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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book V, lines 1632-1666:
Troilus finds Criseyde's unfaithfullness proved
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Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book V, lines 1667-1722: Troilus complains to Pandarus


He gooth him hoom, and gan ful sone sende
For Pandarus; and al this newe chaunce,
And of this broche, he tolde him word and ende,
1670Compleyninge of hir hertes variaunce,
His longe love, his trouthe, and his penaunce;
And after deeth, withouten wordes more,
Ful faste he cryde, his reste him to restore.

Than spak he thus, `O lady myn Criseyde,
1675Wher is your feyth, and wher is your biheste?
Wher is your love, wher is your trouthe,' he seyde;
`Of Diomede have ye now al this feste!
Allas, I wolde have trowed at the leste.
That, syn ye nolde in trouthe to me stonde,
1680That ye thus nolde han holden me in honde!

`Who shal now trowe on any othes mo?
Allas, I never wolde han wend, er this,
That ye, Criseyde, koude han chaunged so;
Ne, but I hadde agilt and doon amis,
1685So cruel wende I not your herte, ywis,
To slee me thus; allas, your name of trouthe
Is now fordoon, and that is al my routhe.

`Was ther non other broche yow liste lete
To feffe with your newe love,' quod he,
1690`But thilke broche that I, with teres wete,
Yow yaf, as for a remembraunce of me?
Non other cause, allas, ne hadde ye
But for despyt, and eek for that ye mente
Al outrely to shewen your entente!

1695`Thurgh which I see that clene out of your minde
Ye han me cast, and I ne can nor may,
For al this world, with-in myn herte finde
To unloven yow a quarter of a day!
In cursed tyme I born was, weylaway!
1700That ye, that doon me al this wo endure,
Yet love I best of any creature.

`Now God,' quod he, `me sende yet the grace
That I may meten with this Diomede!
And trewely, if I have might and space,
1705Yet shal I make, I hope, his sydes blede.
O God,' quod he, `that oughtest taken hede
To fortheren trouthe, and wronges to punyce,
Why niltow doon a vengeaunce of this vyce?

`O Pandare, that in dremes for to triste
1710Me blamed hast, and wont art oft upbreyde,
Now maystow see thyselve, if that thee liste,
How trewe is now thy nece, bright Criseyde!
In sondry formes, God it woot,' he seyde,
`The goddes shewen bothe joye and tene
1715In slepe, and by my dreme it is now sene.

`And certaynly, withoute more speche,
From hennes-forth, as ferforth as I may,
Myn owene deeth in armes wol I seche;
I recche not how sone be the day!
1720But trewely, Criseyde, swete may,
Whom I have ay with al my might y-served,
That ye thus doon, I have it nought deserved.'





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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book V, lines 1723-1869:
Troilus' death and moral ponderations and reflections on faithfullness and unfaithfullness
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