Ther peril was, and dide eek such travayle
In armes, that to thenke it was mervayle.
Ne also for the rescous of the toun,
Ne made him thus in armes for to madde,
But only, lo, for this conclusioun, 480
To lyken hir the bet for his renoun;
Fro day to day in armes so he spedde,
That alle the Grekes as the deeth him dredde.
And made his mete his foo; and eek his sorwe 485
Gan multiplye, that, who-so toke keep,
It shewed in his hewe, bothe eve and morwe;
Therefor a title he gan him for to borwe
Of other syknesse, lest of him men wende
That the hote fyr of love him brende. 490
But how it was, certayn, can I not seye,
If that his lady understood not this,
Or feyned hir she niste, oon of the tweye;
But wel I rede that, by no maner weye,
Ne semed it [as] that she of him roughte,
Nor of his peyne, or what-so-ever he thoughte.
That he was wel neigh wood; for ay his drede 499
Was this, that she som wight had loved so,
That never of him she wolde have taken hede;
For whiche him thoughte he felte his herte blede.
Ne of his wo ne dorste he not biginne
To tellen it, for al this world to winne.
Thus to him-self ful ofte he gan to pleyne;
He sayde, ‘O fool, now art thou in the snare,
That whilom japedest at loves peyne;
Now artow hent, now gnaw thyn owene cheyne;
Thou were ay wont eche lovere reprehende
Of thing fro which thou canst thee nat defende. 511
If this be wist, but ever in thyn absence
Laughen in scorn, and seyn, “lo, ther gooth he,
That is the man of so gret sapience, 515
That held us loveres leest in reverence!
Now, thonked be god, he may goon in the daunce
Of them that Love list febly for to avaunce!
Sin thow most loven thurgh thy destinee,
That thow beset were on swich oon that sholde 521
Knowe al thy wo, al lakkede hir pitee:
But al so cold in love, towardes thee,
Thy lady is, as frost in winter mone, 524
And thou fordoon, as snow in fyr is sone.”
Of deeth, to which my sorwe wil me lede!
A, lord, to me it were a greet comfort;
Then were I quit of languisshing in drede.
For by myn hidde sorwe y-blowe on brede
I shal bi-japed been a thousand tyme 531
More than that fool of whos folye men ryme.
I pleyne, y-caught, ye, never wight so faste! 534
O mercy, dere herte, and help me from
The deeth, for I, whyl that my lyf may laste,
More than my-self wol love yow to my laste.
And with som freendly look gladeth me, swete,
Though never more thing ye me bi-hete!’
He spak, and called ever in his compleynte 541
Hir name, for to tellen hir his wo,
Til neigh that he in salte teres dreynte
Al was for nought, she herde nought his pleynte;
And whan that he bithoughte on that folye, 545
A thousand fold his wo gan multiplye.
A freend of his, that called was Pandare,
Com ones in unwar, and herde him grone,
And sey his freend in swich distresse and care: 550
‘Allas!’ quod he, ‘who causeth al this fare?
O mercy, god! what unhap may this mene?
Han now thus sone Grekes maad yow lene?
And art now falle in som devocioun, 555
And waylest for thy sinne and thyn offence,
And hast for ferde caught attricioun?
God save hem that bi-seged han our toun,
And so can leye our jolytee on presse,
And bring our lusty folk to holinesse!
That with swich thing he mighte him angry maken,
And with an angre don his sorwe falle,
As for the tyme, and his corage awaken;
But wel he wiste, as fer as tonges spaken,
Ther nas a man of gretter hardinesse 566
Than he, ne more desired worthinesse.
Hath gyded thee to see my languisshinge,
That am refus
| Previous page | Back | Home | Email this | Search | Discuss | Bookmark | Next chapter/page |