Troilus and Criseyde. Geoffrey Chaucer

How he bigan ful wofully to grone.

       `Tho gan I stalke him softely bihinde,

       And sikerly, the sothe for to seyne, 520

       As I can clepe ayein now to my minde,

       Right thus to Love he gan him for to pleyne;

       He seyde, "Lord! Have routhe up-on my peyne,

       Al have I been rebel in myn entente;

       Now, MEA CULPA, lord! I me repente. 525

       `"O god, that at thy disposicioun

       Ledest the fyn by Iuste purveyaunce,

       Of every wight, my lowe confessioun

       Accepte in gree, and send me swich penaunce

       As lyketh thee, but from desesperaunce, 530

       That may my goost departe awey fro thee,

       Thou be my sheld, for thy benignitee.

       `"For certes, lord, so soore hath she me wounded,

       That stod in blak, with loking of hir yen,

       That to myn hertes botme it is y-sounded, 535

       Thorugh which I woot that I mot nedes dyen;

       This is the worste, I dar me not bi-wryen;

       And wel the hotter been the gledes rede,

       That men hem wryen with asshen pale and dede."

       `With that he smoot his heed adoun anoon, 540

       And gan to motre, I noot what, trewely.

       And I with that gan stille awey to goon,

       And leet ther-of as no-thing wist hadde I,

       And come ayein anoon and stood him by,

       And seyde, "A-wake, ye slepen al to longe; 545

       It semeth nat that love dooth yow longe,

       `"That slepen so that no man may yow wake.

       Who sey ever or this so dul a man?"

       "Ye, freend," quod he, "do ye your hedes ake

       For love, and lat me liven as I can." 550

       But though that he for wo was pale and wan,

       Yet made he tho as freshe a countenaunce

       As though he shulde have led the newe daunce.

       `This passed forth, til now, this other day,

       It fel that I com roming al allone 555

       Into his chaumbre, and fond how that he lay

       Up-on his bed; but man so sore grone

       Ne herde I never, and what that was his mone,

       Ne wist I nought; for, as I was cominge,

       Al sodeynly he lefte his compleyninge. 560

       `Of which I took somwat suspecioun,

       And neer I com, and fond he wepte sore;

       And god so wis be my savacioun,

       As never of thing hadde I no routhe more.

       For neither with engyn, ne with no lore, 565

       Unethes mighte I fro the deeth him kepe;

       That yet fele I myn herte for him wepe.

       `And god wot, never, sith that I was born,

       Was I so bisy no man for to preche,

       Ne never was to wight so depe y-sworn, 570

       Or he me tolde who mighte been his leche.

       But now to yow rehersen al his speche,

       Or alle his woful wordes for to soune,

       Ne bid me not, but ye wol see me swowne.

       `But for to save his lyf, and elles nought, 575

       And to non harm of yow, thus am I driven;

       And for the love of god that us hath wrought,

       Swich chere him dooth, that he and I may liven.

       Now have I plat to yow myn herte shriven;

       And sin ye woot that myn entente is clene, 580

       Tak hede ther-of, for I non yvel mene.

       `And right good thrift, I prey to god, have ye,

       That han swich oon y-caught with-oute net;

       And be ye wys, as ye ben fair to see,

       Wel in the ring than is the ruby set. 585

       Ther were never two so wel y-met,

       Whan ye ben his al hool, as he is youre:

       Ther mighty god yet graunte us see that houre!'

       `Nay, therof spak I not, a, ha!' quod she,

       `As helpe me god, ye shenden every deel!' 590

       `O mercy, dere nece,' anoon quod he,

       `What-so I spak, I mente nought but weel,

       By Mars the god, that helmed is of steel;

       Now beth nought wrooth, my blood, my nece dere.'

       `Now wel,' quod she, `foryeven be it here!' 595

       With this he took his leve, and hoom he wente;

       And lord, he was glad and wel bigoon!

       Criseyde aroos, no lenger she ne stente,

       But straught in-to hir closet wente anoon,

       And sette here doun as stille as any stoon, 600

       And every word gan up and doun to winde,

       That he hadde seyd, as it com hir to minde;

       And wex somdel astonied in hir thought,

       Right for the newe cas; but whan that she

       Was ful avysed, tho fond she right nought 605

       Of peril, why she oughte afered be.

       For man may love, of possibilitee,

       A womman so, his herte may to-breste,

       And she nought love ayein, but-if hir leste.

       But as she sat allone and thoughte thus, 610

       Thascry aroos at skarmish al with-oute,

       And men cryde in the strete, `See, Troilus

       Hath right now put to flight the Grekes route!'

       With that gan al hir meynee for to shoute,

       `A! Go we see, caste up the latis wyde; 615

       For thurgh this strete he moot to palays ryde;

       `For other wey is fro the yate noon

       Of Dardanus, ther open is the cheyne.'

       With that com he and al his folk anoon

       An esy pas rydinge, in routes tweyne, 620

       Right as his happy day was, sooth to seyne,

       For which, men say, may nought disturbed be

       That shal bityden of necessitee.

       This Troilus sat on his baye stede,

       Al armed, save his heed, ful richely, 625

       And wounded was his hors, and gan to blede,

       On whiche he rood a pas, ful softely;

       But swych a knightly sighte, trewely,

       As was on him, was nought, with-outen faile,

       To loke on Mars, that god is of batayle. 630