From Geoffrey Chaucer's "Troilus and Criseyde", Book II, lines 596-644

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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book II, lines 505-595:
Pandarus tells about Troilus

Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book II, lines 596-644: Troilus defeats the Greeks and Criseyde watches his triumphal procession

	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,
600	And sette here doun as stille as any stoon,
	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

605 Was ful avysed, tho fond she right nought

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.

610 But as she sat allone and thoughte thus,

Ascry aroos at skarmish al withoute,

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,

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

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

620 An esy pas rydinge, in routes tweyne,

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,

625 Al armed, save his heed, ful richely,

And wounded was his hors, and gan to blede,

On whiche he rood a pas, ful softely;

But swich a knightly sighte, trewely,

As was on him, was nought, withouten faile,

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

So lyk a man of armes and a knight

He was to seen, fulfild of heigh prowesse;

For bothe he hadde a body and a might

To doon that thing, as wel as hardinesse;

635 And eek to seen him in his gere him dresse,

So fresh, so yong, so weldy semed he,

It was an heven upon him for to see.

His helm tohewen was in twenty places,

That by a tissew heng, his bak bihinde,

640 His sheld to-dasshed was with swerdes and maces,

In which men mighte many an arwe finde

That thirled hadde horn and nerf and rinde;

And ay the peple cryde, `Here cometh our joye,

And, next his brother, holdere up of Troye!'

Next:
From Troilus and Criseyde, Book II, lines 645-686:
Criseyde falls in love with Troilus

	And wex somdel astonied in hir thought,
	Right for the newe cas; but whan that she
605	Was ful avysed, tho fond she right nought
	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.

610	But as she sat allone and thoughte thus,
	Ascry aroos at skarmish al withoute,
	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,
615	`A! Go we see, caste up the latis wyde;
	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
620	An esy pas rydinge, in routes tweyne,
	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,
625	Al armed, save his heed, ful richely,
	And wounded was his hors, and gan to blede,
	On whiche he rood a pas, ful softely;
	But swich a knightly sighte, trewely,
	As was on him, was nought, withouten faile,
630	To loke on Mars, that god is of batayle.

	So lyk a man of armes and a knight
	He was to seen, fulfild of heigh prowesse;
	For bothe he hadde a body and a might
	To doon that thing, as wel as hardinesse;
635	And eek to seen him in his gere him dresse,
	So fresh, so yong, so weldy semed he,
	It was an heven upon him for to see.

	His helm tohewen was in twenty places,
	That by a tissew heng, his bak bihinde,
640	His sheld to-dasshed was with swerdes and maces,
	In which men mighte many an arwe finde
	That thirled hadde horn and nerf and rinde;
	And ay the peple cryde, `Here cometh our joye,
	And, next his brother, holdere up of Troye!'