Troilus and Crisyde | Page 7

that fairer was to sene?Than ever were Eleyne or Polixene. 455
Eek of the day ther passed nought an houre?That to him-self a thousand tyme he seyde,?`Good goodly, to whom serve I and laboure,?As I best can, now wolde god, Criseyde,?Ye wolden on me rewe er that I deyde! 460?My dere herte, allas! myn hele and hewe?And lyf is lost, but ye wole on me rewe.'
Alle othere dredes weren from him fledde,?Both of the assege and his savacioun;?Ne in him desyr noon othere fownes bredde 465?But argumentes to his conclusioun,?That she on him wolde han compassioun,?And he to be hir man, whyl he may dure;?Lo, here his lyf, and from the deeth his cure!?The sharpe shoures felle of armes preve, 470?That Ector or his othere bretheren diden,?Ne made him only ther-fore ones meve;?And yet was he, wher-so men wente or riden,?Founde oon the beste, and lengest tyme abiden?Ther peril was, and dide eek such travayle 475?In armes, that to thenke it was mervayle.
But for non hate he to the Grekes hadde,?Ne also for the rescous of the toun,?Ne made him thus in armes for to madde,?But only, lo, for this conclusioun, 480?To lyken hir the bet for his renoun;?Fro day to day in armes so he spedde,?That alle the Grekes as the deeth him dredde.
And fro this forth tho refte him love his sleep,?And made his mete his foo; and eek his sorwe 485?Gan multiplye, that, who-so toke keep,?It shewed in his hewe, bothe eve and morwe;?Therfor a title he gan him for to borwe?Of other syknesse, lest of him men wende?That the hote fyr of love him brende, 490
And seyde, he hadde a fever and ferde amis;?But how it was, certayn, can I not seye,?If that his lady understood not this,?Or feyned hir she niste, oon of the tweye;?But wel I rede that, by no maner weye, 495?Ne semed it as that she of him roughte,?Nor of his peyne, or what-so-ever he thoughte.
But than fel to this Troylus such wo,?That he was wel neigh wood; for ay his drede?Was this, that she som wight had loved so, 500?That never of him she wolde have taken hede;?For whiche him thoughte he felte his herte blede.?Ne of his wo ne dorste he not biginne?To tellen it, for al this world to winne.
But whanne he hadde a space fro his care, 505?Thus to him-self ful ofte he gan to pleyne;?He sayde, `O fool, now art thou in the snare,?That whilom Iapedest at loves peyne;?Now artow hent, now gnaw thyn owene cheyne;?Thou were ay wont eche lovere reprehende 510?Of thing fro which thou canst thee nat defende.
`What wol now every lover seyn of thee,?If this be wist, but ever in thyn absence?Laughen in scorn, and seyn, `Lo, ther gooth he,?That is the man of so gret sapience, 515?That held us lovers leest in reverence!?Now, thonked be god, he may goon in the daunce?Of hem that Love list febly for to avaunce!'?`But, O thou woful Troilus, god wolde,?Sin thou most loven thurgh thi destinee, 520?That thow beset were on swich oon that sholde?Knowe al thy wo, al lakkede hir pitee:?But al so cold in love, towardes thee,?Thy lady is, as frost in winter mone,?And thou fordoon, as snow in fyr is sone.' 525
`God wolde I were aryved in the port?Of deth, to which my sorwe wil me lede!?A, lord, to me it were a gret comfort;?Than were I quit of languisshing in drede.?For by myn hidde sorwe y-blowe on brede 530?I shal bi-Iaped been a thousand tyme?More than that fool of whos folye men ryme.
`But now help god, and ye, swete, for whom?I pleyne, y-caught, ye, never wight so faste!?O mercy, dere herte, and help me from 535?The deeth, for I, whyl that my lyf may laste,?More than my-self wol love yow to my laste.?And with som freendly look gladeth me, swete,?Though never more thing ye me bi-hete!'
This wordes and ful manye an-other to 540?He spak, and called ever in his compleynte?Hir name, for to tellen hir his wo,?Til neigh that he in salte teres dreynte.?Al was for nought, she herde nought his pleynte;?And whan that he bithoughte on that folye, 545?A thousand fold his wo gan multiplye.
Bi-wayling in his chambre thus allone,?A freend of his, that called was Pandare,?Com ones in unwar, and herde him grone,?And say his freend in swich distresse and care:?`Allas!' quod he, `who causeth al this fare? 551?O mercy, god! What unhap may this mene??Han now thus sone Grekes maad yow lene?
`Or hastow som remors of conscience,?And art now falle in som devocioun, 555?And waylest for thy sinne and thyn offence,?And hast for ferde caught attricioun??God save hem that bi-seged han our toun,?And so can leye our Iolyte on presse,?And bring our lusty folk to holinesse!' 560
These wordes seyde he for the nones alle,?That with swich thing he mighte him