To fynde out mery crafty notys;
They ne sparede not her throtys.
And, sooth to seyn, my chambre was
Ful wel depeynted, and with glas
Were alle the wyndowes wel yglased
Ful clere, and nat an hoole ycrased,
That to beholde hyt was grete joye.
For holy al the story of Troye
Was in the glasynge ywrought thus;
Of Ector, and of kyng Priamus,
Of Achilles, and of kyng Lamedon,
And eke of Medea and of Jason,
Of Paris, Eleyne, and of Lavyne ;
And alle the walles, with coloures fyne
Were peynted, bothë text and glose,
And al the Romaunce of the Rose.
My windowes were shet echon,
And throgh the glas the sonnë shon
Upon my bed with bryghtë bemys,
With many gladë, gildë stremys ;
And eke the welken was so faire,
Blewe, bryghtë, clerë was the ayre,
And ful atempre, for sothe, hyt was;
For nother to cold nor hoote yt nas,
Ne in al the welkene was a clowde.
[Troylus sees Criseyde in the Temple, and loves her at first sight.]
But though that Grekës hem of Troye in shetten',
And hire cité beseged al aboute,
Hire olde usagës wolde thai noght letten,
As for to honoure hire goddës ful devoute,
But aldermost in honour, out of doute,
They had a relyk hight Palladioun,
That was hire trist aboven everichoun.
And so byfel, whan comen was the tyme
Of Aperil, whan clothed is the mede
With newë grene, of lusty Veer the prime,
And swotë smellen floures, white and rede;
In sondry wisë schewed, as I rede,
The folk of Troye hire observaunces olde,
Palladyones festë for to holde.
And to the temple, in alle hire beste wise,
In general ther wentë many a wyght
To herken of Palladyoun servise,
And namely so mony a lusty knyght,
So many a lady fresshe, and mayden bryght,
Ful wele araied, bothë moste and leste,
Ye, bothë for the seson and the feeste.
Among thise other folk was Criseyda,
In wydewes habit blak; but nathëles,
Right as oure firstë lettre is now an A,
In beauté first so stood sche makëles1;
Hire goodly lokyng gladded al the prees:
Nas nevere seyn thyng to ben preysed derre",
Nor under cloudë blak so bright a sterre,
As was Criseyde, as folk seyde everychon,
That hire byhelden in hire blakë wede;
And yet sche stood ful low and stille allone
Byhynden other folk in litel brede 3,
And neygh the dore, ay under schames drede,
Symple of atyre, and debonair of cheere,
Wyth ful asseured lokynge and manere.
This Troylus, as he was wont to gyde
His yonge knyhtës, ladde hem up and down,
In thikë largë temple on every syde,
Byholdynge ay the ladies of the town;
Now here now ther, for no devocioun
Hadde he to non to reven1 him his reste,
But gan to preyse and lakken 2 whom him leste.
And in his walk ful fast he gan to wayten,
If knyght or sqwyer of his compaynye
Gan for to sigh, or lete his eyen bayten3
On any woman that he koude aspye;
He wolde smyle, and holden it folye,
And seye him thus :-'God wot sche slepeth softe
For love of the, whan thow turnest ful ofte.
'I have herd telle, pardieux, of your lyvynge,
Ye lovers, and youre lewde observaunces,
And which a labour folk han in wynnynge
Of love, and in the kepynge which doutaunces;
And when your preye is lost, wo and penaunces;
O, verrey foolës! nice and blynde be ye;
Ther is not oon kan war by other be.'
And with that worde he gan caste up his browe,
Ascaunces, lo! is this nought wysly spoken?
At whiche the God of Love gan loken rowe?
Right for despit, and shoop for to ben wroken.
He kydde anon his bowe nas not broken:
For, sodenly he hitte him attë fulle,
And yet as proude a pacok can he pulle.
O blynde world! O blynd intencioun !
How often falleth al the effecte contraire
Of surquidrye 10 and foul presumpcioun,
For kaught is proud, and kaught is debonaire !
This Troylus is clomben on the staire,
And litel weneth that he schal descenden;
But alday" fayleth thinge that fooles wenden.
As proudë Bayard' gynneth for to skyppe
Out of the wey, so priketh him his corn,
Til he a lassch have of the longe whippe,
Than thynketh he, 'Thogh I praunce al byforn
First in the trayse, ful fat and newë shorn,
Yet am I but an hors, and horses lawe
I mote endure, and with my feerës 2 drawe.'
So ferd it by this fiers and proudë knyght,
Though he a worthi kyngës sonnë were,
And wende no thinge had had swichë myght,
Ayeins his wille, that scholde his hertë stere3;
That with a look his hertë wex a feere,
That, he that now was moost in pride above,
Wex sodeynly most subgit unto love.
Forthy ensaumple taketh of this man,
Ye wisë, proude, and worthy folkës alle,
To scornen Love, whiche that so soonë kan
The fredom of youre hertës to him thralle;
For evere was, and evere schal befalle,
That Love is he that alle thing may bynde;
For may no man fordon the lawe of kynde 5.
That this be soth hath proved and doth yit;
For this trowe I ye knowen alle and some,
Men reden not that folk han gretter wit
Than thei that hath ben most with love ynome";
And strengest folk ben therwith overcome,
The worthiest and the grettest of degree;
This was and is, and yit men schal it sce.
And treweliche it sit wel to be so,
For alderwysest han therwith ben plesed,
And thai that han ben aldermost in wo,
With love han ben conforted most and esed;
And oft it hath the cruel herte apesed,
And worthi folk made worthier of name,
And causeth most to dreden vice and schame.
'Bay,' a common name for a horse.
2 fellows. • taken prisoners
And sith it may not godely ben withstonde,
And is a thing so vertuous in kynde,
Refuseth not to Love for to ben bonde,
Syn, as him selven list, he may yow bynde,
The yerde is bet that bowen wol and wynde
Than that that brest; and therfor I yow rede
To folowen him that so wel kan yow lede.
[Pandarus, the cle of Criseyde and the friend of Troylus, has told her › Troylus' love. She is left alone, and sees him returning from battle.]
With this he tok his leve, and home he wente;
A, Lord! so he was glad, and wel bygon!
Criseyde aros, no longer she ne stente,
But streght into hire closet wente anon,
And set hire down, as stille as any ston,
And every word gon up and down to wynde,
That he hadde seyde, as it come hire to mynde,
And wex somdel astoned in hire thought,
Right for the newë cas; but when that she
Was ful avysed, tho fond she right nought
Of peril, why she aught aferëd be:
For man may love of possibilité
A woman so, his hertë may to-breste",
And she nought love ayeyn, but if hire leste.
But as she sat allon and thought thus,
Ascry aroos at scarmich al withoute,
And men cried in the street, ‘Se Troilus
Hath right now put to flyght the Grekës route.
With that gan al hire meyné for to shoute:
'A! go we se, caste up the yatës wide,
For thorwgh this strete he moot to paleys ryde;'
|