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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book II, lines 687-805:
Criseyde contemplates about freedom and bondage
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Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book II, lines 806-875: Criseyde decides she loves Troilus despite the disadvantage of losing her freedom


And after that, hir thought bigan to clere,
And seyde, `He which that nothing undertaketh,
No thing ne acheveth, be him looth or dere.'
And with an other thought hir herte quaketh;
810Than slepeth hope, and after dreed awaketh;
Now hoot, now cold; but thus, bitwixen tweye,
She rist hir up, and went hir for to pleye.

Adoun the steyre anon-right tho she wente
In-to the gardin, with hir neces three,
815And up and doun ther made many a wente,
Flexippe, she, Tharbe, and Antigone,
To pleyen, that it joye was to see;
And othere of hir wommen, a gret route,
Hir folwede in the gardin al aboute.

820This yerd was large, and rayled alle the aleyes,
And shadwed wel with blosmy bowes grene,
And benched newe, and sonded alle the weyes,
In which she walketh arm in arm bi-twene;
Til at the laste Antigone the shene
825Gan on a Troian song to singe clere,
That it an heven was hir voys to here. --

She seyde, `O love, to whom I have and shal
Ben humble subgit, trewe in myn entente,
As I best can, to yow, lord, yeve ich al
830For ever-more, myn hertes lust to rente.
For never yet thy grace no wight sente
So blisful cause as me, my lyf to lede
In alle joye and seurtee, out of drede.

`Ye, blisful God, han me so wel beset
835In love, y-wis, that al that bereth lyf
Imaginen ne cowde how to ben bet;
For, lord, withouten jalousye or strif,
I love oon which that is most ententif
To serven wel, unwery or unfeyned,
840That ever was, and leest with harm distreyned.

`As he that is the welle of worthinesse,
Of trouthe grownd, mirour of goodliheed,
Of wit Appollo, stoon of sikernesse,
Of vertu rote, of lust findere and heed,
845Thurgh which is alle sorwe fro me deed,
Y-wis, I love him best, so doth he me;
Now good thrift have he, wherso that he be!

`Whom sholde I thanke but yow, god of love,
Of al this blisse, in which to bathe I ginne?
850And thanked be ye, lord, for that I love!
This is the righte lyf that I am inne,
To flemen alle manere vyce and synne:
This doth me so to vertu for to entende,
That day by day I in my wil amende.

855`And whoso seyth that for to love is vyce,
Or thraldom, though he fele in it distresse,
He outher is envyous, or right nyce,
Or is unmighty, for his shrewednesse,
To loven; for swich maner folk, I gesse,
860Defamen love, as no-thing of him knowe;
Thei speken, but they bente never his bowe.

`What is the sonne wers, of kinde righte,
Though that a man, for feblesse of his yen,
May nought endure on it to see for brighte?
865Or love the wers, though wrecches on it cryen?
No wele is worth, that may no sorwe dryen.
And for-thy, who that hath an heed of verre,
Fro cast of stones war him in the werre!

`But I with al myn herte and al my might,
870As I have seyd, wol love, unto my laste,
My dere herte, and al myn owene knight,
In which myn herte growen is so faste,
And his in me, that it shal ever laste.
Al dredde I first to love him to biginne,
875Now woot I wel, ther is no peril inne.'





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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book II, lines 876-931:
Criseyde exchanges thoughts with her niece Antigone and goes to sleep
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