Troilus and Crisyde | Page 4

parfit creature,
That doun were sent in scorning of
nature. 105
This lady, which that al-day herde at ere
Hir fadres shame, his
falsnesse and tresoun,
Wel nigh out of hir wit for sorwe and fere,
In
widewes habit large of samit broun,
On knees she fil biforn Ector
a-doun; 110
With pitous voys, and tendrely wepinge,
His mercy
bad, hir-selven excusinge.
Now was this Ector pitous of nature,
And saw that she was sorwfully

bigoon,
And that she was so fair a creature; 115
Of his goodnesse
he gladed hir anoon,
And seyde, `Lat your fadres treson goon
Forth
with mischaunce, and ye your-self, in Ioye,
Dwelleth with us, whyl
you good list, in Troye.
`And al thonour that men may doon yow have, 120
As ferforth as
your fader dwelled here,
Ye shul han, and your body shal men save,

As fer as I may ought enquere or here.'
And she him thonked with
ful humble chere,
And ofter wolde, and it hadde ben his wille, 125

And took hir leve, and hoom, and held hir stille.
And in hir hous she abood with swich meynee
As to hir honour nede
was to holde;
And whyl she was dwellinge in that citee,
Kepte hir
estat, and bothe of yonge and olde 130
Ful wel beloved, and wel men
of hir tolde.
But whether that she children hadde or noon,
I rede it
naught; therfore I late it goon.
The thinges fellen, as they doon of werre,
Bitwixen hem of Troye and
Grekes ofte; 135
For som day boughten they of Troye it derre,
And
eft the Grekes founden no thing softe
The folk of Troye; and thus
fortune on-lofte,
And under eft, gan hem to wheelen bothe
After hir
cours, ay whyl they were wrothe. 140
But how this toun com to destruccioun
Ne falleth nought to purpos
me to telle;
For it were a long digressioun
Fro my matere, and yow
to longe dwelle.
But the Troyane gestes, as they felle, 145
In Omer,
or in Dares, or in Dyte,
Who-so that can, may rede hem as they wryte.
But though that Grekes hem of Troye shetten,
And hir citee bisegede
al a-boute,
Hir olde usage wolde they not letten, 150
As for to
honoure hir goddes ful devoute;
But aldermost in honour, out of
doute,
They hadde a relik hight Palladion,
That was hir trist
a-boven everichon.
And so bifel, whan comen was the tyme 155
Of Aperil, whan clothed

is the mede
With newe grene, of lusty Ver the pryme,
And swote
smellen floures whyte and rede,
In sondry wyses shewed, as I rede,

The folk of Troye hir observaunces olde, 160
Palladiones feste for to
holde.
And to the temple, in al hir beste wyse,
In general, ther wente many a
wight,
To herknen of Palladion servyse;
And namely, so many a
lusty knight, 165
So many a lady fresh and mayden bright,
Ful wel
arayed, bothe moste and leste,
Ye, bothe for the seson and the feste.
Among thise othere folk was Criseyda,
In widewes habite blak; but
nathelees, 170
Right as our firste lettre is now an A,
In beautee first
so stood she, makelees;
Hir godly looking gladede al the prees.
Nas
never seyn thing to ben preysed derre,
Nor under cloude blak so
bright a sterre 175
As was Criseyde, as folk seyde everichoon
That hir behelden in hir
blake wede;
And yet she stood ful lowe and stille alloon,
Bihinden
othere folk, in litel brede,
And neigh the dore, ay under shames drede,
180
Simple of a-tyr, and debonaire of chere,
With ful assured
loking and manere.
This Troilus, as he was wont to gyde
His yonge knightes, ladde hem
up and doun
In thilke large temple on every syde, 185
Biholding ay
the ladyes of the toun,
Now here, now there, for no devocioun

Hadde he to noon, to reven him his reste,
But gan to preyse and
lakken whom him leste.
And in his walk ful fast he gan to wayten 190
If knight or squyer of
his companye
Gan for to syke, or lete his eyen bayten
On any
woman that he coude aspye;
He wolde smyle, and holden it folye,

And seye him thus, `god wot, she slepeth softe 195
For love of thee,
whan thou tornest ful ofte!
`I have herd told, pardieux, of your livinge,
Ye lovers, and your

lewede observaunces,
And which a labour folk han in winninge
Of
love, and, in the keping, which doutaunces; 200
And whan your
preye is lost, wo and penaunces;
O verrey foles! nyce and blinde be
ye;
Ther nis not oon can war by other be.'
And with that word he gan cast up the browe,
Ascaunces, `Lo! is this
nought wysly spoken?' 205
At which the god of love gan loken rowe

Right for despyt, and shoop for to ben wroken;
He kidde anoon his
bowe nas not broken;
For sodeynly he hit him at the fulle;
And yet
as proud a pekok can he pulle. 210
O blinde world, O blinde entencioun!
How ofte falleth al theffect
contraire
Of surquidrye and foul presumpcioun;
For caught is proud,
and caught is debonaire.
This Troilus is clomben on the staire, 215

And litel weneth that he moot descenden.
But al-day falleth thing that
foles ne wenden.
As proude Bayard ginneth for to skippe
Out of the