Lay al this mene whyle Troilus, 50Recordinge his lessoun in this manere,`Ma fey!' thought he, `Thus wole I seye and thus;Thus wole I pleyne unto my lady dere;That word is good, and this shal be my chere;This nil I not foryeten in no wyse.' 55God leve him werken as he can devyse!And, lord, so that his herte gan to quappe,Heringe hir come, and shorte for to syke!And Pandarus, that ledde hir by the lappe,Com ner, and gan in at the curtin pyke, 60And seyde, `God do bote on alle syke!See, who is here yow comen to visyte;Lo, here is she that is your deeth to wyte.'Ther-with it semed as he wepte almost;`A ha,' quod Troilus so rewfully, 65`Wher me be wo, O mighty god, thow wost!Who is al there? I se nought trewely.'`Sire,' quod Criseyde, `it is Pandare and I.'`Ye, swete herte? Allas, I may nought ryseTo knele, and do yow honour in som wyse.' 70And dressede him upward, and she right thoGan bothe here hondes softe upon him leye,`O, for the love of god, do ye not soTo me,' quod she, `Ey! What is this to seye?Sire, come am I to yow for causes tweye; 75First, yow to thonke, and of your lordshipe ekeContinuance I wolde yow biseke.'This Troilus, that herde his lady preyeOf lordship him, wex neither quik ne deed,Ne mighte a word for shame to it seye, 80Al-though men sholde smyten of his heed.But lord, so he wex sodeinliche reed,And sire, his lesson, that he wende conne,To preyen hir, is thurgh his wit y-ronne.Cryseyde al this aspyede wel y-nough, 85For she was wys, and lovede him never-the-lasse,Al nere he malapert, or made it tough,Or was to bold, to singe a fool a masse.But whan his shame gan somwhat to passe,His resons, as I may my rymes holde, 90I yow wole telle, as techen bokes olde.In chaunged vois, right for his verray drede,Which vois eek quook, and ther-to his manereGoodly abayst, and now his hewes rede,Now pale, un-to Criseyde, his lady dere, 95With look doun cast and humble yolden chere,Lo, the alderfirste word that him asterteWas, twyes, `Mercy, mercy, swete herte!'And stinte a whyl, and whan he mighte out-bringe,The nexte word was, `God wot, for I have, 100As feyfully as I have had konninge,Ben youres, also god so my sowle save;And shal til that I, woful wight, be grave.And though I dar ne can un-to yow pleyne,Y-wis, I suffre nought the lasse peyne. 105`Thus muche as now, O wommanliche wyf,I may out-bringe, and if this yow displese,That shal I wreke upon myn owne lyfRight sone, I trowe, and doon your herte an ese,If with my deeth your herte I may apese. 110But sin that ye han herd me som-what seye,Now recche I never how sone that I deye.'Ther-with his manly sorwe to biholde,It mighte han maad an herte of stoon to rewe;And Pandare weep as he to watre wolde, 115And poked ever his nece newe and newe,And seyde, `Wo bigon ben hertes trewe!For love of god, make of this thing an ende,Or slee us bothe at ones, er that ye wende.'`I? What?' quod she, `By god and by my trouthe, 120I noot nought what ye wilne that I seye.'`I? What?' quod he, `That ye han on him routhe,For goddes love, and doth him nought to deye.'`Now thanne thus,' quod she, `I wolde him preyeTo telle me the fyn of his entente; 125Yet wist I never wel what that he mente.'`What that I mene, O swete herte dere?'Quod Troilus, `O goodly, fresshe free!That, with the stremes of your eyen clere,Ye wolde som-tyme freendly on me see, 130And thanne agreen that I may ben he,With-oute braunche of vyce on any wyse,In trouthe alwey to doon yow my servyse,`As to my lady right and chief resort,With al my wit and al my diligence, 135And I to han, right as yow list, comfort,Under your yerde, egal to myn offence,As deeth, if that I breke your defence;And that ye deigne me so muche honoure,Me to comaunden ought in any houre. 140`And I to ben your verray humble trewe,Secret, and in my paynes pacient,And ever-mo desire freshly newe,To serven, and been y-lyke ay diligent,And, with good herte, al holly your talent 145Receyven wel, how sore that me smerte,Lo, this mene I, myn owene swete herte.'Quod Pandarus, `Lo, here an hard request,And resonable, a lady for to werne!Now, nece myn, by natal Ioves fest, 150Were I a god, ye sholde sterve as yerne,That heren wel, this man wol no-thing yerneBut your honour, and seen him almost sterve,And been so looth to suffren him yow serve.'With that she gan hir eyen on him caste 155Ful esily, and ful debonairly,Avysing hir, and hyed not to fasteWith never a word, but seyde him softely,`Myn honour sauf, I wol wel trewely,And in swich forme as he can now devyse, 160Receyven him fully to my servyse,`Biseching him, for goddes love, that heWolde, in honour of trouthe and gentilesse,As I wel mene, eek mene wel to me,And myn honour, with wit and besinesse 165Ay kepe; and if I may don him gladnesse,From hennes-forth, y-wis, I nil not feyne:Now beeth al hool; no lenger ye ne pleyne.`But nathelees, this warne I yow,' quod she,`A kinges sone al-though ye be, y-wis, 170Ye shal na-more have soveraineteeOf me in love, than right in that cas is;Ne I nil forbere, if that ye doon a-mis,To wrathen yow; and whyl that ye me serve,Cherycen yow right after ye deserve. 175`And shortly, dere herte and al my knight,Beth glad, and draweth yow to lustinesse,And I shal trewely, with al my might,Your bittre tornen al in-to swetenesse.If I be she that may yow do gladnesse, 180For every wo ye shal recovere a blisse';And him in armes took, and gan him kisse.Fil Pandarus on knees, and up his eyenTo hevene threw, and held his hondes hye,`Immortal god!' quod he, `That mayst nought dyen, 185Cupide I mene, of this mayst glorifye;And Venus, thou mayst maken melodye;With-outen hond, me semeth that in the towne,For this merveyle, I here ech belle sowne.`But ho! No more as now of this matere, 190For-why this folk wol comen up anoon,That han the lettre red; lo, I hem here.But I coniure thee, Criseyde, and oon,And two, thou Troilus, whan thow mayst goon,That at myn hous ye been at my warninge, 195For I ful wel shal shape youre cominge;`And eseth ther your hertes right y-nough;And lat see which of yow shal bere the belleTo speke of love a-right!' ther-with he lough,`For ther have ye a layser for to telle.' 200Quod Troilus, `How longe shal I dwelleEr this be doon?' Quod he, `Whan thou mayst ryse,This thing shal be right as I yow devyse.'With that Eleyne and also DeiphebusTho comen upward, right at the steyres ende; 205And Lord, so than gan grone Troilus,His brother and his suster for to blende.Quod Pandarus, `It tyme is that we wende;Tak, nece myn, your leve at alle three,And lat hem speke, and cometh forth with me.' 210She took hir leve at hem ful thriftily,As she wel coude, and they hir reverenceUn-to the fulle diden hardely,And speken wonder wel, in hir absence,Of hir, in preysing of hir excellence, 215Hir governaunce, hir wit; and hir manereCommendeden, it Ioye was to here.Now lat hir wende un-to hir owne place,And torne we to Troilus a-yein,That gan ful lightly of the lettre passe 220That Deiphebus hadde in the gardin seyn.And of Eleyne and him he wolde faynDelivered been, and seyde that him lesteTo slepe, and after tales have reste.Eleyne him kiste, and took hir leve blyve, 225Deiphebus eek, and hoom wente every wight;And Pandarus, as faste as he may dryve,To Troilus tho com, as lyne right;And on a paillet, al that glade night,By Troilus he lay, with mery chere, 230To tale; and wel was hem they were y-fere.Whan every wight was voided but they two,And alle the dores were faste y-shette,To telle in short, with-oute wordes mo,This Pandarus, with-outen any lette, 235Up roos, and on his beddes syde him sette,And gan to speken in a sobre wyseTo Troilus, as I shal yow devyse:`Myn alderlevest lord, and brother dere,God woot, and thou, that it sat me so sore, 240When I thee saw so languisshing to-yere,For love, of which thy wo wex alwey more;That I, with al my might and al my lore,Have ever sithen doon my bisinesseTo bringe thee to Ioye out of distresse, 245`And have it brought to swich plyt as thou wost,So that, thorugh me, thow stondest now in weyeTo fare wel, I seye it for no bost,And wostow which? For shame it is to seye,For thee have I bigonne a gamen pleye 250Which that I never doon shal eft for other,Al-though he were a thousand fold my brother.`That is to seye, for thee am I bicomen,Bitwixen game and ernest, swich a meneAs maken wommen un-to men to comen; 255Al sey I nought, thou wost wel what I mene.For thee have I my nece, of vyces clene,So fully maad thy gentilesse triste,That al shal been right as thy-selve liste.`But god, that al wot, take I to witnesse, 260That never I this for coveityse wroughte,But only for to abregge that distresse,For which wel nygh thou deydest, as me thoughte.But, gode brother, do now as thee oughte,For goddes love, and kep hir out of blame, 265Sin thou art wys, and save alwey hir name.`For wel thou wost, the name as yet of hereAmong the peple, as who seyth, halwed is;For that man is unbore, I dar wel swere,That ever wiste that she dide amis. 270But wo is me, that I, that cause al this,May thenken that she is my nece dere,And I hir eem, and trattor eek y-fere!`And were it wist that I, through myn engyn,Hadde in my nece y-put this fantasye, 275To do thy lust, and hoolly to be thyn,Why, al the world up-on it wolde crye,And seye, that I the worste trecheryeDide in this cas, that ever was bigonne,And she for-lost, and thou right nought y-wonne. 280`Wher-fore, er I wol ferther goon a pas,Yet eft I thee biseche and fully seye,That privetee go with us in this cas;That is to seye, that thou us never wreye;And be nought wrooth, though I thee ofte preye 285To holden secree swich an heigh matere;For skilful is, thow wost wel, my preyere.`And thenk what wo ther hath bitid er this,For makinge of avantes, as men rede;And what mischaunce in this world yet ther is, 290Fro day to day, right for that wikked dede;For which these wyse clerkes that ben dedeHan ever yet proverbed to us yonge,That "Firste vertu is to kepe tonge."`And, nere it that I wilne as now tabregge 295Diffusioun of speche, I coude almostA thousand olde stories thee aleggeOf wommen lost, thorugh fals and foles bost;Proverbes canst thy-self y-nowe, and wost,Ayeins that vyce, for to been a labbe, 300Al seyde men sooth as often as they gabbe.`O tonge, allas! So often here-bifornHastow made many a lady bright of heweSeyd, "Welawey! The day that I was born!"And many a maydes sorwes for to newe; 305And, for the more part, al is untreweThat men of yelpe, and it were brought to preve;Of kinde non avauntour is to leve.`Avauntour and a lyere, al is on;As thus: I pose, a womman graunte me 310Hir love, and seyth that other wol she non,And I am sworn to holden it secree,And after I go telle it two or three;Y-wis, I am avauntour at the leste,And lyere, for I breke my biheste. 315`Now loke thanne, if they be nought to blame,Swich maner folk; what shal I clepe hem, what,That hem avaunte of wommen, and by name,That never yet bihighte hem this ne that,Ne knewe hem more than myn olde hat? 320No wonder is, so god me sende hele,Though wommen drede with us men to dele.`I sey not this for no mistrust of yow,Ne for no wys man, but for foles nyce,And for the harm that in the world is now, 325As wel for foly ofte as for malyce;For wel wot I, in wyse folk, that vyceNo womman drat, if she be wel avysed;For wyse ben by foles harm chastysed.`But now to purpos; leve brother dere, 330Have al this thing that I have seyd in minde,And keep thee clos, and be now of good chere,For at thy day thou shalt me trewe finde.I shal thy proces sette in swich a kinde,And god to-forn, that it shall thee suffyse, 335For it shal been right as thou wolt devyse.`For wel I woot, thou menest wel, parde;Therfore I dar this fully undertake.Thou wost eek what thy lady graunted thee,And day is set, the chartres up to make. 340Have now good night, I may no lenger wake;And bid for me, sin thou art now in blisse,That god me sende deeth or sone lisse.'Who mighte telle half the Ioye or festeWhich that the sowle of Troilus tho felte, 345Heringe theffect of Pandarus biheste?His olde wo, that made his herte swelte,Gan tho for Ioye wasten and to-melte,And al the richesse of his sykes soreAt ones fledde, he felte of hem no more. 350But right so as these holtes and these hayes,That han in winter dede been and dreye,Revesten hem in grene, whan that May is,Whan every lusty lyketh best to pleye;Right in that selve wyse, sooth to seye, 355Wax sodeynliche his herte ful of Ioye,That gladder was ther never man in Troye.And gan his look on Pandarus up casteFul sobrely, and frendly for to see,And seyde, `Freend, in Aprille the laste, 360As wel thou wost, if it remembre thee,How neigh the deeth for wo thou founde me;And how thou didest al thy bisinesseTo knowe of me the cause of my distresse.`Thou wost how longe I it for-bar to seye 365To thee, that art the man that I best triste;And peril was it noon to thee by-wreye,That wiste I wel; but tel me, if thee liste,Sith I so looth was that thy-self it wiste,How dorst I mo tellen of this matere, 370That quake now, and no wight may us here?`But natheles, by that god I thee swere,That, as him list, may al this world governe,And, if I lye, Achilles with his spereMyn herte cleve, al were my lyf eterne, 375As I am mortal, if I late or yerneWolde it biwreye, or dorste, or sholde conne,For al the good that god made under sonne;`That rather deye I wolde, and determyne,As thinketh me, now stokked in presoun, 380In wrecchednesse, in filthe, and in vermyne,Caytif to cruel king Agamenoun;And this, in alle the temples of this tounUpon the goddes alle, I wol thee swere,To-morwe day, if that thee lyketh here. 385`And that thou hast so muche y-doon for me,That I ne may it never-more deserve,This knowe I wel, al mighte I now for theeA thousand tymes on a morwen sterve.I can no more, but that I wol thee serve 390Right as thy sclave, whider-so thou wende,For ever-more, un-to my lyves ende!`But here, with al myn herte, I thee biseche,That never in me thou deme swich folyeAs I shal seyn; me thoughte, by thy speche, 395That this, which thou me dost for companye,I sholde wene it were a bauderye;I am nought wood, al-if I lewed be;It is not so, that woot I wel, pardee.`But he that goth, for gold or for richesse, 400On swich message, calle him what thee list;And this that thou dost, calle it gentilesse,Compassioun, and felawship, and trist;Departe it so, for wyde-where is wistHow that there is dyversitee requered 405Bitwixen thinges lyke, as I have lered.`And, that thou knowe I thenke nought ne weneThat this servyse a shame be or Iape,I have my faire suster Polixene,Cassandre, Eleyne, or any of the frape; 410Be she never so faire or wel y-shape,Tel me, which thou wilt of everichone,To han for thyn, and lat me thanne allone.`But, sith that thou hast don me this servyseMy lyf to save, and for noon hope of mede, 415So, for the love of god, this grete emprysePerforme it out; for now is moste nede.For high and low, with-outen any drede,I wol alwey thyne hestes alle kepe;Have now good night, and lat us bothe slepe.' 420Thus held him ech of other wel apayed,That al the world ne mighte it bet amende;And, on the morwe, whan they were arayed,Ech to his owene nedes gan entende.But Troilus, though as the fyr he brende 425For sharp desyr of hope and of plesaunce,He not for-gat his gode governaunce.But in him-self with manhod gan restreyneEch rakel dede and ech unbrydled chere,That alle tho that liven, sooth to seyne, 430Ne sholde han wist, by word or by manere,What that he mente, as touching this matere.From every wight as fer as is the cloudeHe was, so wel dissimulen he coude.And al the whyl which that I yow devyse, 435This was his lyf; with al his fulle might,By day he was in Martes high servyse,This is to seyn, in armes as a knight;And for the more part, the longe nightHe lay, and thoughte how that he mighte serve 440His lady best, hir thank for to deserve.Nil I nought swere, al-though he lay softe,That in his thought he nas sumwhat disesed,Ne that he tornede on his pilwes ofte,And wolde of that him missed han ben sesed; 445But in swich cas men is nought alwey plesed,For ought I wot, no more than was he;That can I deme of possibilitee.But certeyn is, to purpos for to go,That in this whyle, as writen is in geste, 450He say his lady som-tyme; and alsoShe with him spak, whan that she dorste or leste,And by hir bothe avys, as was the beste,Apoynteden ful warly in this nede,So as they dorste, how they wolde procede. 455But it was spoken in so short a wyse,In swich awayt alwey, and in swich fere,Lest any wyght devynen or devyseWolde of hem two, or to it leye an ere,That al this world so leef to hem ne were 460As that Cupido wolde hem grace sendeTo maken of hir speche aright an ende.But thilke litel that they spake or wroughte,His wyse goost took ay of al swich hede,It semed hir, he wiste what she thoughte 465With-outen word, so that it was no nedeTo bidde him ought to done, or ought for-bede;For which she thought that love, al come it late,Of alle Ioye hadde opned hir the yate.And shortly of this proces for to pace, 470So wel his werk and wordes he bisette,That he so ful stood in his lady grace,That twenty thousand tymes, or she lette,She thonked god she ever with him mette;So coude he him governe in swich servyse, 475That al the world ne might it bet devyse.For-why she fond him so discreet in al,So secret, and of swich obeisaunce,That wel she felte he was to hir a walOf steel, and sheld from every displesaunce; 480That, to ben in his gode governaunce,So wys he was, she was no more afered,I mene, as fer as oughte ben requered.And Pandarus, to quike alwey the fyr,Was evere y-lyke prest and diligent; 485To ese his frend was set al his desyr.He shof ay on, he to and fro was sent;He lettres bar whan Troilus was absent.That never man, as in his freendes nede,Ne bar him bet than he, with-outen drede. 490But now, paraunter, som man wayten woldeThat every word, or sonde, or look, or chereOf Troilus that I rehersen sholde,In al this whyle un-to his lady dere;I trowe it were a long thing for to here; 495Or of what wight that stant in swich disioynte,His wordes alle, or every look, to poynte.For sothe, I have not herd it doon er this,In storye noon, ne no man here, I wene;And though I wolde I coude not, y-wis; 500For ther was som epistel hem bitwene,That wolde, as seyth myn auctor, wel conteneNeigh half this book, of which him list not wryte;How sholde I thanne a lyne of it endyte?But to the grete effect: than sey I thus, 505That stonding in concord and in quiete,Thise ilke two, Criseyde and Troilus,As I have told, and in this tyme swete,Save only often mighte they not mete,Ne layser have hir speches to fulfelle, 510That it befel right as I shal yow telle.That Pandarus, that ever dide his mightRight for the fyn that I shal speke of here,As for to bringe to his hous som nightHis faire nece, and Troilus y-fere, 515Wher-as at leyser al this heigh matere,Touching hir love, were at the fulle up-bounde,Hadde out of doute a tyme to it founde.For he with greet deliberaciounHadde every thing that her-to mighte avayle 520Forn-cast, and put in execucioun.And neither laft, for cost ne for travayle;Come if hem list, hem sholde no-thing fayle;And for to been in ought espyed there,That, wiste he wel, an inpossible were. 525Dredelees, it cleer was in the windOf every pye and every lette-game;Now al is wel, for al the world is blindIn this matere, bothe fremed and tame.This timbur is al redy up to frame; 530Us lakketh nought but that we witen woldeA certein houre, in which she comen sholde.And Troilus, that al this purveyaunceKnew at the fulle, and waytede on it ay,Hadde here-up-on eek made gret ordenaunce, 535And founde his cause, and ther-to his aray,If that he were missed, night or day,Ther-whyle he was aboute this servyse,That he was goon to doon his sacrifyse,And moste at swich a temple alone wake, 540Answered of Appollo for to be;And first to seen the holy laurer quake,Er that Apollo spak out of the tree,To telle him next whan Grekes sholden flee,And forthy lette him no man, god forbede, 545But preye Apollo helpen in this nede.Now is ther litel more for to doone,But Pandare up, and shortly for to seyne,Right sone upon the chaunging of the mone,Whan lightles is the world a night or tweyne, 550And that the welken shoop him for to reyne,He streight a-morwe un-to his nece wente;Ye han wel herd the fyn of his entente.Whan he was come, he gan anoon to pleyeAs he was wont, and of him-self to Iape; 555And fynally, he swor and gan hir seye,By this and that, she sholde him not escape,Ne lengere doon him after hir to gape;But certeynly she moste, by hir leve,Come soupen in his hous with him at eve. 560At whiche she lough, and gan hir faste excuse,And seyde, `It rayneth; lo, how sholde I goon?'`Lat be,' quod he, `ne stond not thus to muse;This moot be doon, ye shal be ther anoon.'So at the laste her-of they felle at oon, 565Or elles, softe he swor hir in hir ere,He nolde never come ther she were.Sone after this, to him she gan to rowne,And asked him if Troilus were there?He swor hir, `Nay, for he was out of towne,' 570And seyde, `Nece, I pose that he were,Yow thurfte never have the more fere.For rather than men mighte him ther aspye,Me were lever a thousand-fold to dye.'Nought list myn auctor fully to declare 575What that she thoughte whan he seyde so,That Troilus was out of town y-fare,As if he seyde ther-of sooth or no;But that, with-outen awayt, with him to go,She graunted him, sith he hir that bisoughte 580And, as his nece, obeyed as hir oughte.But nathelees, yet gan she him biseche,Al-though with him to goon it was no fere,For to be war of goosish peples speche,That dremen thinges whiche that never were, 585And wel avyse him whom he broughte there;And seyde him, `Eem, sin I mot on yow triste,Loke al be wel, and do now as yow liste.'He swor hire, `Yis, by stokkes and by stones,And by the goddes that in hevene dwelle, 590Or elles were him levere, soule and bones,With Pluto king as depe been in helleAs Tantalus!' What sholde I more telle?Whan al was wel, he roos and took his leve,And she to souper com, whan it was eve, 595With a certayn of hir owene men,And with hir faire nece Antigone,And othere of hir wommen nyne or ten;But who was glad now, who, as trowe ye,But Troilus, that stood and mighte it see 600Thurgh-out a litel windowe in a stewe,Ther he bishet, sin midnight, was in mewe,Unwist of every wight but of Pandare?But to the poynt; now whan that she was y-comeWith alle Ioye, and alle frendes fare, 605Hir em anoon in armes hath hir nome,And after to the souper, alle and some,Whan tyme was, ful softe they hem sette;God wot, ther was no deyntee for to fette.And after souper gonnen they to ryse, 610At ese wel, with hertes fresshe and glade,And wel was him that coude best devyseTo lyken hir, or that hir laughen made.He song; she pleyde; he tolde tale of Wade.But at the laste, as every thing hath ende, 615She took hir leve, and nedes wolde wende.But O, Fortune, executrice of wierdes,O influences of thise hevenes hye!Soth is, that, under god, ye ben our hierdes,Though to us bestes been the causes wrye. 620This mene I now, for she gan hoomward hye,But execut was al bisyde hir leve,At the goddes wil, for which she moste bleve.The bente mone with hir hornes pale,Saturne, and Iove, in Cancro ioyned were, 625That swich a rayn from hevene gan avaleThat every maner womman that was thereHadde of that smoky reyn a verray fere;At which Pandare tho lough, and seyde thenne,`Now were it tyme a lady to go henne! 630`But goode nece, if I mighte ever pleseYow any-thing, than prey I yow,' quod he,`To doon myn herte as now so greet an eseAs for to dwelle here al this night with me,For-why this is your owene hous, pardee. 635For, by my trouthe, I sey it nought a-game,To wende as now, it were to me a shame.'Criseyde, which that coude as muche goodAs half a world, tok hede of his preyere;And sin it ron, and al was on a flood, 640She thoughte, as good chep may I dwellen here,And graunte it gladly with a freendes chere,And have a thank, as grucche and thanne abyde;For hoom to goon, it may nought wel bityde.'`I wol,' quod she, `myn uncle leef and dere, 645Sin that yow list, it skile is to be so;I am right glad with yow to dwellen here;I seyde but a-game, I wolde go.'`Y-wis, graunt mercy, nece!' quod he tho;`Were it a game or no, soth for to telle, 650Now am I glad, sin that yow list to dwelle.'Thus al is wel; but tho bigan arightThe newe Ioye, and al the feste agayn;But Pandarus, if goodly hadde he might,He wolde han hyed hir to bedde fayn, 655And seyde, `Lord, this is an huge rayn!This were a weder for to slepen inne;And that I rede us sonE to biginne.`And nece, woot ye wher I wol yow leye,For that we shul not liggen fer asonder, 660And for ye neither shullen, dar I seye,Heren noise of reynes nor of thondre?By god, right in my lyte closet yonder.And I wol in that outer hous alloneBe wardeyn of your wommen everichone. 665`And in this middel chaumbre that ye seeShal youre wommen slepen wel and softe;And ther I seyde shal your-selve be;And if ye liggen wel to-night, com ofte,And careth not what weder is on-lofte. 670The wyn anon, and whan so that yow leste,So go we slepe, I trowe it be the beste.'Ther nis no more, but here-after sone,The voyde dronke, and travers drawe anon,Gan every wight, that hadde nought to done 675More in the place, out of the chaumber gon.And ever-mo so sternelich it ron,And blew ther-with so wonderliche loude,That wel neigh no man heren other coude.Tho Pandarus, hir eem, right as him oughte, 680With women swiche as were hir most aboute,Ful glad un-to hir beddes syde hir broughte,And toke his leve, and gan ful lowe loute,And seyde, `Here at this closet-dore with-oute,Right over-thwart, your wommen liggen alle, 685That, whom yow list of hem, ye may here calle.'So whan that she was in the closet leyd,And alle hir wommen forth by ordenaunceA-bedde weren, ther as I have seyd,There was no more to skippen nor to traunce, 690But boden go to bedde, with mischaunce,If any wight was steringe any-where,And late hem slepe that a-bedde were.But Pandarus, that wel coude eche a delThe olde daunce, and every poynt ther-inne, 695Whan that he sey that alle thing was wel,He thoughte he wolde up-on his werk biginne,And gan the stewe-dore al softe un-pinne;And stille as stoon, with-outen lenger lette,By Troilus a-doun right he him sette. 700And, shortly to the poynt right for to gon,Of al this werk he tolde him word and ende,And seyde, `Make thee redy right anon,For thou shalt in-to hevene blisse wende.'`Now blisful Venus, thou me grace sende,' 705Quod Troilus, `for never yet no nedeHadde I er now, ne halvendel the drede.'Quod Pandarus, `Ne drede thee never a del,For it shal been right as thou wilt desyre;So thryve I, this night shal I make it wel, 710Or casten al the gruwel in the fyre.'`Yit blisful Venus, this night thou me enspyre,'Quod Troilus, `as wis as I thee serve,And ever bet and bet shal, til I sterve.`And if I hadde, O Venus ful of murthe, 715Aspectes badde of Mars or of Saturne,Or thou combust or let were in my birthe,Thy fader prey al thilke harm disturneOf grace, and that I glad ayein may turne,For love of him thou lovedest in the shawe, 720I mene Adoon, that with the boor was slawe.`O Iove eek, for the love of faire Europe,The whiche in forme of bole awey thou fette;Now help, O Mars, thou with thy blody cope,For love of Cipris, thou me nought ne lette; 725O Phebus, thenk whan Dane hir-selven shetteUnder the bark, and laurer wex for drede,Yet for hir love, O help now at this nede!`Mercurie, for the love of Hierse eke,For which Pallas was with Aglauros wrooth, 730Now help, and eek Diane, I thee bisekeThat this viage be not to thee looth.O fatal sustren, which, er any cloothMe shapen was, my destene me sponne,So helpeth to this werk that is bi-gonne!' 735Quod Pandarus, `Thou wrecched mouses herte,Art thou agast so that she wol thee byte?Why, don this furred cloke up-on thy sherte,And folowe me, for I wol have the wyte;But byd, and lat me go bifore a lyte.' 740And with that word he gan un-do a trappe,And Troilus he broughte in by the lappe.The sterne wind so loude gan to routeThat no wight other noyse mighte here;And they that layen at the dore with-oute, 745Ful sykerly they slepten alle y-fere;And Pandarus, with a ful sobre chere,Goth to the dore anon with-outen lette,Ther-as they laye, and softely it shette.And as he com ayeinward prively, 750His nece awook, and asked, `Who goth there?'`My dere nece,' quod he, `it am I;Ne wondreth not, ne have of it no fere;'And ner he com, and seyde hir in hir ere,`No word, for love of god I yow biseche; 755Lat no wight ryse and heren of oure speche.'`What! Which wey be ye comen, benedicite?'Quod she; `And how thus unwist of hem alle?'`Here at this secre trappe-dore,' quod he.Quod tho Criseyde, `Lat me som wight calle.' 760`Ey! God forbede that it sholde falle,'Quod Pandarus, `that ye swich foly wroughte!They mighte deme thing they never er thoughte!`It is nought good a sleping hound to wake,Ne yeve a wight a cause to devyne; 765Your wommen slepen alle, I under-take,So that, for hem, the hous men mighte myne;And slepen wolen til the sonne shyne.And whan my tale al brought is to an ende,Unwist, right as I com, so wol I wende. 770`Now, nece myn, ye shul wel understonde,'Quod he, `so as ye wommen demen alle,That for to holde in love a man in honde,And him hir "leef" and "dere herte" calle,And maken him an howve above a calle, 775I mene, as love an other in this whyle,She doth hir-self a shame, and him a gyle.`Now wherby that I telle yow al this?Ye woot your-self, as wel as any wight,How that your love al fully graunted is 780To Troilus, the worthieste knight,Oon of this world, and ther-to trouthe plyght,That, but it were on him along, ye noldeHim never falsen, whyle ye liven sholde.`Now stant it thus, that sith I fro yow wente, 785This Troilus, right platly for to seyn,Is thurgh a goter, by a prive wente,In-to my chaumbre come in al this reyn,Unwist of every maner wight, certeyn,Save of my-self, as wisly have I Ioye, 790And by that feith I shal Pryam of Troye!`And he is come in swich peyne and distresseThat, but he be al fully wood by this,He sodeynly mot falle in-to wodnesse,But-if god helpe; and cause why this is, 795He seyth him told is, of a freend of his,How that ye sholde love oon that hatte Horaste,For sorwe of which this night shalt been his laste.'Criseyde, which that al this wonder herde,Gan sodeynly aboute hir herte colde, 800And with a syk she sorwfully answerde,`Allas! I wende, who-so tales tolde,My dere herte wolde me not holdeSo lightly fals! Allas! Conceytes wronge,What harm they doon, for now live I to longe! 805`Horaste! Allas! And falsen Troilus?I knowe him not, god helpe me so,' quod she;`Allas! What wikked spirit tolde him thus?Now certes, eem, to-morwe, and I him see,I shal ther-of as ful excusen me 810As ever dide womman, if him lyke';And with that word she gan ful sore syke.`O god!' quod she, `So worldly selinesse,Which clerkes callen fals felicitee,Y-medled is with many a bitternesse! 815Ful anguisshous than is, god woot,' quod she,`Condicioun of veyn prosperitee;For either Ioyes comen nought y-fere,Or elles no wight hath hem alwey here.`O brotel wele of mannes Ioye unstable! 820With what wight so thou be, or how thou pleye,Either he woot that thou, Ioye, art muable,Or woot it not, it moot ben oon of tweye;Now if he woot it not, how may he seyeThat he hath verray Ioye and selinesse, 825That is of ignoraunce ay in derknesse?`Now if he woot that Ioye is transitorie,As every Ioye of worldly thing mot flee,Than every tyme he that hath in memorie,The drede of lesing maketh him that he 830May in no perfit selinesse be.And if to lese his Ioye he set a myte,Than semeth it that Ioye is worth ful lyte.`Wherfore I wol deffyne in this matere,That trewely, for ought I can espye, 835Ther is no verray wele in this world here.But O, thou wikked serpent, Ialousye,Thou misbeleved and envious folye,Why hastow Troilus me mad untriste,That never yet agilte him, that I wiste?' 840Quod Pandarus, `Thus fallen is this cas.'`Why, uncle myn,' quod she, `who tolde him this?Why doth my dere herte thus, allas?'`Ye woot, ye nece myn,' quod he, `what is;I hope al shal be wel that is amis, 845For ye may quenche al this, if that yow leste,And doth right so, for I holde it the beste.'`So shal I do to-morwe, y-wis,' quod she,`And god to-forn, so that it shal suffyse.'`To-morwe? Allas, that were a fair!' quod he, 850`Nay, nay, it may not stonden in this wyse;For, nece myn, thus wryten clerkes wyse,That peril is with drecching in y-drawe;Nay, swich abodes been nought worth an hawe.`Nece, al thing hath tyme, I dar avowe; 855For whan a chaumber a-fyr is, or an halle,Wel more nede is, it sodeynly rescoweThan to dispute, and axe amonges alleHow is this candele in the straw y-falle?A! Benedicite! For al among that fare 860The harm is doon, and fare-wel feldefare!`And, nece myn, ne take it not a-greef,If that ye suffre him al night in this wo,God help me so, ye hadde him never leef,That dar I seyn, now there is but we two; 865But wel I woot, that ye wol not do so;Ye been to wys to do so gret folye,To putte his lyf al night in Iupertye.`Hadde I him never leef? By god, I weneYe hadde never thing so leef,' quod she. 870`Now by my thrift,' quod he, `that shal be sene;For, sin ye make this ensample of me,If I al night wolde him in sorwe seeFor al the tresour in the toun of Troye,I bidde god, I never mote have Ioye! 875`Now loke thanne, if ye, that been his love,Shul putte al night his lyf in IupartyeFor thing of nought! Now, by that god above,Nought only this delay comth of folye,But of malyce, if that I shal nought lye. 880What, platly, and ye suffre him in distresse,Ye neither bountee doon ne gentilesse!'Quod tho Criseyde, `Wole ye doon o thing,And ye therwith shal stinte al his disese?Have here, and bereth him this blewe ringe, 885For ther is no-thing mighte him bettre plese,Save I my-self, ne more his herte apese;And sey my dere herte, that his sorweIs causeles, that shal be seen to-morwe.'`A ring?' quod he, `Ye, hasel-wodes shaken! 890Ye nece myn, that ring moste han a stoonThat mighte dede men alyve maken;And swich a ring trowe I that ye have noon.Discrecioun out of your heed is goon;That fele I now,' quod he, `and that is routhe; 895O tyme y-lost, wel maystow cursen slouthe!`Wot ye not wel that noble and heigh corageNe sorweth not, ne stinteth eek for lyte?But if a fool were in a Ialous rage,I nolde setten at his sorwe a myte, 900But feffe him with a fewe wordes whyteAnother day, whan that I mighte him finde;But this thing stant al in another kinde.`This is so gentil and so tendre of herte,That with his deeth he wol his sorwes wreke; 905For trusteth wel, how sore that him smerte,He wol to yow no Ialouse wordes speke.And for-thy, nece, er that his herte breke,So spek your-self to him of this matere;