Troilus and Criseyde

by Geoffrey Chaucer

Ther woot no man aright what dremes mene.

  365 `For prestes of the temple tellen this,

  That dremes been the revelaciouns

  Of goddes, and as wel they telle, y-wis,

  That they ben infernals illusiouns;

  And leches seyn, that of complexiouns

  370 Proceden they, or fast, or glotonye.

  Who woot in sooth thus what they signifye?

  `Eek othere seyn that thorugh impressiouns,

  As if a wight hath faste a thing in minde,

  That ther-of cometh swiche avisiouns;

  375 And othere seyn, as they in bokes finde,

  That, after tymes of the yeer by kinde,

  Men dreme, and that theffect goth by the mone;

  But leve no dreem, for it is nought to done.

  `Wel worth of dremes ay thise olde wyves,

  380 And treweliche eek augurie of thise foules;

  For fere of which men wenen lese her lyves,

  As ravenes qualm, or shryking of thise oules.

  To trowen on it bothe fals and foul is.

  Allas, allas, so noble a creature

  385 As is a man, shal drede swich ordure!

  `For which with al myn herte I thee beseche,

  Un-to thy-self that al this thou foryive;

  And rys up now with-oute more speche,

  And lat us caste how forth may best be drive

  390 This tyme, and eek how freshly we may live

  Whan that she cometh, the which shal be right sone;

  God help me so, the beste is thus to done.

  `Rys, lat us speke of lusty lyf in Troye

  That we han lad, and forth the tyme dryve;

  395 And eek of tyme cominge us reioye,

  That bringen shal our blisse now so blyve;

  And langour of these twyes dayes fyve

  We shal ther-with so foryete or oppresse,

  That wel unnethe it doon shal us duresse.

  400 `This toun is ful of lordes al aboute,

  And trewes lasten al this mene whyle.

  Go we pleye us in som lusty route

  To Sarpedon, not hennes but a myle.

  And thus thou shalt the tyme wel bigyle,

  405 And dryve it forth un-to that blisful morwe,

  That thou hir see, that cause is of thy sorwe.

  `Now rys, my dere brother Troilus;

  For certes, it noon honour is to thee

  To wepe, and in thy bedde to iouken thus.

  410 For trewely, of o thing trust to me,

  If thou thus ligge a day, or two, or three,

  The folk wol wene that thou, for cowardyse,

  Thee feynest syk, and that thou darst not ryse.'

  This Troilus answerde, `O brother dere,

  415 This knowen folk that han y-suffred peyne,

  That though he wepe and make sorwful chere,

  That feleth harm and smert in every veyne,

  No wonder is; and though I ever pleyne,

  Or alwey wepe, I am no-thing to blame,

  420 Sin I have lost the cause of al my game.

  `But sin of fyne force I moot aryse,

  I shal aryse as sone as ever I may;

  And god, to whom myn herte I sacrifyse,

  So sende us hastely the tenthe day!

  425 For was ther never fowl so fayn of May,

  As I shal been, whan that she cometh in Troye,

  That cause is of my torment and my Ioye.

  `But whider is thy reed,' quod Troilus,

  `That we may pleye us best in al this toun?'

  430 `Bi god, my conseil is,' quod Pandarus,

  `To ryde and pleye us with king Sarpedoun.'

  So longe of this they speken up and doun,

  Til Troilus gan at the laste assente

  To ryse, and forth to Sarpedoun they wente.

  435 This Sarpedoun, as he that honourable

  Was ever his lyve, and ful of heigh prowesse,

  With al that mighte y-served been on table,

  That deyntee was, al coste it greet richesse,

  He fedde hem day by day, that swich noblesse,

  440 As seyden bothe the moste and eek the leste,

  Was never er that day wist at any feste.

  Nor in this world ther is non instrument

  Delicious, through wind, or touche, of corde,

  As fer as any wight hath ever y-went,

  445 That tonge telle or herte may recorde,

  That at that feste it nas wel herd acorde;

  Ne of ladies eek so fayr a companye

  On daunce, er tho, was never y-seyn with ye.

  But what avayleth this to Troilus,

  450 That for his sorwe no-thing of it roughte?

  For ever in oon his herte pietous

  Ful bisily Criseyde his lady soughte.

  On hir was ever al that his herte thoughte,

  Now this, now that, so faste imagininge,

  455 That glade, y-wis, can him no festeyinge.

  These ladies eek that at this feste been,

  Sin that he saw his lady was a-weye,

  It was his sorwe upon hem for to seen,

  Or for to here on instrumentz so pleye.

  460 For she, that of his herte berth the keye,

  Was absent, lo, this was his fantasye,

  That no wight sholde make melodye.

  Nor ther nas houre in al the day or night,

  Whan he was ther-as no wight mighte him here,

  465 That he ne seyde, `O lufsom lady bright,

  How have ye faren, sin that ye were here?

  Wel-come, y-wis, myn owene lady dere.'

  But welaway, al this nas but a mase;

  Fortune his howve entended bet to glase.

  470 The lettres eek, that she of olde tyme

  Hadde him y-sent, he wolde allone rede,

  An hundred sythe, a-twixen noon and pryme;

  Refiguringe hir shap, hir womanhede,

  With-inne his herte, and every word and dede

  475 That passed was, and thus he droof to an ende

  The ferthe day, and seyde, he wolde wende.

  And seyde, `Leve brother Pandarus,

  Intendestow that we shal here bleve

  Til Sarpedoun wol forth congeyen us?

  480 Yet were it fairer that we toke our leve.

  For goddes love, lat us now sone at eve

  Our leve take, and homward lat us torne;

  For trewely, I nil not thus soiourne.'

  Pandare answerde, `Be we comen hider

  485 To fecchen fyr, and rennen hoom ayeyn?

  God helpe me so, I can not tellen whider

  We mighten goon, if I shal soothly seyn,

  Ther any wight is of us more fayn

  Than Sarpedoun; and if we hennes hye

  490 Thus sodeinly, I holde it vilanye.

  `Sin that we seyden that we wolde bleve

  With him a wouke; and now, thus sodeinly,

  The ferthe day to take of him oure leve,

  He wolde wondren on it, trewely!

  495 Lat us holde forth our purpos fermely;

  And sin that ye bihighten him to byde,

  Hold forward now, and after lat us ryde.'

  Thus Pandarus, with alle peyne and wo,

&nb
sp; Made him to dwelle; and at the woukes ende,

  500 Of Sarpedoun they toke hir leve tho,

  And on hir wey they spedden hem to wende.

  Quod Troilus, `Now god me grace sende,

  That I may finden, at myn hom-cominge,

  Criseyde comen!' And ther-with gan he singe.

  505 `Ye, hasel-wode!' thoughte this Pandare,

  And to him-self ful softely he seyde,

  `God woot, refreyden may this hote fare,

  Er Calkas sende Troilus Criseyde!'

  But natheles, he Iaped thus, and seyde,

  510 And swor, y-wis, his herte him wel bihighte,

  She wolde come as sone as ever she mighte.

  Whan they un-to the paleys were y-comen

  Of Troilus, they doun of hors alighte,

  And to the chambre hir wey than han they nomen.

  515 And in-to tyme that it gan to nighte,

  They spaken of Crysede the brighte.

  And after this, whan that hem bothe leste,

  They spedde hem fro the soper un-to reste.

  On morwe, as sone as day bigan to clere,

  520 This Troilus gan of his sleep tabrayde,

  And to Pandare, his owene brother dere,

  `For love of god,' ful pitously he seyde,

  `As go we seen the paleys of Criseyde;

  For sin we yet may have namore feste,

  525 So lat us seen hir paleys at the leste.'

  And ther-with-al, his meyne for to blende,

  A cause he fond in toune for to go,

  And to Criseydes hous they gonnen wende.

  But lord! This sely Troilus was wo!

  530 Him thoughte his sorweful herte braste a-two.

  For whan he saugh hir dores sperred alle,

  Wel neigh for sorwe a-doun he gan to falle.

  Therwith, whan he was war and gan biholde

  How shet was every windowe of the place,

  535 As frost, him thoughte, his herte gan to colde;

  For which with chaunged deedlich pale face,

  With-outen word, he forth bigan to pace;

  And, as god wolde, he gan so faste ryde,

  That no wight of his contenance aspyde.

  540 Than seyde he thus; `O paleys desolat,

  O hous, of houses whylom best y-hight,

  O paleys empty and disconsolat,

  O thou lanterne, of which queynt is the light,

  O paleys, whylom day, that now art night,

  545 Wel oughtestow to falle, and I to dye,

  Sin she is went that wont was us to gye!

  `O paleys, whylom croune of houses alle,

  Enlumined with sonne of alle blisse!

  O ring, fro which the ruby is out-falle,

  550 O cause of wo, that cause hast been of lisse!

  Yet, sin I may no bet, fayn wolde I kisse

  Thy colde dores, dorste I for this route;

  And fare-wel shryne, of which the seynt is oute!'

  Ther-with he caste on Pandarus his ye

  555 With chaunged face, and pitous to biholde;

  And whan he mighte his tyme aright aspye,

  Ay as he rood, to Pandarus he tolde

  His newe sorwe, and eek his Ioyes olde,

  So pitously and with so dede an hewe,

  560 That every wight mighte on his sorwe rewe.

  Fro thennesforth he rydeth up and doun,

  And every thing com him to remembraunce

  As he rood forbi places of the toun

  In whiche he whylom hadde al his plesaunce.

  565 `Lo, yond saugh I myn owene lady daunce;

  And in that temple, with hir eyen clere,

  Me coughte first my righte lady dere.

  `And yonder have I herd ful lustily

  My dere herte laugh, and yonder pleye

  570 Saugh I hir ones eek ful blisfully.

  And yonder ones to me gan she seye,

  "Now goode swete, love me wel, I preye."

  And yond so goodly gan she me biholde,

  That to the deeth myn herte is to hir holde.

  575 `And at that corner, in the yonder hous,

  Herde I myn alderlevest lady dere

  So wommanly, with voys melodious,

  Singen so wel, so goodly, and so clere,

  That in my soule yet me thinketh I here

  580 The blisful soun; and, in that yonder place,

  My lady first me took un-to hir grace.'

  Thanne thoughte he thus, `O blisful lord Cupyde,

  Whanne I the proces have in my memorie,

  How thou me hast wereyed on every syde,

  585 Men might a book make of it, lyk a storie.

  What nede is thee to seke on me victorie,

  Sin I am thyn, and hoolly at thy wille?

  What Ioye hastow thyn owene folk to spille?

  `Wel hastow, lord, y-wroke on me thyn ire,

  590 Thou mighty god, and dredful for to greve!

  Now mercy, lord, thou wost wel I desire

  Thy grace most, of alle lustes leve,

  And live and deye I wol in thy bileve,

  For which I naxe in guerdon but a bone,

  595 That thou Criseyde ayein me sende sone.

  `Distreyne hir herte as faste to retorne

  As thou dost myn to longen hir to see;

  Than woot I wel, that she nil nought soiorne.

  Now, blisful lord, so cruel thou ne be

  600 Un-to the blood of Troye, I preye thee,

  As Iuno was un-to the blood Thebane,

  For which the folk of Thebes caughte hir bane.'

  And after this he to the yates wente

  Ther-as Criseyde out-rood a ful good paas,

  605 And up and doun ther made he many a wente,

  And to him-self ful ofte he seyde `Allas!

  From hennes rood my blisse and my solas!

  As wolde blisful god now, for his Ioye,

  I mighte hir seen ayein come in-to Troye!

  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 Ioye,

  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 hevinesse?'

  And al this nas but his malencolye,

  That he hadde of him-self 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 in-to 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, `Y-wis, 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, `Y-wis, 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 ost he wolde see,

  And to him-self 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 hardely 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 twinned be we tweyne?"'

  680 This longe tyme he dryveth forth right thus,

  Til fully passed was the nynthe night;

  And ay bi-syde 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.

  Up-on that other syde eek was Criseyde,

  With wommen fewe, among the Grekes stronge;

  For which ful ofte a day `Allas,' she seyde,

  690 `That I was born! Wel may myn herte longe

  After my deeth; for now live I to longe!

  Allas! And I ne may it not amende;

  For now is wors than ever yet I wende.

  `My fader nil for no-thing do me grace

  695 To goon ayein, for nought I can him queme;

  And if so be that I my terme passe,

  My Troilus shal in his herte deme

  That I am fals, and so it may wel seme.

  Thus shal I have unthank on every syde;

  700 That I was born, so weylaway the tyde!

  `And if that I me putte in Iupartye,

  To stele awey by nighte, and it bifalle

  That I be caught, I shal be holde a spye;

  Or elles, lo, this drede I most of alle,

  705 If in the hondes of som wrecche I falle,

  I am but lost, al be myn herte trewe;

  Now mighty god, thou on my sorwe rewe!'

  Ful pale y-waxen was hir brighte face,

  Hir limes lene, as she that al the day

  710 Stood whan she dorste, and loked on the place

  Ther she was born, and ther she dwelt hadde ay.

  And al the night wepinge, allas! she lay.

  And thus despeired, out of alle cure,

  She ladde hir lyf, this woful creature.

  715 Ful ofte a day she sighte eek for destresse,

  And in hir-self she wente ay portrayinge

  Of Troilus the grete worthinesse,

  And alle his goodly wordes recordinge

  Sin first that day hir love bigan to springe.

  720 And thus she sette hir woful herte a-fyre

  Through remembraunce of that she gan desyre.