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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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Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book I, lines 722-819: Pandarus tells Troilus he has to reveal his love instead of killing himself


Yet Troilus, for al this, no word seyde,
But longe he ley as stille as he ded were;
And after this with sykinge he abreyde,
725And to Pandarus voys he lente his ere,
And up his eyen caste he, that in fere
Was Pandarus, lest that in frenesye
He sholde falle, or elles sone dye;

And cryde `Awake' ful wonderly and sharpe;
730`What? Slombrestow as in a lytargye?
Or artow lyk an asse to the harpe,
That hereth soun, whan men the strenges plye,
But in his minde of that no melodye
May sinken, him to glade, for that he
735So dul is of his bestialitee?'

And with that, Pandare of his wordes stente;
And Troilus yet him no word answerde,
For-why to telle nas not his entente
To never no man, for whom that he so ferde.
740For it is seyd, `Man maketh ofte a yerde
With which the maker is himself ybeten
In sondry maner,' as thise wyse treten,

And namely, in his counseyl tellinge
That toucheth love that oughte be secree;
745For of himself it wolde ynough out-springe,
But-if that it the bet governed be.
Eek som-tyme it is craft to seme flee
Fro thing which in effect men hunte faste;
Al this gan Troilus in his herte caste.

750But nathelees, whan he had herd him crye
`Awake!' he gan to syke wonder sore,
And seyde, `Freend, though that I stille lye,
I am not deef; now pees, and cry no more;
For I have herd thy wordes and thy lore;
755But suffre me my mischef to biwayle,
For thy proverbes may me nought avayle.

`Nor other cure canstow noon for me.
Eek I nil not be cured, I wol deye;
What knowe I of the quene Niobe?
760Lat be thyne olde ensaumples, I thee preye.'
`No,' quod tho Pandarus, `therfore I seye,
Swich is delyt of foles to biwepe
Hir wo, but seken bote they ne kepe.

`Now knowe I that ther reson in the fayleth.
765But tel me, if I wiste what she were
For whom that thee al this misaunter ayleth?
Dorstestow that I tolde hir in hir ere
Thy wo, sith thou darst not thy-self for fere,
And hir bisoughte on thee to han som routhe?'
770`Why, nay,' quod he, `by God and by my trouthe!'

`What, nat as bisily,' quod Pandarus,
`As though myn owene lyf lay on this nede?'
`No, certes, brother,' quod this Troilus,
`And why?' -- `For that thou sholdest never spede.'
775`Wostow that wel?' -- `Ye, that is out of drede,'
Quod Troilus, `for al that ever ye conne,
She nil to noon swich wrecche as I be wonne.'

Quod Pandarus, `Allas! What may this be,
That thou dispeyred art thus causelees?
780What? Liveth not thy lady? Benedicite!
How wostow so that thou art gracelees?
Swich yvel is nat alwey bootelees.
Why, put not impossible thus thy cure,
Syn thing to come is ofte in aventure.

785`I graunte wel that thou endurest wo
As sharp as doth he, Ticius, in helle,
Whos stomak foules tyren ever mo
That highte volturis, as bokes telle.
But I may not endure that thou dwelle
790In so unskilful an opinioun
That of thy wo is no curacioun.

`But ones niltow, for thy coward herte,
And for thyn ire and folish wilfulnesse,
For wantrust, tellen of thy sorwes smerte,
795Ne to thyn owene help do bisinesse
As muche as speke a resoun more or lesse,
But lyest as he that list of no-thing recche.
What womman koude love swich a wrecche?

`What may she demen other of thy deeth,
800If thou thus deye, and she not why it is,
But that for fere is yolden up thy breeth,
For Grekes han biseged us, y-wis?
Lord, which a thank than shaltow han of this!
Thus wol she seyn, and al the toun at ones,
805"The wrecche is deed, the devel have his bones!"

`Thou mayst allone here wepe and crye and knele;
But, love a woman that she woot it nought,
And she wol quyte that thou shalt not fele;
Unknowe, unkist, and lost that is unsought.
810What! Many a man hath love ful dere ybought
Twenty winter that his lady wiste,
That never yet his lady mouth he kiste.

`What? Shulde be therfor fallen in despeyr,
Or be recreaunt for his owene tene,
815Or sleen himself, al be his lady fayr?
Nay, nay, but ever in oon be fresh and grene
To serve and love his dere hertes quene,
And thenke it is a guerdoun hir to serve
A thousand fold more than he can deserve.'





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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book I, lines 820-875:
Troilus reveals Criseyde's name to Pandarus
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