Troilus and Crisyde | Page 6

loveres! For the
conningest of yow,
That serveth most ententiflich and best,
Him tit
as often harm ther-of as prow;
Your hyre is quit ayein, ye, god wot
how!
Nought wel for wel, but scorn for good servyse; 335
In feith,
your ordre is ruled in good wyse!
`In noun-certeyn ben alle your observaunces,
But it a sely fewe
poyntes be;
Ne no-thing asketh so grete attendaunces
As doth youre
lay, and that knowe alle ye; 340
But that is not the worste, as mote I
thee;
But, tolde I yow the worste poynt, I leve,
Al seyde I sooth, ye
wolden at me greve!
`But tak this, that ye loveres ofte eschuwe,
Or elles doon of good
entencioun, 345
Ful ofte thy lady wole it misconstrue,
And deme it
harm in hir opinioun;
And yet if she, for other enchesoun,
Be
wrooth, than shalt thou han a groyn anoon:
Lord! wel is him that may
be of yow oon!' 350
But for al this, whan that he say his tyme,
He held his pees, non other
bote him gayned;
For love bigan his fetheres so to lyme,
That wel
unnethe un-to his folk he fayned
That othere besye nedes him
destrayned; 355
For wo was him, that what to doon he niste,
But
bad his folk to goon wher that hem liste.
And whan that he in chaumbre was allone,
He doun up-on his beddes
feet him sette,
And first be gan to syke, and eft to grone, 360
And
thoughte ay on hir so, with-outen lette,
That, as he sat and wook, his
spirit mette
That he hir saw a temple, and al the wyse
Right of hir

loke, and gan it newe avyse.
Thus gan he make a mirour of his minde, 365
In which he saugh al
hoolly hir figure;
And that he wel coude in his herte finde,
It was to
him a right good aventure
To love swich oon, and if he dide his cure

To serven hir, yet mighte he falle in grace, 370
Or elles, for oon of
hir servaunts pace.
Imagininge that travaille nor grame
Ne mighte, for so goodly oon, be
lorn
As she, ne him for his desir ne shame,
Al were it wist, but in
prys and up-born 375
Of alle lovers wel more than biforn;
Thus
argumented he in his ginninge,
Ful unavysed of his wo cominge.
Thus took he purpos loves craft to suwe,
And thoughte he wolde
werken prively, 380
First, to hyden his desir in muwe
From every
wight y-born, al-outrely,
But he mighte ought recovered be therby;

Remembring him, that love to wyde y-blowe
Yelt bittre fruyt, though
swete seed be sowe. 385
And over al this, yet muchel more he thoughte
What for to speke, and
what to holden inne,
And what to arten hir to love he soughte,
And
on a song anoon-right to biginne,
And gan loude on his sorwe for to
winne; 390
For with good hope he gan fully assente
Criseyde for to
love, and nought repente.
And of his song nought only the sentence,
As writ myn autour called
Lollius,
But pleynly, save our tonges difference, 395
I dar wel sayn,
in al that Troilus
Seyde in his song, lo! every word right thus
As I
shal seyn; and who-so list it here,
Lo! next this vers, he may it finden
here.
Cantus Troili.
`If no love is, O god, what fele I so? 400
And if love is, what thing
and whiche is he!
If love be good, from whennes comth my wo?
If

it be wikke, a wonder thinketh me,
Whenne every torment and
adversitee
That cometh of him, may to me savory thinke; 405
For
ay thurst I, the more that I it drinke.
`And if that at myn owene lust I brenne,
Fro whennes cometh my
wailing and my pleynte?
If harme agree me, wher-to pleyne I thenne?

I noot, ne why unwery that I feynte. 410
O quike deeth, O swete
harm so queynte,
How may of thee in me swich quantitee,
But-if
that I consente that it be?
`And if that I consente, I wrongfully
Compleyne, y-wis; thus possed
to and fro, 415
Al sterelees with inne a boot am I
A-mid the see,
by-twixen windes two,
That in contrarie stonden ever-mo.
Allas!
what is this wonder maladye?
For hete of cold, for cold of hete, I
deye.' 420
And to the god of love thus seyde he
With pitous voys, `O lord, now
youres is
My spirit, which that oughte youres be.
Yow thanke I,
lord, that han me brought to this;
But whether goddesse or womman,
y-wis, 425
She be, I noot, which that ye do me serve;
But as hir
man I wole ay live and sterve.
`Ye stonden in hire eyen mightily,
As in a place un-to youre vertu
digne;
Wherfore, lord, if my servyse or I 430
May lyke yow, so
beth to me benigne;
For myn estat royal here I resigne
In-to hir
hond, and with ful humble chere
Bicome hir man, as to my lady dere.'
In him ne deyned sparen blood royal 435
The fyr of love, wher-fro
god me blesse,
Ne him forbar in no degree, for al
His vertu or his
excellent prowesse;
But held him as his thral lowe in distresse,
And
brende him so in