| Criseyde, which that herde him in this wyse, |
| Thoughte, `I shal fele what he meneth, y-wis.' |
| `Now, em,' quod she, `what wolde ye devyse? |
| What is your reed I sholde doon of this?' |
390 | `That is wel seyd,' quod he. `Certayn, best is |
| That ye him love ayein for his lovinge, |
| As love for love is skilful guerdoninge. |
| `Thenk eek, how elde wasteth every houre |
| In eche of yow a party of beautee; |
395 | And therfore, er that age thee devoure, |
| Go love, for, olde, ther wol no wight of thee. |
| Lat this proverbe a lore un-to yow be; |
| "To late y-war, quod Beautee, whan it paste;" |
| And elde daunteth daunger at the laste. |
400 | `The kinges fool is woned to cryen loude, |
| Whan that him thinketh a womman bereth hir hye, |
| "So longe mote ye live, and alle proude, |
| Til crowes feet be growe under your ye, |
| And sende yow thanne a mirour in to prye |
405 | In whiche that ye may see your face a-morwe!" |
| Nece, I bidde wisshe yow no more sorwe.' |
| With this he stente, and caste adoun the heed, |
| And she bigan to breste a-wepe anoon, |
| And seyde, `Allas, for wo! Why nere I deed? |
410 | For of this world the feith is al agoon! |
| Allas! What sholden straunge to me doon, |
| Whan he, that for my beste freend I wende, |
| Ret me to love, and sholde it me defende? |
| `Allas! I wolde han trusted, doutelees, |
415 | That if that I, thurgh my disaventure, |
| Had loved other him or Achilles, |
| Ector, or any mannes creature, |
| Ye nolde han had no mercy ne mesure |
| On me, but alwey had me in repreve; |
420 | This false world, allas! Who may it leve? |
| `What? Is this al the joye and al the feste? |
| Is this your reed, is this my blisful cas? |
| Is this the verray mede of your beheste? |
| Is al this peynted proces seyd, allas! |
425 | Right for this fyn? O lady myn, Pallas! |
| Thou in this dredful cas for me purveye; |
| For so astonied am I that I deye!' |
| With that she gan ful sorwfully to syke; |
| `A! May it be no bet?' quod Pandarus; |
430 | `By God, I shal no-more come here this wyke, |
| And God to-forn, that am mistrusted thus; |
| I see ful wel that ye sette lyte of us, |
| Or of our deeth! Allas! I woful wrecche! |
| Mighte he yet live, of me is nought to recche. |
435 | `O cruel God, O dispitouse Marte, |
| O Furies three of helle, on yow I crye! |
| So lat me never out of this hous departe, |
| If that I mente harm or vilanye! |
| But sith I see my lord mot nedes dye, |
440 | And I with him, here I me shryve, and seye |
| That wikkedly ye doon us bothe deye. |
| `But sith it lyketh yow that I be deed, |
| By Neptunus, that god is of the see, |
| Fro this forth shal I never eten breed |
445 | Til I myn owene herte blood may see; |
| For certayn, I wole deye as sone as he --' |
| And up he sterte, and on his wey he raughte, |
| Til she agayn him by the lappe caughte. |
| Criseyde, which that wel neigh starf for fere, |
450 | So as she was the ferfulleste wight |
| That mighte be, and herde eek with hir eere, |
| And saw the sorwful ernest of the knight, |
| And in his preyere eek saw noon unright, |
| And for the harm that mighte eek fallen more, |
455 | She gan to rewe and dredde hir wonder sore; |
| And thoughte thus, `Unhappes fallen thikke |
| Alday for love, and in swich maner cas, |
| As men ben cruel in hem-self and wikke; |
| And if this man slee here him-self, allas! |
460 | In my presence, it wol be no solas. |
| What men wolde of hit deme I can nat seye; |
| It nedeth me ful sleyly for to pleye.' |
| And with a sorwful syk she seyde thrye, |
| `A! Lord! What me is tid a sory chaunce! |
465 | For myn estat lyth in jupartye, |
| And eek myn emes lyf lyth in balaunce; |
| But nathelees, with Goddes governaunce, |
| I shal so doon, myn honour shal I kepe, |
| And eek his lyf;' and stinte for to wepe. |
470 | `Of harmes two, the lesse is for to chese; |
| Yet have I levere maken him good chere |
| In honour, than myn emes lyf to lese; |
| Ye seyn, ye no-thing elles me requere?' |
| `No, wis,' quod he, `myn owene nece dere.' |
475 | `Now wel,' quod she, `and I wol doon my peyne; |
| I shal myn herte ayeins my lust constreyne. |
| `But that I nil not holden him in honde, |
| Ne love a man, ne can I not, ne may |
| Ayeins my wil; but elles wol I fonde, |
480 | Myn honour sauf, plese him fro day to day; |
| Ther-to nolde I nought ones have seyd nay, |
| But that I dredde, as in my fantasye; |
| But cesse cause, ay cesseth maladye. |
| `And here I make a protestacioun, |
485 | That in this proces if ye depper go, |
| That certaynly, for no savacioun |
| Of yow, though that ye sterve bothe two, |
| Though al the world on o day be my fo, |
| Ne shal I never on him han other routhe.' |
490 | `I graunte wel,' quod Pandare, `by my trouthe. |
| `But may I truste wel ther-to,' quod he, |
| `That of this thing that ye han hight me here, |
| Ye wol it holden trewely un-to me?' |
| `Ye, doutelees,' quod she, `myn uncle dere.' |
495 | `Ne that I shal han cause in this matere,' |
| Quod he, `to pleyne, or after yow to preche?' |
| `Why, no, parde; what nedeth more speche?' |
| Tho fillen they in othere tales glade, |
| Til at the laste, `O good em,' quod she tho, |
500 | `For love of God, which that us bothe made, |
| Tel me how first ye wisten of his wo: |
| Wot noon of hit but ye?' He seyde, `No.' |
| `Can he wel speke of love?' quod she, `I preye, |
| Tel me, for I the bet me shal purveye.' |
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