Whan that hir tale al brought was to an ende, Of hire estat and of hir governaunce, Quod Pandarus, 'Now is it tyme I wende; 220 But yet, I seye, aryseth, lat us daunce, And cast your widwes habit to mischaunce: What list yow thus your-self to disfigure, Sith yow is tid thus fair an aventure?'

'A! Wel bithought! For love of G.o.d,' quod she, 225 'Shal I not witen what ye mene of this?'

'No, this thing axeth layser,' tho quod he, 'And eek me wolde muche greve, y-wis, If I it tolde, and ye it toke amis.

Yet were it bet my tonge for to stille 230 Than seye a sooth that were ayeins your wille.

'For, nece, by the G.o.ddesse Minerve, And Iuppiter, that maketh the thonder ringe, And by the blisful Venus that I serve, Ye been the womman in this world livinge, 235 With-oute paramours, to my wittinge, That I best love, and lothest am to greve, And that ye witen wel your-self, I leve.'

'Y-wis, myn uncle,' quod she, 'grant mercy; Your freendship have I founden ever yit; 240 I am to no man holden trewely, So muche as yow, and have so litel quit; And, with the grace of G.o.d, emforth my wit, As in my gilt I shal you never offende; And if I have er this, I wol amende. 245

'But, for the love of G.o.d, I yow beseche, As ye ben he that I love most and triste, Lat be to me your fremde manere speche, And sey to me, your nece, what yow liste:'

And with that word hir uncle anoon hir kiste, 250 And seyde, 'Gladly, leve nece dere, Tak it for good that I shal seye yow here.'

With that she gan hir eiyen doun to caste, And Pandarus to coghe gan a lyte, And seyde, 'Nece, alwey, lo! To the laste, 255 How-so it be that som men hem delyte With subtil art hir tales for to endyte, Yet for al that, in hir entencioun Hir tale is al for som conclusioun.

'And sithen thende is every tales strengthe, 260 And this matere is so bihovely, What sholde I peynte or drawen it on lengthe To yow, that been my freend so feithfully?'

And with that word he gan right inwardly Biholden hir, and loken on hir face, 265 And seyde, 'On suche a mirour goode grace!'

Than thoughte he thus: 'If I my tale endyte Ought hard, or make a proces any whyle, She shal no savour han ther-in but lyte, And trowe I wolde hir in my wil bigyle. 270 For tendre wittes wenen al be wyle Ther-as they can nat pleynly understonde; For-thy hir wit to serven wol I fonde --'

And loked on hir in a besy wyse, And she was war that he byheld hir so, 275 And seyde, 'Lord! So faste ye me avyse!

Sey ye me never er now? What sey ye, no?'

'Yes, yes,' quod he, 'and bet wole er I go; But, by my trouthe, I thoughte now if ye Be fortunat, for now men shal it see. 280

'For to every wight som goodly aventure Som tyme is shape, if he it can receyven; And if that he wol take of it no cure, Whan that it commeth, but wilfully it weyven, Lo, neither cas nor fortune him deceyven, 285 But right his verray slouthe and wrecchednesse; And swich a wight is for to blame, I gesse.

'Good aventure, O bele nece, have ye Ful lightly founden, and ye conne it take; And, for the love of G.o.d, and eek of me, 290 Cacche it anoon, lest aventure slake.

What sholde I lenger proces of it make?

Yif me your hond, for in this world is noon, If that yow list, a wight so wel begoon.

'And sith I speke of good entencioun, 295 As I to yow have told wel here-biforn, And love as wel your honour and renoun As creature in al this world y-born; By alle the othes that I have yow sworn, And ye be wrooth therfore, or wene I lye, 300 Ne shal I never seen yow eft with ye.

'Beth nought agast, ne quaketh nat; wher-to?

Ne chaungeth nat for fere so your hewe; For hardely the werste of this is do; And though my tale as now be to yow newe, 305 Yet trist alwey, ye shal me finde trewe; And were it thing that me thoughte unsittinge, To yow nolde I no swiche tales bringe.'

'Now, my good eem, for G.o.ddes love, I preye,'

Quod she, 'com of, and tel me what it is; 310 For bothe I am agast what ye wol seye, And eek me longeth it to wite, y-wis.

For whether it be wel or be amis, Say on, lat me not in this fere dwelle:'

'So wol I doon; now herkneth, I shal telle: 315

'Now, nece myn, the kinges dere sone, The goode, wyse, worthy, fresshe, and free, Which alwey for to do wel is his wone, The n.o.ble Troilus, so loveth thee, That, bot ye helpe, it wol his bane be. 320 Lo, here is al, what sholde I more seye?

Doth what yow list, to make him live or deye.

'But if ye lete him deye, I wol sterve; Have her my trouthe, nece, I nil not lyen; Al sholde I with this knyf my throte kerve --' 325 With that the teres braste out of his yen, And seyde, 'If that ye doon us bothe dyen, Thus giltelees, than have ye fisshed faire; What mende ye, though that we bothe apeyre?

'Allas! He which that is my lord so dere, 330 That trewe man, that n.o.ble gentil knight, That nought desireth but your freendly chere, I see him deye, ther he goth up-right, And hasteth him, with al his fulle might, For to be slayn, if fortune wol a.s.sente; 335 Allas! That G.o.d yow swich a beautee sente!

'If it be so that ye so cruel be, That of his deeth yow liste nought to recche, That is so trewe and worthy, as ye see, No more than of a Iapere or a wrecche, 340 If ye be swich, your beautee may not strecche To make amendes of so cruel a dede; Avys.e.m.e.nt is good bifore the nede.

'Wo worth the faire gemme vertulees!

Wo worth that herbe also that dooth no bote! 345 Wo worth that beautee that is routhelees!

Wo worth that wight that tret ech under fote!

And ye, that been of beautee crop and rote, If therwith-al in you ther be no routhe, Than is it harm ye liven, by my trouthe! 350

'And also thenk wel that this is no gaude; For me were lever, thou and I and he Were hanged, than I sholde been his baude, As heyghe, as men mighte on us alle y-see: I am thyn eem, the shame were to me, 355 As wel as thee, if that I sholde a.s.sente, Thorugh myn abet, that he thyn honour shente.

'Now understond, for I yow nought requere, To binde yow to him thorugh no beheste, But only that ye make him bettre chere 360 Than ye han doon er this, and more feste, So that his lyf be saved, at the leste; This al and som, and playnly our entente; G.o.d help me so, I never other mente.

'Lo, this request is not but skile, y-wis, 365 Ne doute of reson, pardee, is ther noon.

I sette the worste that ye dredden this, Men wolden wondren seen him come or goon: Ther-ayeins answere I thus a-noon, That every wight, but he be fool of kinde, 370 Wol deme it love of freendship in his minde.

'What? Who wol deme, though he see a man To temple go, that he the images eteth?

Thenk eek how wel and wysly that he can Governe him-self, that he no-thing foryeteth, 375 That, wher he cometh, he prys and thank him geteth; And eek ther-to, he shal come here so selde, What fors were it though al the toun behelde?

'Swich love of freendes regneth al this toun; And wrye yow in that mantel ever-mo; 380 And G.o.d so wis be my savacioun, As I have seyd, your beste is to do so.

But alwey, goode nece, to stinte his wo, So lat your daunger sucred ben a lyte, That of his deeth ye be nought for to wyte.' 385

Criseyde, which that herde him in this wyse, Thoughte, 'I shal fele what he meneth, y-wis.'

'Now, eem,' quod she, 'what wolde ye devyse?

What is your reed I sholde doon of this?'

'That is wel seyd,' quod be. 'certayn, best is 390 That ye him love ayein for his lovinge, As love for love is skilful guerdoninge.

'Thenk eek, how elde wasteth every houre In eche of yow a party of beautee; And therfore, er that age thee devoure, 395 Go love, for, olde, ther wol no wight of thee.

Lat this proverbe a lore un-to yow be; "To late y-war, quod Beautee, whan it paste;"

And elde daunteth daunger at the laste.

'The kinges fool is woned to cryen loude, 400 Whan that him thinketh a womman bereth hir hye, "So longe mote ye live, and alle proude, Til crowes feet be growe under your ye, And sende yow thanne a mirour in to prye In whiche that ye may see your face a-morwe!" 405 Nece, I bidde wisshe yow no more sorwe.'

With this he stente, and caste adoun the heed, And she bigan to breste a-wepe anoon, And seyde, 'Allas, for wo! Why nere I deed?

For of this world the feith is al agoon! 410 Allas! What sholden straunge to me doon, Whan he, that for my beste freend I wende, Ret me to love, and sholde it me defende?

'Allas! I wolde han trusted, doutelees, That if that I, thurgh my disaventure, 415 Had loved other him or Achilles, Ector, or any mannes creature, Ye nolde han had no mercy ne mesure On me, but alwey had me in repreve; This false world, allas! Who may it leve? 420

'What? Is this al the Ioye and al the feste?

Is this your reed, is this my blisful cas?

Is this the verray mede of your beheste?

Is al this peynted proces seyd, allas!

Right for this fyn? O lady myn, Pallas! 425 Thou in this dredful cas for me purveye; For so astonied am I that I deye!'

With that she gan ful sorwfully to syke; 'A! May it be no bet?' quod Pandarus; 'By G.o.d, I shal no-more come here this wyke, 430 And G.o.d to-forn, that am mistrusted thus; I see ful wel that ye sette lyte of us, Or of our deeth! Allas! I woful wrecche!

Mighte he yet live, of me is nought to recche.

'O cruel G.o.d, O dispitouse Marte, 435 O Furies three of h.e.l.le, on yow I crye!

So lat me never out of this hous departe, If that I mente harm or vilanye!

But sith I see my lord mot nedes dye, And I with him, here I me shryve, and seye 440 That wikkedly ye doon us bothe deye.

'But sith it lyketh yow that I be deed, By Neptunus, that G.o.d is of the see, Fro this forth shal I never eten breed Til I myn owene herte blood may see; 445 For certayn, I wole deye as sone as he --'

And up he sterte, and on his wey he raughte, Til she agayn him by the lappe caughte.