Previous: From Troilus and Criseyde, Book V, lines 512-602: Troilus and Pandarus go to Criseyde's empty house

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610	`And to the yonder hille I gan hir gyde,
	Allas! And there I took of hir my leve!
	And yond I saugh hir to hir fader ryde,
	For sorwe of which myn herte shal to-cleve.
	And hider hoom I com whan it was eve;
615	And here I dwelle out cast from alle joye,
	And shal, til I may seen hir eft in Troye.'

	And of him-self imagened he ofte
	To ben defet, and pale, and waxen lesse
	Than he was wont, and that men seyden softe,
620	`What may it be? Who can the sothe gesse
	Why Troilus hath al this hevynesse?'
	And al this nas but his malencolye,
	That he hadde of himself swich fantasye.

	Another tyme imaginen he wolde
625	That every wight that wente by the weye
	Had of him routhe, and that they seyen sholde,
	`I am right sory Troilus wole deye.'
	And thus he droof a day yet forth or tweye.
	As ye have herd, swich lyf right gan he lede,
630	As he that stood bitwixen hope and drede.

	For which him lyked in his songes shewe
	Thencheson of his wo, as he best mighte,
	And made a song of wordes but a fewe,
	Somwhat his woful herte for to lighte.
635	And whan he was from every mannes sighte,
	With softe voys he, of his lady dere,
	That was absent, gan singe as ye may here.

	`O sterre, of which I lost have al the light,
	With herte soor wel oughte I to bewayle,
640	That ever derk in torment, night by night,
	Toward my deeth with wind in stere I sayle;
	For which the tenthe night if that I fayle
	The gyding of thy bemes brighte an houre,
	My ship and me Caribdis wole devoure.'

645	This song whan he thus songen hadde, sone
	He fil ayein into his sykes olde;
	And every night, as was his wone to done,
	He stood the brighte mone to beholde,
	And al his sorwe he to the mone tolde;
650	And seyde, `Ywis, whan thou art horned newe,
	I shal be glad, if al the world be trewe!

	`I saugh thyn hornes olde eek by the morwe,
	Whan hennes rood my righte lady dere,
	That cause is of my torment and my sorwe;
655	For whiche, O brighte Lucina the clere,
	For love of God, ren faste aboute thy spere!
	For whan thyn hornes newe ginne springe,
	Than shal she come, that may my blisse bringe!'

	The day is more, and lenger every night,
660	Than they be wont to be, him thoughte tho;
	And that the sonne wente his course unright
	By lenger wey than it was wont to go;
	And seyde, `Ywis, me dredeth ever-mo,
	The sonnes sone, Pheton, be on-lyve,
665	And that his fadres cart amis he dryve.'

	Upon the walles faste eek wolde he walke,
	And on the Grekes oost he wolde see,
	And to himself right thus he wolde talke,
	`Lo, yonder is myn owene lady free,
670	Or elles yonder, ther tho tentes be!
	And thennes comth this eyr, that is so sote,
	That in my soule I fele it doth me bote.

	`And hardily this wind, that more and more
	Thus stoundemele encreseth in my face,
675	Is of my ladyes depe sykes sore.
	I preve it thus, for in non othere place
	Of al this toun, save onliche in this space,
	Fele I no wind that souneth so lyk peyne;
	It seyth, "Allas! Why twynned be we tweyne?"'

680	This longe tyme he dryveth forth right thus,
	Til fully passed was the nynthe night;
	And ay bisyde him was this Pandarus,
	That bisily dide alle his fulle might
	Him to comforte, and make his herte light;
685	Yevinge him hope alwey, the tenthe morwe
	That she shal come, and stinten al his sorwe.

Next: From Troilus and Criseyde, Book V, lines 687-770: At the Greek side, Criseyde also mourns and she decides to try to flee back to Troy