Troilus and Criseyde Part 32

'For I have herd wel more than I wende, Touchinge us two, how thinges han y-stonde; Which I shal with dissimulinge amende.

And beth nought wrooth, I have eek understonde, How ye ne doon but holden me in honde. 1615 But now no fors, I can not in yow gesse But alle trouthe and alle gentilesse.

'Comen I wol, but yet in swich disioynte I stonde as now, that what yeer or what day That this shal be, that can I not apoynte. 1620 But in effect, I prey yow, as I may, Of your good word and of your frends.h.i.+p ay.

For trewely, whyl that my lyf may dure, As for a freend, ye may in me a.s.sure.

'Yet preye I yow on yvel ye ne take, 1625 That it is short which that I to yow wryte; I dar not, ther I am, wel lettres make, Ne never yet ne coude I wel endyte.

Eek greet effect men wryte in place lite.

Thentente is al, and nought the lettres s.p.a.ce; 1630 And fareth now wel, G.o.d have you in his grace!

La vostre C.'

This Troilus this lettre thoughte al straunge, Whan he it saugh, and sorwefully he sighte; Him thoughte it lyk a kalendes of chaunge; But fynally, he ful ne trowen mighte 1635 That she ne wolde him holden that she highte; For with ful yvel wil list him to leve That loveth wel, in swich cas, though him greve.

But natheles, men seyn that, at the laste, For any thing, men shal the sothe see; 1640 And swich a cas bitidde, and that as faste, That Troilus wel understood that she Nas not so kinde as that hir oughte be.

And fynally, he woot now, out of doute, That al is lost that he hath been aboute. 1645

Stood on a day in his malencolye This Troilus, and in suspecioun Of hir for whom he wende for to dye.

And so bifel, that through-out Troye toun, As was the gyse, y-bore was up and doun 1650 A maner cote-armure, as seyth the storie, Biforn Deiphebe, in signe of his victorie,

The whiche cote, as telleth Lollius, Deiphebe it hadde y-rent from Diomede The same day; and whan this Troilus 1655 It saugh, he gan to taken of it hede, Avysing of the lengthe and of the brede, And al the werk; but as he gan biholde, Ful sodeinly his herte gan to colde,

As he that on the coler fond with-inne 1660 A broche, that he Criseyde yaf that morwe That she from Troye moste nedes twinne, In remembraunce of him and of his sorwe; And she him leyde ayein hir feyth to borwe To kepe it ay; but now, ful wel he wiste, 1665 His lady nas no lenger on to triste.

He gooth him hoom, and gan ful sone sende For Pandarus; and al this newe chaunce, And of this broche, he tolde him word and ende, Compleyninge of hir hertes variaunce, 1670 His longe love, his trouthe, and his penaunce; And after deeth, with-outen wordes more, Ful faste he cryde, his reste him to restore.

Than spak he thus, 'O lady myn Criseyde, Wher is your feyth, and wher is your biheste? 1675 Wher is your love, wher is your trouthe,' he seyde; 'Of Diomede have ye now al this feste!

Allas, I wolde have trowed at the leste.

That, sin ye nolde in trouthe to me stonde, That ye thus nolde han holden me in honde! 1680

'Who shal now trowe on any othes mo?

Allas, I never wolde han wend, er this, That ye, Criseyde, coude han chaunged so; Ne, but I hadde a-gilt and doon amis, So cruel wende I not your herte, y-wis, 1685 To slee me thus; allas, your name of trouthe Is now for-doon, and that is al my routhe.

'Was ther non other broche yow liste lete To feffe with your newe love,' quod he, 'But thilke broche that I, with teres wete, 1690 Yow yaf, as for a remembraunce of me?

Non other cause, allas, ne hadde ye But for despyt, and eek for that ye mente Al-outrely to shewen your entente!

'Through which I see that clene out of your minde 1695 Ye han me cast, and I ne can nor may, For al this world, with-in myn herte finde To unloven yow a quarter of a day!

In cursed tyme I born was, weylaway!

That ye, that doon me al this wo endure, 1700 Yet love I best of any creature.

'Now G.o.d,' quod he, 'me sende yet the grace That I may meten with this Diomede!

And trewely, if I have might and s.p.a.ce, Yet shal I make, I hope, his sydes blede. 1705 O G.o.d,' quod he, 'that oughtest taken hede To fortheren trouthe, and wronges to punyce, Why niltow doon a vengeaunce of this vyce?

'O Pandare, that in dremes for to triste Me blamed hast, and wont art oft up-breyde, 1710 Now maystow see thy-selve, if that thee liste, How trewe is now thy nece, bright Criseyde!

In sondry formes, G.o.d it woot,' he seyde, 'The G.o.ddes shewen bothe Ioye and tene In slepe, and by my dreme it is now sene. 1715

'And certaynly, with-oute more speche, From hennes-forth, as ferforth as I may, Myn owene deeth in armes wol I seche; I recche not how sone be the day!

But trewely, Criseyde, swete may, 1720 Whom I have ay with al my might y-served, That ye thus doon, I have it nought deserved.'

This Pandarus, that alle these thinges herde, And wiste wel he seyde a sooth of this, He nought a word ayein to him answerde; 1725 For sory of his frendes sorwe he is, And shamed, for his nece hath doon a-mis; And stant, astoned of these causes tweye, As stille as stoon; a word ne coude he seye.

But at the laste thus he spak, and seyde, 1730 'My brother dere, I may thee do no-more.

What shulde I seyn? I hate, y-wis, Criseyde!

And, G.o.d wot, I wol hate hir evermore!

And that thou me bisoughtest doon of yore, Havinge un-to myn honour ne my reste 1735 Right no reward, I dide al that thee leste.

'If I dide ought that mighte lyken thee, It is me leef; and of this treson now, G.o.d woot, that it a sorwe is un-to me!

And dredelees, for hertes ese of yow, 1740 Right fayn wolde I amende it, wiste I how.

And fro this world, almighty G.o.d I preye, Delivere hir sone; I can no-more seye.'

Gret was the sorwe and pleynt of Troilus; But forth hir cours fortune ay gan to holde. 1745 Criseyde loveth the sone of Tydeus, And Troilus mot wepe in cares colde.

Swich is this world; who-so it can biholde, In eche estat is litel hertes reste; G.o.d leve us for to take it for the beste! 1750

In many cruel batayle, out of drede, Of Troilus, this ilke n.o.ble knight, As men may in these olde bokes rede, Was sene his knighthod and his grete might.

And dredelees, his ire, day and night, 1755 Ful cruelly the Grekes ay aboughte; And alwey most this Diomede he soughte.

And ofte tyme, I finde that they mette With blody strokes and with wordes grete, a.s.sayinge how hir speres weren whette; 1760 And G.o.d it woot, with many a cruel hete Gan Troilus upon his helm to bete.

But natheles, fortune it nought ne wolde, Of others hond that either deyen sholde. --

And if I hadde y-taken for to wryte 1765 The armes of this ilke worthy man, Than wolde I of his batailles endyte.

But for that I to wryte first bigan Of his love, I have seyd as that I can.

His worthy dedes, who-so list hem here, 1770 Reed Dares, he can telle hem alle y-fere.

Bisechinge every lady bright of hewe, And every gentil womman, what she be, That al be that Criseyde was untrewe, That for that gilt she be not wrooth with me. 1775 Ye may hir gilt in othere bokes see; And gladlier I wole wryten, if yow leste, Penolopees trouthe and good Alceste.

Ne I sey not this al-only for these men, But most for wommen that bitraysed be 1780 Through false folk; G.o.d yeve hem sorwe, amen!

That with hir grete wit and subtiltee Bitrayse yow! And this commeveth me To speke, and in effect yow alle I preye, Beth war of men, and herkeneth what I seye! -- 1785

Go, litel book, go litel myn tragedie, Ther G.o.d thy maker yet, er that he dye, So sende might to make in som comedie!

But litel book, no making thou nenvye, But subgit be to alle poesye; 1790 And kis the steppes, wher-as thou seest pace Virgile, Ovyde, Omer, Lucan, and Stace.

And for ther is so greet diversitee In English and in wryting of our tonge, So preye I G.o.d that noon miswryte thee, 1795 Ne thee mismetre for defaute of tonge.

And red wher-so thou be, or elles songe, That thou be understonde I G.o.d beseche!

But yet to purpos of my rather speche. --

The wraththe, as I began yow for to seye, 1800 Of Troilus, the Grekes boughten dere; For thousandes his hondes maden deye, As he that was with-outen any pere, Save Ector, in his tyme, as I can here.

But weylawey, save only G.o.ddes wille, 1805 Dispitously him slough the fiers Achille.

And whan that he was slayn in this manere, His lighte goost ful blisfully is went Up to the holownesse of the seventh spere, In convers letinge every element; 1810 And ther he saugh, with ful avys.e.m.e.nt, The erratik sterres, herkeninge armonye With sownes fulle of hevenish melodye.

And doun from thennes faste he gan avyse This litel spot of erthe, that with the see 1815 Embraced is, and fully gan despyse This wrecched world, and held al vanitee To respect of the pleyn felicitee That is in hevene above; and at the laste, Ther he was slayn, his loking doun he caste; 1820

And in him-self he lough right at the wo Of hem that wepten for his deeth so faste; And dampned al our werk that folweth so The blinde l.u.s.t, the which that may not laste, And sholden al our herte on hevene caste. 1825 And forth he wente, shortly for to telle, Ther as Mercurie sorted him to dwelle. --

Swich fyn hath, lo, this Troilus for love, Swich fyn hath al his grete worthinesse; Swich fyn hath his estat real above, 1830 Swich fyn his l.u.s.t, swich fyn hath his n.o.blesse; Swich fyn hath false worldes brotelnesse.

And thus bigan his lovinge of Criseyde, As I have told, and in this wyse he deyde.

O yonge fresshe folkes, he or she, 1835 In which that love up groweth with your age, Repeyreth hoom from worldly vanitee, And of your herte up-casteth the visage To thilke G.o.d that after his image Yow made, and thinketh al nis but a fayre 1840 This world, that pa.s.seth sone as floures fayre.

And loveth him, the which that right for love Upon a cros, our soules for to beye, First starf, and roos, and sit in hevene a-bove; For he nil falsen no wight, dar I seye, 1845 That wol his herte al hoolly on him leye.