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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book I, lines 540-581:
Pandarus visits his friend Troilus
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Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book I, lines 582-679: Pandarus tries to comfort Troilus


This Pandare, that neigh malt for wo and routhe,
Ful often seyde, `Allas! what may this be?
Now freend,' quod he, `if ever love or trouthe
585Hath been, or is, bitwixen thee and me,
Ne do thou never swiche a crueltee
To hyde fro thy freend so greet a care;
Wostow nought wel that it am I, Pandare?

`I wole parten with thee al thy peyne,
590If it be so I do thee no comfort,
As it is freendes right, sooth for to seyne,
To entreparten wo, as glad desport.
I have, and shal, for trewe or fals report,
In wrong and right y-loved thee al my lyve;
595Hyd not thy wo fro me, but telle it blyve.'

Than gan this sorwful Troilus to syke,
And seyde him thus, "God leve it be my beste
To telle it thee; for sith it may thee lyke,
Yet wole I telle it, though myn herte breste;
600And wel woot I thou mayst do me no reste.
But lest thow deme I truste not to thee,
Now herkne, freend, for thus it stant with me.

`Love, ayeins the which whoso defendeth
Himselven most, him alderlest avayleth,
605With disespeir so sorwfully me offendeth,
That streyght unto the deeth myn herte sayleth.
Therto desyr so brenningly me assaylleth,
That to ben slayn it were a gretter joye
To me than king of Grece been and Troye!

610`Suffiseth this, my fulle freend Pandare,
That I have seyd, for now wostow my wo;
And for the love of god, my colde care
So hyd it wel, I telle it never to mo;
For harmes mighte folwen, mo than two,
615If it were wist; but be thou in gladnesse,
And lat me sterve, unknowe, of my distresse.'

`How hastow thus unkindely and longe
Hid this fro me, thou fool?' quod Pandarus;
`Paraunter thou might after swich oon longe,
620That myn avys anoon may helpen us.'
`This were a wonder thing,' quod Troylus,
`Thou koudest never in love thyselven wisse;
How devel maystow bringen me to blisse?'

`Ye, Troilus, now herke,' quod Pandare,
625`Though I be nyce; it happeth ofte so,
That oon that exces doth ful yvele fare,
By good counseyl can kepe his freend therfro.
I have my-self eek seyn a blind man go
Ther as he fel that koude loke wyde;
630A fool may eek a wys man ofte gyde.

`A whetston is no kerving instrument,
And yet it maketh sharpe kerving tolis.
And ther thou woost that I have ought miswent,
Eschewe thou that, for swich thing to thee scole is;
635Thus ofte wyse men ben war by folis.
If thou do so, thy wit is wel biwared;
By his contrarie is every thing declared.

`For how might ever sweetnesse have be knowe
To him that never tasted bitternesse?
640Ne no man may be inly glad, I trowe,
That never was in sorwe or som distresse;
Eek whyt by blak, by shame eek worthynesse,
Ech set by other, more for other semeth;
As men may see; and so the wyse it demeth.

645`Sith thus of two contraries is a lore,
I, that have in love so ofte assayed
Grevaunces, oughte conne, and wel the more
Counsayllen thee of that thou art amayed.
Eek thee ne oughte nat ben yvel apayed,
650Though I desyre with thee for to bere
Thyn hevy charge; it shal the lasse dere.

`I woot wel that it fareth thus by me
As to thy brother Parys an herdesse,
Which that ycleped was Oenone,
655Wrot in a compleynte of hir hevinesse:
Ye say the lettre that she wroot, I gesse?'
`Nay, never yet, y-wis,' quod Troilus.
`Now,' quod Pandare, `herkneth, it was thus.

"Phebus, that first fond art of medicyne,'
660Quod she, `and koude in every wightes care
Remede and reed, by herbes he knew fyne,
Yet to himself his konnyng was ful bare;
For love hadde him so bounden in a snare,
Al for the doughter of the kinge Admete,
665That al his craft ne koude his sorwe bete."

`Right so fare I, unhappily for me;
I love oon best, and that me smerteth sore;
And yet, paraunter, can I rede thee,
And not myself; repreve me no more.
670I have no cause, I woot wel, for to sore
As doth an hauk that listeth for to pleye,
But to thyn help yet somwhat can I seye.

`And of o thing right siker maystow be,
That certayn, for to deyen in the peyne,
675That I shal never-mo discoveren thee;
Ne, by my trouthe, I kepe nat restreyne
Thee fro thy love, thogh that it were Eleyne,
That is thy brotheres wif, if ich it wiste;
Be what she be, and love hir as thee liste.





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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book I, lines 680-721:
Pandarus urges Troilus to tell him what is wrong
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