For oother way is to the gatës noon,
Of Dardanus, ther1 open is the cheyne:
With that come he, and alle his folk anon,
An esy pace rydynge, in routës tweyne,
Right as his happy day was 2, sothe to seyne:
For which men seyn may nought distourbed be
That shal bytyden of necessité.
This Troilus sat on his bayë stede
Al armed save his hed ful richely,
And wonded was his hors, and gan to blede,
On whiche he rood a paas3 ful softëly:
But swiche a knyghtly sightë trewëly
As was on hym, was nought, withouten faile,
To loke on Mars, that god is of batayle.
So like a man of armës and a knyght,
He was to sen, fulfild of heigh prowesse ;
For bothe he hadde a body, and a myght
To don that thyng, as wele as hardynesse;
And ek to sen hym in his gere hym dresse,
So fressh, so yong, so weldy semëd he,
It was an heven upon hym for to se.
His helm to-hewen was in twenty places,
That by a tyssew heng his bak byhynde,
His shelde to-dasshed was with swerdes and maces,
In which men myghtë many an arwe fynde,
That thyrled haddë horn, and nerf, and rynde;
And ay the peple criede, ‘Here cometh oure joye,
And, next his brother, holder up of Troye.'
For which he wex a litel rede for schame
Whan he the peple upon him herdë crien,
That to byholde it was a noble game,
How sobreliche he castë down his eighen:
Criseyd anon gan al his chere aspyen,
And leet so softe it in hire herte synken,
That to hire self she seyde, 'Who yaf me drynken'?'
1 where.
3 at foot's pace.
as though it were a lucky day for him.
who has given me a love-potion?
For of hire owen thought she wex al rede, Remembrynge hire right thus, 'Lo! this is he, Which that myn uncle swerth he moot be dede, But I on hym have mercy and pité :'
And with that thought, for pure ashamëd she Gan in hire hed to pulle, and that as faste, While he and al the peple forby paste.
And gan to caste, and rollen up and down
Within hire thought his excellent prowesse,
And his estat, and also his renoun,
His wit, his shappe, and ek his gentilnesse ;
But moost hire favour was for his distresse
Was al for hire, and thought it as a rowthe1
To sleen swich oon, if that he mentë trouthe.
Now myghte som envýous jangle thus,
'This was a sodeyn love, how myghte it be
That she so lightly lovede Troylus,
Right for the firstë sightë?' Ye, pardé?
Now who so seith so, moot he never ythe2!
For every thyng a gynnyng hath it nede
Er al be wrought, withouten any drede.
For I sey nought that she so sodeynly
Yaf hym hire love, but that she gan enclyne
To like hym firste, and I have told yow why;
And efter that, his manhod and his pyne
Made love withinne hire hertë for to myne;
For which by proces, and by goode servyse,
He gat hire love, and in no sodeyn wyse.
[Troylus' long courtship is at last rewarded with the love of Criseyde.]
O soth is seyd, that helëd for to be,
As of a fevere, or other gret syknesse,
Men mostë drynke, as men may oftë se,
Ful bittre drynk: and for to han gladnesse
Men drynken of peynës, and gret distresse :
I mene it here, as for this aventure,
That thorwgh a peyne hath fonden al his cure.
And now swetnessë semeth more swete,
That bitternesse assayed was byforn;
For out of wo in blissë now they flete,
Non swich they felten syn that they were born;
Now is this bet than bothë two be lorn!
For love of God! take every womman hede,
To werken thus, if it cometh to the nede.
Criseyde, al quyt from every drede and teene,
As she that justë cause hadde hym to triste,
Made hym swich feste, it joië was to seene,
When she his trouthe and clene ententë wiste:
And as aboute a tre, with many a twiste,
Bytrent and writh1 the sootë wodëbynde,
Gan ich of hem in armës other wynde.
And as the new abaysëd nyghtyngale,
That stynteth first, when she bygynneth synge,
When that she hereth any herdës tale,
Or in the heggës any wight sterynge;
And, after, syker doth hire vois out rynge;
Right so Criseyde, when hire dredë stente,
Opned hire herte, and told hym hire entente.
And right as he that seth his deth yshapen,
And deyen mot, in aught that he may gesse,
And sodeynly rescous doth hym escapen1,
And from his deth is brought in sykernesse ;
For al this world, in swich present gladnesse
Was Troilus, and hath his lady swete:
With worse hap God lat us nevere mete!
In suffisaunce, in blisse, and in syngynges,
This Troilus gan al his lyf to lede:
He spendeth, jousteth, maketh festeyinges,
He yeveth frely ofte, and chaungeth wede2;
He halt aboute hym alway, out of drede,
A world of folk, as com hym wel of kynde3,
The fressheste and the beste he koudë fynde.
That swich a vois was of hym and a neven1,
Thorughout the world, of honour and largesse,
That it up rong unto the yate of heven;
And as in love he was in swich gladnesse,
That in his herte he demëd, as I gesse,
That ther nys lovere in this world at ese,
So wel as he, and thus gan love hym plese.
The goodlyhed or beauté, which that kynde
In any other lady hadde iset,
Kan nought the mountaunce of a knotte unbynde About his herte, of al Criseydes net :
He was so narwe ymasked3, and yknet,
That it undon on any manner syde,
That nyl nought ben, for aught that may betide.
And by the hond ful oft he wolde take
This Pandarus, and into gardyn lede,
And swich a feste, and swiche a proces make
Hym of Criseyde, and of hire wommanhede,
And of hire beauté, that, withouten drede,
as well suits his nature. 5 enmeshed.
It was an heven his wordës for to here,
And thanne he wolde synge in this manere :-
'Love', that of erth and se hath governaunce!
Love, that his hestës hath in heven hye!
Love, that with an holsom alliaunce
Halt peples joynëd, as hym list hem gye2!
Lovë, that knetteth law and compaignye,
And couples doth in vertu for to dwelle!
Bynd this acorde, that I have told and telle !
'That, that the world, with faith which that is stable,
Dyverseth so, his stoundës3 concordynge ;—
That elementz, that ben so discordable,
Holden a bond perpetualy durynge ;—
That Phebus mot his rosy carte forth brynge,
And that the mone hath lordschip over the nyght ;-
Al this doth Love, ay heryed' be his myght!
'That, that the se, that gredy is to flowen,
Constreyneth to a certeyn endë so
Hise flodës, that so fiersly they ne growen
To drenchen erth and al for evermo;
And if that Love aught lete his brydel go,
Al that now loveth asonder sholde lepe,
And lost were al that Love halt now to hepe 3.
" Soo, wolde Gode, that auctour is of kynde,
That with his bond Love, of his vertu, liste
To cerclen hertës alle, and fastë bynde,
That from his bond no wighte the wey out wyste!
And hertës colde, hem wolde I that he twiste,
To make hem love, and that hem liste ay rewe
On hertës soore, and kepe hem that ben trewe.'
1 This song is paraphrased from Boethius, Cons. 2, met. 8.
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