Troilus and Criseyde

by Geoffrey Chaucer

For to seen yow in adversitee.

  And giltelees, I woot wel, I yow leve;

  1085 But al shal passe; and thus take I my leve.'

  But trewely, how longe it was bitwene,

  That she for-sook him for this Diomede,

  Ther is non auctor telleth it, I wene.

  Take every man now to his bokes hede;

  1090 He shal no terme finden, out of drede.

  For though that he bigan to wowe hir sone,

  Er he hir wan, yet was ther more to done.

  Ne me ne list this sely womman chyde

  Ferther than the story wol devyse.

  1095 Hir name, allas! Is publisshed so wyde,

  That for hir gilt it oughte y-noe suffyse.

  And if I mighte excuse hir any wyse,

  For she so sory was for hir untrouthe,

  Y-wis, I wolde excuse hir yet for routhe.

  1100 This Troilus, as I biforn have told,

  Thus dryveth forth, as wel as he hath might.

  But often was his herte hoot and cold,

  And namely, that ilke nynthe night,

  Which on the morwe she hadde him byhight

  1105 To come ayein: god wot, ful litel reste

  Hadde he that night; no-thing to slepe him leste.

  The laurer-crouned Phebus, with his hete,

  Gan, in his course ay upward as he wente,

  To warmen of the est see the wawes wete,

  1110 And Nisus doughter song with fresh entente,

  Whan Troilus his Pandare after sente;

  And on the walles of the toun they pleyde,

  To loke if they can seen ought of Criseyde.

  Til it was noon, they stoden for to see

  1115 Who that ther come; and every maner wight,

  That cam fro fer, they seyden it was she,

  Til that they coude knowen him a-right.

  Now was his herte dul, now was it light;

  And thus by-iaped stonden for to stare

  1120 Aboute nought, this Troilus and Pandare.

  To Pandarus this Troilus tho seyde,

  `For ought I wot, bi-for noon, sikerly,

  In-to this toun ne comth nought here Criseyde.

  She hath y-now to done, hardily,

  1125 To winnen from hir fader, so trowe I;

  Hir olde fader wol yet make hir dyne

  Er that she go; god yeve his herte pyne!'

  Pandare answerde, `It may wel be, certeyn;

  And for-thy lat us dyne, I thee biseche;

  1130 And after noon than maystw thou come ayeyn.'

  And hoom they go, with-oute more speche;

  And comen ayein, but longe may they seche

  Er that they finde that they after cape;

  Fortune hem bothe thenketh for to Iape.

  1135 Quod Troilus, `I see wel now, that she

  Is taried with hir olde fader so,

  That er she come, it wole neigh even be.

  Com forth, I wol un-to the yate go.

  Thise portours been unkonninge ever-mo;

  1140 And I wol doon hem holden up the yate

  As nought ne were, al-though she come late.'

  The day goth faste, and after that comth eve,

  And yet com nought to Troilus Criseyde.

  He loketh forth by hegge, by tree, by greve,

  1145 And fer his heed over the wal he leyde.

  And at the laste he torned him, and seyde.

  `By god, I woot hir mening now, Pandare!

  Al-most, y-wis, al newe was my care.

  `Now douteles, this lady can hir good;

  1150 I woot, she meneth ryden prively.

  I comende hir wysdom, by myn hood!

  She wol not maken peple nycely

  Gaure on hir, whan she comth; but softely

  By nighte in-to the toun she thenketh ryde.

  1155 And, dere brother, thenk not longe to abyde.

  `We han nought elles for to don, y-wis.

  And Pandarus, now woltow trowen me?

  Have here my trouthe, I see hir! Yond she is.

  Heve up thyn eyen, man! Maystow not see?'

  1160 Pandare answerde, `Nay, so mote I thee!

  Al wrong, by god; what seystow, man, wher art?

  That I see yond nis but a fare-cart.'

  `Allas, thou seist right sooth,' quod Troilus;

  `But, hardely, it is not al for nought

  1165 That in myn herte I now reioyse thus.

  It is ayein som good I have a thought.

  Noot I not how, but sin that I was wrought,

  Ne felte I swich a confort, dar I seye;

  She comth to-night, my lyf, that dorste I leye!'

  1170 Pandare answerde, `It may be wel, y-nough';

  And held with him of al that ever he seyde;

  But in his herte he thoughte, and softe lough,

  And to him-self ful sobrely he seyde:

  `From hasel-wode, ther Ioly Robin pleyde,

  1175 Shal come al that thou abydest here;

  Ye, fare-wel al the snow of ferne yere!'

  The wardein of the yates gan to calle

  The folk which that with-oute the yates were,

  And bad hem dryven in hir bestes alle,

  1180 Or al the night they moste bleven there.

  And fer with-in the night, with many a tere,

  This Troilus gan hoomward for to ryde;

  For wel he seeth it helpeth nought tabyde.

  But natheles, he gladded him in this;

  1185 He thoughte he misacounted hadde his day,

  And seyde, `I understonde have al a-mis.

  For thilke night I last Criseyde say,

  She seyde, "I shal ben here, if that I may,

  Er that the mone, O dere herte swete!

  1190 The Lyon passe, out of this Ariete."

  `For which she may yet holde al hir biheste.'

  And on the morwe un-to the yate he wente,

  And up and down, by west and eek by este,

  Up-on the walles made he many a wente.

  1195 But al for nought; his hope alwey him blente;

  For which at night, in sorwe and sykes sore,

  He wente him hoom, with-outen any more.

  This hope al clene out of his herte fledde,

  He nath wher-on now lenger for to honge;

  1200 But for the peyne him thoughte his herte bledde,

  So were his throwes sharpe and wonder stronge.

  For when he saugh that she abood so longe,

  He niste what he iuggen of it mighte,

  Sin she hath broken that she him bihighte.

  1205 The thridde, ferthe, fifte, sixte day

  After tho dayes ten, of which I tolde,

  Bitwixen hope and drede his herte lay,

  Yet som-what 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.

  Ther-with the wikked spirit, god us blesse,

  Which that men clepeth wode Ialousye,

  Gan in him crepe, in al this hevinesse;

  1215 For which, by-cause 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 Unneth mighte him knowe ther he wente;

  So was he lene, and ther-to pale and wan,

  And feble, that he walketh by potente;

  And with his ire he thus himselven shente.

  But who-so axed him wher-of 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

  A-boute 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 iuste 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 aseuraunce,

  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 Sin that ther is no remedie in this cas,

  That bet were it I with myn hondes tweyne

  My-selven slow, than alwey thus to pleyne.

  For through my deeth my wo sholde han an ende,

  Ther every day with lyf my-self 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 a-mis.

  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, sin thou canst wel endyte,

  That hastely a lettre thou hir wryte,

  Thorugh 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 sin that she wente,

  Nor she to thee, and this I dorste leye,

  1305 Ther may swich cause been in hir entente,

  That hardely thou wolt thy-selven seye,

  That hir a-bood 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.'

  1310 Acorded been to this conclusioun,

  And that anoon, these ilke lordes two;

  And hastely sit Troilus adoun,

  And rolleth in his herte to and fro,

  How he may best discryven hir his wo.

  1315 And to Criseyde, his owene lady dere,

  He wroot right thus, and seyde as ye may here.

  `Right fresshe flour, whos I have been and shal,

  With-outen part of elles-where servyse,

  With herte, body, lyf, lust, thought, and al;

  1320 I, woful wight, in every humble wyse

  That tonge telle or herte may devyse,

  As ofte as matere occupyeth place,

  Me recomaunde un-to your noble grace.

  `Lyketh it yow to witen, swete herte,

  1325 As ye wel knowe how longe tyme agoon

  That ye me lefte in aspre peynes smerte,

  Whan that ye wente, of which yet bote noon

  Have I non had, but ever wers bigoon

  Fro day to day am I, and so mot dwelle,

  1330 While it yow list, of wele and wo my welle.

  `For which to yow, with dredful herte trewe,

  I wryte, as he that sorwe dryfth to wryte,

  My wo, that every houre encreseth newe,

  Compleyninge as I dar or can endyte.

  1335 And that defaced is, that may ye wyte

  The teres, which that fro myn eyen reyne,

  That wolde speke, if that they coude, and pleyne.

  `Yow first biseche I, that your eyen clere

  To look on this defouled ye not holde;

  1340 And over al this, that ye, my lady dere,

  Wol vouche-sauf this lettre to biholde.

  And by the cause eek of my cares colde,

  That sleeth my wit, if ought amis me asterte,

  For-yeve it me, myn owene swete herte.

  1345 `If any servant dorste or oughte of right

  Up-on his lady pitously compleyne,

  Than wene I, that ich oughte be that wight,

  Considered this, that ye these monthes tweyne

  Han taried, ther ye seyden, sooth to seyne,

  1350 But dayes ten ye nolde in ost soiourne,

  But in two monthes
yet ye not retourne.

  `But for-as-muche as me mot nedes lyke

  Al that yow list, I dar not pleyne more,

  But humbely with sorwful sykes syke;

  1355 Yow wryte ich myn unresty sorwes sore,

  Fro day to day desyring ever-more

  To knowen fully, if your wil it were,

  How ye han ferd and doon, whyl ye be there.

  `The whos wel-fare and hele eek god encresse

  1360 In honour swich, that upward in degree

  It growe alwey, so that it never cesse;

  Right as your herte ay can, my lady free,

  Devyse, I prey to god so mote it be.

  And graunte it that ye sone up-on me rewe

  1365 As wisly as in al I am yow trewe.

  `And if yow lyketh knowen of the fare

  Of me, whos wo ther may no wight discryve,

  I can no more but, cheste of every care,

  At wrytinge of this lettre I was on-lyve,

  1370 Al redy out my woful gost to dryve;

  Which I delaye, and holde him yet in honde,

  Upon the sight of matere of your sonde.

  `Myn eyen two, in veyn with which I see,

  Of sorweful teres salte arn waxen welles;

  1375 My song, in pleynte of myn adversitee;

  My good, in harm; myn ese eek waxen helle is.

  My Ioye, in wo; I can sey yow nought elles,

  But turned is, for which my lyf I warie,

  Everich Ioye or ese in his contrarie.

  1380 `Which with your cominge hoom ayein to Troye

  Ye may redresse, and, more a thousand sythe

  Than ever ich hadde, encressen in me Ioye.

  For was ther never herte yet so blythe

  To han his lyf, as I shal been as swythe

  1385 As I yow see; and, though no maner routhe

  Commeve yow, yet thinketh on your trouthe.

  `And if so be my gilt hath deeth deserved,

  Or if yow list no more up-on me see,

  In guerdon yet of that I have you served,

  1390 Biseche I yow, myn hertes lady free,

  That here-upon ye wolden wryte me,

  For love of god, my righte lode-sterre,

  Ther deeth may make an ende of al my werre.

  `If other cause aught doth yow for to dwelle,

  1395 That with your lettre ye me recomforte;

  For though to me your absence is an helle,

  With pacience I wol my wo comporte,

  And with your lettre of hope I wol desporte.

  Now wryteth, swete, and lat me thus not pleyne;

  1400 With hope, or deeth, delivereth me fro peyne.

  `Y-wis, myn owene dere herte trewe,

  I woot that, whan ye next up-on me see,

  So lost have I myn hele and eek myn hewe,

  Criseyde shal nought conne knowe me!

  1405 Y-wis, myn hertes day, my lady free,

  So thursteth ay myn herte to biholde

  Your beautee, that my lyf unnethe I holde.

  `I sey no more, al have I for to seye

  To you wel more than I telle may;

  1410 But whether that ye do me live or deye,

  Yet pray I god, so yeve yow right good day.

  And fareth wel, goodly fayre fresshe may,

  As ye that lyf or deeth me may comaunde;

  And to your trouthe ay I me recomaunde

  1415 `With hele swich that, but ye yeven me

  The same hele, I shal noon hele have.

  In you lyth, whan yow liste that it so be,

  The day in which me clothen shal my grave.

  In yow my lyf, in yow might for to save

  1420 Me from disese of alle peynes smerte;

  And fare now wel, myn owene swete herte!

  Le vostre T.'

  This lettre forth was sent un-to Criseyde,

  Of which hir answere in effect was this;

  Ful pitously she wroot ayein, and seyde,

  1425 That also sone as that she might, y-wis,

  She wolde come, and mende al that was mis.

  And fynally she wroot and seyde him thanne,

  She wolde come, ye, but she niste whenne.

  But in hir lettre made she swich festes,

  1430 That wonder was, and swereth she loveth him best,

  Of which he fond but botmelees bihestes.

  But Troilus, thou mayst now, est or west,

  Pype in an ivy leef, if that thee lest;

  Thus gooth the world; god shilde us fro mischaunce,

  1435 And every wight that meneth trouthe avaunce!

  Encresen gan the wo fro day to night

  Of Troilus, for taryinge of Criseyde;