Troilus and Criseyde

by Geoffrey Chaucer

`This was a sodeyn love; how mighte it be

  That she so lightly lovede Troilus

  Right for the firste sighte; ye, pardee?'

  670 Now who-so seyth so, mote he never thee!

  For every thing, a ginning hath it nede

  Er al be wrought, with-outen any drede.

  For I sey nought that she so sodeynly

  Yaf him hir love, but that she gan enclyne

  675 To lyke him first, and I have told yow why;

  And after that, his manhod and his pyne

  Made love with-inne hir for to myne,

  For which, by proces and by good servyse,

  He gat hir love, and in no sodeyn wyse.

  680 And also blisful Venus, wel arayed,

  Sat in hir seventhe hous of hevene tho,

  Disposed wel, and with aspectes payed,

  To helpen sely Troilus of his wo.

  And, sooth to seyn, she nas not al a fo

  685 To Troilus in his nativitee;

  God woot that wel the soner spedde he.

  Now lat us stinte of Troilus a throwe,

  That rydeth forth, and lat us tourne faste

  Un-to Criseyde, that heng hir heed ful lowe,

  690 Ther-as she sat allone, and gan to caste

  Wher-on she wolde apoynte hir at the laste,

  If it so were hir eem ne wolde cesse,

  For Troilus, up-on hir for to presse.

  And, lord! So she gan in hir thought argue

  695 In this matere of which I have yow told,

  And what to doon best were, and what eschue,

  That plyted she ful ofte in many fold.

  Now was hir herte warm, now was it cold,

  And what she thoughte somwhat shal I wryte,

  700 As to myn auctor listeth for to endyte.

  She thoughte wel that Troilus persone

  She knew by sighte and eek his gentillesse,

  And thus she seyde, `Al were it nought to done,

  To graunte him love, yet, for his worthinesse,

  705 It were honour, with pley and with gladnesse,

  In honestee, with swich a lord to dele,

  For myn estat, and also for his hele.

  `Eek, wel wot I my kinges sone is he;

  And sith he hath to see me swich delyt,

  710 If I wolde utterly his sighte flee,

  Peraunter he mighte have me in dispyt,

  Thurgh which I mighte stonde in worse plyt;

  Now were I wys, me hate to purchace,

  With-outen nede, ther I may stonde in grace?

  715 `In every thing, I woot, ther lyth mesure.

  For though a man forbede dronkenesse,

  He nought for-bet that every creature

  Be drinkelees for alwey, as I gesse;

  Eek sith I woot for me is his distresse,

  720 I ne oughte not for that thing him despyse,

  Sith it is so, he meneth in good wyse.

  `And eek I knowe, of longe tyme agoon,

  His thewes goode, and that he is not nyce.

  Ne avauntour, seyth men, certein, he is noon;

  725 To wys is he to do so gret a vyce;

  Ne als I nel him never so cheryce,

  That he may make avaunt, by Iuste cause;

  He shal me never binde in swiche a clause.

  `Now set a cas, the hardest is, y-wis,

  730 Men mighten deme that he loveth me;

  What dishonour were it un-to me, this?

  May I him lette of that? Why nay, pardee!

  I knowe also, and alday here and see,

  Men loven wommen al this toun aboute;

  735 Be they the wers? Why, nay, with-outen doute.

  `I thenk eek how he able is for to have

  Of al this noble toun the thriftieste,

  To been his love, so she hir honour save;

  For out and out he is the worthieste,

  740 Save only Ector, which that is the beste.

  And yet his lyf al lyth now in my cure,

  But swich is love, and eek myn aventure.

  `Ne me to love, a wonder is it nought;

  For wel wot I my-self, so god me spede,

  745 Al wolde I that noon wiste of this thought,

  I am oon the fayreste, out of drede,

  And goodlieste, who-so taketh hede;

  And so men seyn in al the toun of Troye.

  What wonder is it though he of me have Ioye?

  750 `I am myn owene woman, wel at ese,

  I thank it god, as after myn estat;

  Right yong, and stonde unteyd in lusty lese,

  With-outen Ialousye or swich debat;

  Shal noon housbonde seyn to me "Chekmat!"

  755 For either they ben ful of Ialousye,

  Or maisterful, or loven novelrye.

  `What shal I doon? To what fyn live I thus?

  Shal I nat loven, in cas if that me leste?

  What, par dieux! I am nought religious!

  760 And though that I myn herte sette at reste

  Upon this knight, that is the worthieste,

  And kepe alwey myn honour and my name,

  By alle right, it may do me no shame.'

  But right as whan the sonne shyneth brighte,

  765 In March, that chaungeth ofte tyme his face,

  And that a cloud is put with wind to flighte

  Which over-sprat the sonne as for a space,

  A cloudy thought gan thorugh hir soule pace,

  That over-spradde hir brighte thoughtes alle,

  770 So that for fere almost she gan to falle.

  That thought was this: `Allas! Sin I am free,

  Sholde I now love, and putte in Iupartye

  My sikernesse, and thrallen libertee?

  Allas! How dorste I thenken that folye?

  775 May I nought wel in other folk aspye

  Hir dredful Ioye, hir constreynt, and hir peyne?

  Ther loveth noon, that she nath why to pleyne.

  `For love is yet the moste stormy lyf,

  Right of him-self, that ever was bigonne;

  780 For ever som mistrust, or nyce stryf,

  Ther is in love, som cloud is over that sonne:

  Ther-to we wrecched wommen no-thing conne,

  Whan us is wo, but wepe and sitte and thinke;

  Our wreche is this, our owene wo to drinke.

  785 `Also these wikked tonges been so prest

  To speke us harm, eek men be so untrewe,

  That, right anoon as cessed is hir lest,

  So cesseth love, and forth to love a newe:

  But harm y-doon, is doon, who-so it rewe.

  790 For though these men for love hem first to-rende,

  Ful sharp biginning breketh ofte at ende.

  `How ofte tyme hath it y-knowen be,

  The treson, that to womman hath be do?

  To what fyn is swich love, I can nat see,

  795 Or wher bicometh it, whan it is ago;

  Ther is no wight that woot, I trowe so,

  Wher it bycomth; lo, no wight on it sporneth;

  That erst was no-thing, in-to nought it torneth.

  `How bisy, if I love, eek moste I be

  800 To plesen hem that Iangle of love, and demen,

  And coye hem, that they sey n
on harm of me?

  For though ther be no cause, yet hem semen

  Al be for harm that folk hir freendes quemen;

  And who may stoppen every wikked tonge,

  805 Or soun of belles whyl that they be ronge?'

  And after that, hir thought bigan to clere,

  And seyde, `He which that no-thing under-taketh,

  No thing ne acheveth, be him looth or dere.'

  And with an other thought hir herte quaketh;

  810 Than slepeth hope, and after dreed awaketh;

  Now hoot, now cold; but thus, bi-twixen tweye,

  She rist hir up, and went hir for to pleye.

  Adoun the steyre anoon-right tho she wente

  In-to the gardin, with hir neces three,

  815 And up and doun ther made many a wente,

  Flexippe, she, Tharbe, and Antigone,

  To pleyen, that it Ioye was to see;

  And othere of hir wommen, a gret route,

  hir folwede in the gardin al aboute.

  820 This yerd was large, and rayled alle the aleyes,

  And shadwed wel with blosmy bowes grene,

  And benched newe, and sonded alle the weyes,

  In which she walketh arm in arm bi-twene;

  Til at the laste Antigone the shene

  825 Gan on a Troian song to singe clere,

  That it an heven was hir voys to here. --

  She seyde, `O love, to whom I have and shal

  Ben humble subgit, trewe in myn entente,

  As I best can, to yow, lord, yeve ich al

  830 For ever-more, myn hertes lust to rente.

  For never yet thy grace no wight sente

  So blisful cause as me, my lyf to lede

  In alle Ioye and seurtee, out of drede.

  `Ye, blisful god, han me so wel beset

  835 In love, y-wis, that al that bereth lyf

  Imaginen ne cowde how to ben bet;

  For, lord, with-outen Ialousye or stryf,

  I love oon which that is most ententyf

  To serven wel, unwery or unfeyned,

  840 That ever was, and leest with harm distreyned.

  `As he that is the welle of worthinesse,

  Of trouthe ground, mirour of goodliheed,

  Of wit Appollo, stoon of sikernesse,

  Of vertu rote, of lust findere and heed,

  845 Thurgh which is alle sorwe fro me deed,

  Y-wis, I love him best, so doth he me;

  Now good thrift have he, wher-so that he be!

  `Whom sholde I thanke but yow, god of love,

  Of al this blisse, in which to bathe I ginne?

  850 And thanked be ye, lord, for that I love!

  This is the righte lyf that I am inne,

  To flemen alle manere vyce and sinne:

  This doth me so to vertu for to entende,

  That day by day I in my wil amende.

  855 `And who-so seyth that for to love is vyce,

  Or thraldom, though he fele in it distresse,

  He outher is envyous, or right nyce,

  Or is unmighty, for his shrewednesse,

  To loven; for swich maner folk, I gesse,

  860 Defamen love, as no-thing of him knowe;

  Thei speken, but they bente never his bowe.

  `What is the sonne wers, of kinde righte,

  Though that a man, for feblesse of his yen,

  May nought endure on it to see for brighte?

  865 Or love the wers, though wrecches on it cryen?

  No wele is worth, that may no sorwe dryen.

  And for-thy, who that hath an heed of verre,

  Fro cast of stones war him in the werre!

  `But I with al myn herte and al my might,

  870 As I have seyd, wol love, un-to my laste,

  My dere herte, and al myn owene knight,

  In which myn herte growen is so faste,

  And his in me, that it shal ever laste.

  Al dredde I first to love him to biginne,

  875 Now woot I wel, ther is no peril inne.'

  And of hir song right with that word she stente,

  And therwith-al, `Now, nece,' quod Criseyde,

  `Who made this song with so good entente?'

  Antigone answerde anoon, and seyde,

  880 `Ma dame, y-wis, the goodlieste mayde

  Of greet estat in al the toun of Troye;

  And let hir lyf in most honour and Ioye.'

  `Forsothe, so it semeth by hir song,'

  Quod tho Criseyde, and gan ther-with to syke,

  885 And seyde, `Lord, is there swich blisse among

  These lovers, as they conne faire endyte?'

  `Ye, wis,' quod freshe Antigone the whyte,

  `For alle the folk that han or been on lyve

  Ne conne wel the blisse of love discryve.

  890 `But wene ye that every wrecche woot

  The parfit blisse of love? Why, nay, y-wis;

  They wenen al be love, if oon be hoot;

  Do wey, do wey, they woot no-thing of this!

  Men mosten axe at seyntes if it is

  895 Aught fair in hevene; Why? For they conne telle;

  And axen fendes, is it foul in helle.'

  Criseyde un-to that purpos nought answerde,

  But seyde, `Y-wis, it wol be night as faste.'

  But every word which that she of hir herde,

  900 She gan to prenten in hir herte faste;

  And ay gan love hir lasse for to agaste

  Than it dide erst, and sinken in hir herte,

  That she wex somwhat able to converte.

  The dayes honour, and the hevenes ye,

  905 The nightes fo, al this clepe I the sonne,

  Gan westren faste, and dounward for to wrye,

  As he that hadde his dayes cours y-ronne;

  And whyte thinges wexen dimme and donne

  For lak of light, and sterres for to appere,

  910 That she and al hir folk in wente y-fere.

  So whan it lyked hir to goon to reste,

  And voyded weren they that voyden oughte,

  She seyde, that to slepe wel hir leste.

  Hir wommen sone til hir bed hir broughte.

  915 Whan al was hust, than lay she stille, and thoughte

  Of al this thing the manere and the wyse.

  Reherce it nedeth nought, for ye ben wyse.

  A nightingale, upon a cedre grene,

  Under the chambre-wal ther as she lay,

  920 Ful loude sang ayein the mone shene,

  Paraunter, in his briddes wyse, a lay

  Of love, that made hir herte fresh and gay.

  That herkned she so longe in good entente,

  Til at the laste the dede sleep hir hente.

  925 And as she sleep, anoon-right tho hir mette,

  How that an egle, fethered whyt as boon,

  Under hir brest his longe clawes sette,

  And out hir herte he rente, and that a-noon,

  And dide his herte in-to hir brest to goon,

  930 Of which she nought agroos, ne no-thing smerte,

  And forth he fleigh, with herte left for herte.

  Now lat hir slepe, and we our tales holde

  Of Troilus, that is to paleys riden,

  Fro the scarmuch, of
the whiche I tolde,

  935 And in his chaumbre sit, and hath abiden

  Til two or three of his messages yeden

  For Pandarus, and soughten him ful faste,

  Til they him founde and broughte him at the laste.

  This Pandarus com leping in at ones,

  940 And seiyde thus: `Who hath ben wel y-bete

  To-day with swerdes, and with slinge-stones,

  But Troilus, that hath caught him an hete?'

  And gan to Iape, and seyde, `Lord, so ye swete!

  944 But rys, and lat us soupe and go to reste;'

  And he answerde him, `Do we as thee leste.'

  With al the haste goodly that they mighte,

  They spedde hem fro the souper un-to bedde;

  And every wight out at the dore him dighte,

  And wher him liste upon his wey him spedde;

  950 But Troilus, that thoughte his herte bledde

  For wo, til that he herde som tydinge,

  He seyde, `Freend, shal I now wepe or singe?'

  Quod Pandarus, `Ly stille and lat me slepe,

  And don thyn hood, thy nedes spedde be;

  955 And chese, if thou wolt singe or daunce or lepe;

  At shorte wordes, thow shal trowe me. --

  Sire, my nece wol do wel by thee,

  And love thee best, by god and by my trouthe,

  But lak of pursuit make it in thy slouthe.

  960 `For thus ferforth I have thy work bigonne,

  Fro day to day, til this day, by the morwe,

  Hir love of freendship have I to thee wonne,

  And also hath she leyd hir feyth to borwe.

  Algate a foot is hameled of thy sorwe.'

  965 What sholde I lenger sermon of it holde?

  As ye han herd bifore, al he him tolde.

  But right as floures, thorugh the colde of night

  Y-closed, stoupen on hir stalke lowe,

  Redressen hem a-yein the sonne bright,

  970 And spreden on hir kinde cours by rowe,

  Right so gan tho his eyen up to throwe

  This Troilus, and seyde, `O Venus dere,

  Thy might, thy grace, y-heried be it here!'

  And to Pandare he held up bothe his hondes,

  975 And seyde, `Lord, al thyn be that I have;

  For I am hool, al brosten been my bondes;

  A thousand Troians who so that me yave,

  Eche after other, god so wis me save,

  Ne mighte me so gladen; lo, myn herte,

  980 It spredeth so for Ioye, it wol to-sterte!

  `But Lord, how shal I doon, how shal I liven?

  Whan shal I next my dere herte see?

  How shal this longe tyme a-wey be driven,

  Til that thou be ayein at hir fro me?

  985 Thou mayst answere, "A-byd, a-byd," but he

  That hangeth by the nekke, sooth to seyne,

  In grete disese abydeth for the peyne.'

  `Al esily, now, for the love of Marte,'

  Quod Pandarus, `for every thing hath tyme;

  990 So longe abyd til that the night departe;

  For al so siker as thow lyst here by me,

  And god toforn, I wol be there at pryme,

  And for thy werk somwhat as I shal seye,

  Or on som other wight this charge leye.

  995 `For pardee, god wot, I have ever yit

  Ben redy thee to serve, and to this night

  Have I nought fayned, but emforth my wit

  Don al thy lust, and shal with al my might.

  Do now as I shal seye, and fare a-right;

  1000 And if thou nilt, wyte al thy-self thy care,

  On me is nought along thyn yvel fare.

  `I woot wel that thow wyser art than I

  A thousand fold, but if I were as thou,

  God help me so, as I wolde outrely,

  1005 Right of myn owene hond, wryte hir right now

  A lettre, in which I wolde hir tellen how

  I ferde amis, and hir beseche of routhe;

  Now help thy-self, and leve it not for slouthe.

  `And I my-self shal ther-with to hir goon;

  1010 And whan thou wost that I am with hir there,

  Worth thou up-on a courser right anoon,

  Ye, hardily, right in thy beste gere,

  And ryd forth by the place, as nought ne were,

  And thou shalt finde us, if I may, sittinge

  1015 At som windowe, in-to the strete lokinge.

  `And if thee list, than maystow us saluwe,

  And up-on me make thy contenaunce;

  But, by thy lyf, be war and faste eschuwe

  To tarien ought, god shilde us fro mischaunce!