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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book IV, lines 1128-1148:
Troilus and Criseyde embrace each other crying
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Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book IV, lines 1149-1211: Criseyde swoons and Troilus draws his sword to kill himself

`O Jove, I deye, and mercy I beseche!
1150Help, 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,
1155That 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),
1160This 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,
1165Can 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!

1170So 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,
1175And 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
1180That 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,
1185His 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,
1190That 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,
1195Fy 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;
1200Shal 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,
1210Receyve now my spirit!' wolde he seye,
With swerd at herte, al redy for to deye

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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book IV, lines 1212-1246:
Criseyde awakes, stops Troilus and suggests to talk about their mutual grief in bed