From Geoffrey Chaucer's "Troilus and Criseyde", Book V, lines 1205-1309

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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book V, lines 1100-1204:
Troilus awaits Criseyde's return

Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book V, lines 1205-1309: Troilus suspects Criseyde's unfaithfullness, but Pandarus urges him not to draw hasty conclusions

1205	The thridde, ferthe, fifte, sixte day
	After tho dayes ten, of which I tolde,
	Bitwixen hope and drede his herte lay,
	Yet somwhat trustinge on hir hestes olde.
	But whan he saugh she nolde hir terme holde,
1210	He can now seen non other remedye,
	But for to shape him sone for to dye.

Therwith the wikked spirit, God us blesse,

Which that men clepeth wood jalousye,

Gan in him crepe, in al this hevynesse;

1215 For which, bycause he wolde sone dye,

He ne eet ne dronk, for his malencolye,

And eek from every companye he fledde;

This was the lyf that al the tyme he ledde.

He so defet was, that no maner man

1220 Unnethe mighte him knowe ther he wente;

So was he lene, and therto pale and wan,

And feble, that he walketh by potente;

And with his ire he thus himselven shente.

But whoso axed him wherof him smerte,

1225 He seyde, his harm was al aboute his herte.

Pryam ful ofte, and eek his moder dere,

His bretheren and his sustren gonne him freyne

Why he so sorwful was in al his chere,

And what thing was the cause of al his peyne?

1230 But al for nought; he nolde his cause pleyne,

But seyde, he felte a grevous maladye

Aboute his herte, and fayn he wolde dye.

So on a day he leyde him doun to slepe,

And so bifel that in his sleep him thoughte,

1235 That in a forest faste he welk to wepe

For love of hir that him these peynes wroughte;

And up and doun as he the forest soughte,

He mette he saugh a boor with tuskes grete,

That sleep ayein the brighte sonnes hete.

1240 And by this boor, faste in his armes folde,

Lay kissing ay his lady bright Criseyde:

For sorwe of which, whan he it gan biholde,

And for despyt, out of his slepe he breyde,

And loude he cryde on Pandarus, and seyde,

1245 `O Pandarus, now knowe I crop and rote!

I nam but deed; ther nis non other bote!

`My lady bright Criseyde hath me bitrayed,

In whom I trusted most of any wight,

She elles-where hath now hir herte apayed;

1250 The blisful goddes, through hir grete might,

Han in my dreem y-shewed it ful right.

Thus in my dreem Criseyde I have biholde' --

And al this thing to Pandarus he tolde.

`O my Criseyde, allas! What subtiltee.

1255 What newe lust, what beautee, what science,

What wratthe of juste cause have ye to me?

What gilt of me, what fel experience

Hath fro me raft, allas! Thyn advertence?

O trust, O feyth, O depe asseuraunce,

1260 Who hath me reft Criseyde, al my plesaunce?

`Allas! Why leet I you from hennes go,

For which wel neigh out of my wit I breyde?

Who shal now trowe on any othes mo?

God wot I wende, O lady bright, Criseyde,

1265 That every word was gospel that ye seyde!

But who may bet bigylen, yf him liste,

Than he on whom men weneth best to triste?

`What shal I doon, my Pandarus, allas!

I fele now so sharpe a newe peyne,

1270 Syn that ther is no remedie in this cas,

That bet were it I with myn hondes tweyne

Myselven slow, than alwey thus to pleyne.

For thurgh my deeth my wo sholde han an ende,

Ther every day with lyf myself I shende.'

1275 Pandare answerde and seyde, `Allas the whyle

That I was born; have I not seyd er this,

That dremes many a maner man bigyle?

And why? For folk expounden hem amis.

How darstow seyn that fals thy lady is,

1280 For any dreem, right for thyn owene drede?

Lat be this thought, thou canst no dremes rede.

`Paraunter, ther thou dremest of this boor,

It may so be that it may signifye

Hir fader, which that old is and eek hoor,

1285 Ayein the sonne lyth, on poynt to dye,

And she for sorwe ginneth wepe and crye,

And kisseth him, ther he lyth on the grounde;

Thus shuldestow thy dreem a-right expounde.'

`How mighte I thanne do?' quod Troilus,

1290 `To knowe of this, ye, were it never so lyte?'

`Now seystow wysly,' quod this Pandarus,

`My reed is this, syn thou canst wel endite,

That hastely a lettre thou hir write,

Thurgh which thou shalt wel bringen it aboute,

1295 To knowe a sooth of that thou art in doute.

`And see now why; for this I dar wel seyn,

That if so is that she untrewe be,

I can not trowe that she wol wryte ayeyn.

And if she wryte, thou shalt ful sone see,

1300 As whether she hath any libertee

To come ayein, or ellis in som clause,

If she be let, she wol assigne a cause.

`Thou hast not writen hir syn that she wente,

Nor she to thee, and this I dorste leye,

1305 Ther may swich cause been in hir entente,

That hardily thou wolt thyselven seye,

That hir abood the beste is for yow tweye.

Now wryte hir thanne, and thou shalt fele sone

A sothe of al; ther is no more to done.'

Next:
From Troilus and Criseyde, Book V, lines 1310-1428:
Troilus writes Criseyde a letter and Criseyde writes Troilus a letter in return

	Therwith the wikked spirit, God us blesse,
	Which that men clepeth wood jalousye,
	Gan in him crepe, in al this hevynesse;
1215	For which, bycause he wolde sone dye,
	He ne eet ne dronk, for his malencolye,
	And eek from every companye he fledde;
	This was the lyf that al the tyme he ledde.

	He so defet was, that no maner man
1220	Unnethe mighte him knowe ther he wente;
	So was he lene, and therto pale and wan,
	And feble, that he walketh by potente;
	And with his ire he thus himselven shente.
	But whoso axed him wherof him smerte,
1225	He seyde, his harm was al aboute his herte.

	Pryam ful ofte, and eek his moder dere,
	His bretheren and his sustren gonne him freyne
	Why he so sorwful was in al his chere,
	And what thing was the cause of al his peyne?
1230	But al for nought; he nolde his cause pleyne,
	But seyde, he felte a grevous maladye
	Aboute his herte, and fayn he wolde dye.

	So on a day he leyde him doun to slepe,
	And so bifel that in his sleep him thoughte,
1235	That in a forest faste he welk to wepe
	For love of hir that him these peynes wroughte;
	And up and doun as he the forest soughte,
	He mette he saugh a boor with tuskes grete,
	That sleep ayein the brighte sonnes hete.

1240	And by this boor, faste in his armes folde,
	Lay kissing ay his lady bright Criseyde:
	For sorwe of which, whan he it gan biholde,
	And for despyt, out of his slepe he breyde,
	And loude he cryde on Pandarus, and seyde,
1245	`O Pandarus, now knowe I crop and rote!
	I nam but deed; ther nis non other bote!

	`My lady bright Criseyde hath me bitrayed,
	In whom I trusted most of any wight,
	She elles-where hath now hir herte apayed;
1250	The blisful goddes, through hir grete might,
	Han in my dreem y-shewed it ful right.
	Thus in my dreem Criseyde I have biholde' --
	And al this thing to Pandarus he tolde.

	`O my Criseyde, allas! What subtiltee.
1255	What newe lust, what beautee, what science,
	What wratthe of juste cause have ye to me?
	What gilt of me, what fel experience
	Hath fro me raft, allas! Thyn advertence?
	O trust, O feyth, O depe asseuraunce,
1260	Who hath me reft Criseyde, al my plesaunce?

	`Allas! Why leet I you from hennes go,
	For which wel neigh out of my wit I breyde?
	Who shal now trowe on any othes mo?
	God wot I wende, O lady bright, Criseyde,
1265	That every word was gospel that ye seyde!
	But who may bet bigylen, yf him liste,
	Than he on whom men weneth best to triste?

	`What shal I doon, my Pandarus, allas!
	I fele now so sharpe a newe peyne,
1270	Syn that ther is no remedie in this cas,
	That bet were it I with myn hondes tweyne
	Myselven slow, than alwey thus to pleyne.
	For thurgh my deeth my wo sholde han an ende,
	Ther every day with lyf myself I shende.'

1275	Pandare answerde and seyde, `Allas the whyle
	That I was born; have I not seyd er this,
	That dremes many a maner man bigyle?
	And why? For folk expounden hem amis.
	How darstow seyn that fals thy lady is,
1280	For any dreem, right for thyn owene drede?
	Lat be this thought, thou canst no dremes rede.

	`Paraunter, ther thou dremest of this boor,
	It may so be that it may signifye
	Hir fader, which that old is and eek hoor,
1285	Ayein the sonne lyth, on poynt to dye,
	And she for sorwe ginneth wepe and crye,
	And kisseth him, ther he lyth on the grounde;
	Thus shuldestow thy dreem a-right expounde.'

	`How mighte I thanne do?' quod Troilus,
1290	`To knowe of this, ye, were it never so lyte?'
	`Now seystow wysly,' quod this Pandarus,
	`My reed is this, syn thou canst wel endite,
	That hastely a lettre thou hir write,
	Thurgh which thou shalt wel bringen it aboute,
1295	To knowe a sooth of that thou art in doute.

	`And see now why; for this I dar wel seyn,
	That if so is that she untrewe be,
	I can not trowe that she wol wryte ayeyn.
	And if she wryte, thou shalt ful sone see,
1300	As whether she hath any libertee
	To come ayein, or ellis in som clause,
	If she be let, she wol assigne a cause.

	`Thou hast not writen hir syn that she wente,
	Nor she to thee, and this I dorste leye,
1305	Ther may swich cause been in hir entente,
	That hardily thou wolt thyselven seye,
	That hir abood the beste is for yow tweye.
	Now wryte hir thanne, and thou shalt fele sone
	A sothe of al; ther is no more to done.'