| `O Jove, I deye, and mercy I beseche! |
| 1150 | Help, Troilus!' And therwithal hir face |
| Upon his brest she leyde, and loste speche; |
| Hir woful spirit from his propre place, |
| Right with the word, alwey up poynt to pace. |
| And thus she lyth with hewes pale and grene, |
| 1155 | That whilom fresh and fairest was to sene. |
| This Troilus, that on hir gan biholde, |
| Clepinge hir name, (and she lay as for deed, |
| Withoute answere, and felte hir limes colde, |
| Hir eyen throwen upward to hir heed), |
| 1160 | This sorwful man can now noon other reed, |
| But ofte tyme hir colde mouth he kiste; |
| Wher him was wo, God and himself it wiste! |
| He rist him up, and long streight he hir leyde; |
| For signe of lyf, for ought he can or may, |
| 1165 | Can he noon finde in no-thing on Criseyde, |
| For which his song ful ofte is `weylaway!' |
| But whan he saugh that specheles she lay, |
| With sorwful voys and herte of blisse al bare, |
| He seyde how she was fro this world y-fare! |
| 1170 | So after that he longe hadde hir compleyned, |
| His hondes wrong, and seyde that was to seye, |
| And with his teeris salte hir brest bireyned, |
| He gan tho teeris wypen of ful dreye, |
| And pitously gan for the soule preye, |
| 1175 | And seyde, `O lord, that set art in thy trone, |
| Rewe eek on me, for I shal folwe hir sone!' |
| She cold was and withouten sentement, |
| For aught he woot, for breeth ne felte he noon; |
| And this was him a preignant argument |
| 1180 | That she was forth out of this world agoon; |
| And whan he seigh ther was non other woon, |
| He gan hir limes dresse in swich manere |
| As men don hem that shul be leyd on bere. |
| And after this, with sterne and cruel herte, |
| 1185 | His swerd anon out of his shethe he twighte, |
| Himself to sleen, how sore that him smerte, |
| So that his soule hir soule folwen mighte, |
| Ther as the doom of Mynos wolde it dighte; |
| Syn Love and cruel Fortune it ne wolde, |
| 1190 | That in this world he lenger liven sholde. |
| Thanne seyde he thus, fulfild of heigh desdayn, |
| `O cruel Jove, and thou, Fortune adverse, |
| This al and som, that falsly have ye slayn |
| Criseyde, and syn ye may do me no werse, |
| 1195 | Fy on your might and werkes so diverse! |
| Thus cowardly ye shul me never winne; |
| Ther shal no deeth me fro my lady twynne. |
| `For I this world, syn ye han slayn hir thus, |
| Wol lete, and folowe hir spirit lowe or hye; |
| 1200 | Shal never lover seyn that Troilus |
| Dar not, for fere, with his lady dye; |
| For certeyn, I wol bere hir companye. |
| But syn ye wol not suffre us liven here, |
| Yet suffreth that our soules ben yfere. |
| 1205 | `And thou, citee, whiche that I leve in wo, |
| And thou, Pryam, and bretheren al yfere, |
| And thou, my moder, farwel! For I go; |
| And Attropos, make redy thou my bere! |
| And thou, Criseyde, o swete herte dere, |
| 1210 | Receyve now my spirit!' wolde he seye, |
| With swerd at herte, al redy for to deye |
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