'Destreyne hire herte as fastë to retourne,
As thow doost myn to longen hire to see;
Than woot I wel that she nyl naught sojourne:
Now blisful lord! so cruwel thow ne be
Unto the blod of Troye, I preyë the,

As Juno was unto the blod Thebane,

For which the folk of Thebes caughte hire bane.'

And efter this he to the yatës wente,
Ther as Criseyde out rood a ful good pas,
And up and doun ther made he many a wente,
And to himself ful ofte he seyde, 'Allas!
Fro hennes rood my blisse and my solas!
As wolde blisful God now for his joye,
I myght hire seen ayein com into Troye !

'And to the yonder hille I gan hire gyde;
Allas! and ther I took of hire my leeve ;
And yond I saugh hire to hire fader ryde,
For sorwe of which myn hertë shal to-cleve;
And hider hom I com when it was eve;
And here I dwelle, out-cast from allë joye,
And shal, til I may seen her eft1 in Troye.'

And of hym-self ymagynëd he ofte,

To be defet2, and pale, and waxen lesse
Than he was wont, and that men seydë softe,
'What may it be? who kan the sothë gesse,
Why Troylus hath al this hevynesse?'
And al this nas but his melencolye,
That he hadde of hym-self swich fantasye.

Another tyme ymagynen he wolde,

That every wyght that wentë by the weye
Hadde of him routhe, and that they seyën sholde,

'I am right sory, Troilus wol deye.'

And thus he drof a day yit forth or tweye,

As ye han herd; swich lyf right gan he lede,

As he that stood bitwixen hope and drede.

For which hym liked in his songës shewe
Thencheson1 of his wo, as he best myghte,
And made a song of wordës but a fewe,
Somwhat his woful hertë for to lighte:
And when he was from every mannës sighte,
With softë vois, he of his lady deere,
That absent was, gan synge as ye may here.

'O sterre, of which I lost have al the lightë,
With hertë soore wel oughte I to bewaylle,
That ever derk in tormente, nyght by nyghtë,
Towarde my deth, with wynde in steere2 I saylle;
For which the tenthë nyght if that I faile
The gidynge of thi bemës brighte an houre,
My ship and me Caribdes wol devoure.'

This songe when he thus songen haddë soone
He fel ayein into his sikës olde;
And every nyght, as was his wone to doone,
He stood, the bryghtë monë to beholde;
And al his sorwe he to the moonë tolde,
And seyde, 'Iwis, when thow art hornëd newe
I shal be glad, if al the world be trewe.

'I saugh thyn hornës olde ek by the morwe,
Whan hennës rood my rightë lady deere,
That cause is of my torment and my sorwe;
For which, O bryghte Lucina the cleere!
For love of God! renne fast aboute thy spere3;
For when thyn hornës newë gynnen sprynge,
Than shal she come that may my blisse brynge.'

The day is moore, and longer ever nyght
Than they ben wont to be, hym thoughtë tho;
And that the sonne wente his course unright,
By longer weye than it was wont to go;
And seyde, ‘Iwis, me dredeth everemo
The sonnës sonë, Pheton, be on lyve1,
And that his fader cart amys he dryve.'

1 the cause.

2 with a fair wind.

4 alive.

3 sphere.

Upon the walles fast ek wolde he walke,
And on the Grekes oost he wolde se;
And to hymself right thus he wolde talke :—
'Lo, yonder is myn owen lady free,
Or ellës yonder, ther the tentës bee,
And thennes comth this eyr that is so soote1,
That in my soule I feele it doth me boote.

And hardyly, this wynd that moore and moore
Thus stoundemele 2 encresseth in my face,
Is of my ladys depë sykës sore;

I preve it thus, for in noon other place
Of al this town, save oonly in this space,
Feele I no
wynd that souneth so lyke peyne ;
It seith Allas! whi twynned be we tweyne??

This longe tyme he dryveth forth right thus,
Til fully passed was the nynthë nyght;
And ay bysyde hym was this Pandarus,
That bisily dide al his fullë myght

Hym to confort, and make his hertë light;
Yevynge hym hope alwey, the tenthë morwe
That she shal come, and stenten al his sorwe.

*

*

[Criseyde, in her father's tent, is wooed by Diomede, and gradually

yields to him.]

Retournynge in hir soule ay up and doun
The wordës of this sodeyn Diomede,
His gret estate, and peril of the town,
And that she was allon, and hadde nede.
Of frendes help; and thus bygan to brede 3
The cause whi, the sothë for to telle,
That sche tok fully purpos for to dwelle*.

1 sweet.

2 from time to time.

3 to arise.

✦ to remain with her father, instead of returning to Troy.

The morwe com, and gostly for to speke,
This Diomede is com unto Criseyde ;

And shortly, lest that ye my talë breke,
So wel he for hymselfë spak and seyde,
That alle hire sykës soore adown he layde;
And finaly, the sothë for to seyne,

He refte hire of the grete of al hire peyne.

And efter this, the storie telleth us,
That she him yaf the fairë bayë steede,
The which she ones wan of Troilus;
And eke a broch (and that was litel nede)
That Troilus1 was, she yaf this Diomede;
And ek the bet from sorw hym to releve,
She made hym were a pensel2 of hire sleve.

I fynde ek in storyës elleswhere,
When thorugh the body hirt was Dyomede
Of Troilus, tho weep she many a teere,

When that she saugh hise wyde woundes blede,
And that she took to kepen hym good hede,
And for to hele hym of his sorwes smerte,
Men seyn, I not, that she yaf hym hire herte.

But trewelyche, the storye telleth us,
Ther made never womman morë wo
Than she, when that she falsede Troylus;
She seyde, 'Allas! for now is clene ago1
My name of trouthe in love for evermo;
For I have falsed oon the gentileste
That evere was, and oon the worthieste.

'Allas! of me unto the worldës ende
Shal neither ben ywriten nor ysonge
No good word, for thise bokës wol me shende:
Irolled schal I ben on many a tonge;

Thorughout the world my bellë schal be ronge;

And wommen most wol haten me of alle ;
Allas! that swich a cas me sholdë falle !

'They wol seyn, in as muche as in me is,
I have hem don dishonoure, walaway!
Al be I not the firste that dide amys,
What helpeth that to don my blame away?
But syn I se ther is no better way,
And that to late is now for me to rewe,
To Dyomede algate1 I wol be trewe.

'But, Troilus, syn I no better may,
And syn that thus departen ye and I,

Yet preye I God so yeve yow right good day;
As for the gentilestë trewëly,

That evere I say, to serven faithfully,

And best kan ay his lady honour kepe;'

And with that word she braste anon to wepc.

'And certes, yow to haten shal I nevere,
And frendës love, that shal ye han of me,
And my good word, al shold I lyven evere ;
And trewëly I wol right sory be,
For to sen yow in adversité;

And giltëlees I wot wel I yow leeve,

And al shal passe, and thus tak I my leve.'

But trewëly how longe it was betweyne,
That she forsok hym for this Dyomede,
Ther is non auctour telleth it, I wene;
Tak every man now to his bokës hede,
He shal no timë fynden, out of drede;
For though that he bigan to wowe hire soone,
Er he hire wan, yet was ther more to doone.

Ne me ne list this sely womman chyde
Ferther than the storië wol devyse;
Hire name, allas! is publyshed so wyde,
That for hire gilte it ought ynough suffise;
And if I myght excuse hire any wyse,