help me so, the beste is thus to done.

'Rys, lat us speke of l.u.s.ty lyf in Troye That we han lad, and forth the tyme dryve; And eek of tyme cominge us reioye, 395 That bringen shal our blisse now so blyve; And langour of these twyes dayes fyve We shal ther-with so foryete or oppresse, That wel unnethe it doon shal us duresse.

'This toun is ful of lordes al aboute, 400 And trewes lasten al this mene whyle.

Go we pleye us in som l.u.s.ty route To Sarpedon, not hennes but a myle.

And thus thou shalt the tyme wel bigyle, And dryve it forth un-to that blisful morwe, 405 That thou hir see, that cause is of thy sorwe.