Al for the doughter of the kinge Admete,
That al his craft ne çoude his sorwe bete.”—665
I love oon best, and that me smerteth sore;
And yet, paraunter can I rede thee,
And not my-self; repreve me no more. 669
I have no cause, I woot wel, for to sore
As doth an hauk that listeth for to pleye,
But to thyn help yet somwhat can I seye.
That certayn, for to deyen in the peyne,
That I shall never- mo discoveren thee; 675
Ne, by my trouthe, I kepe nat restreyne
Thee fro thy love, thogh that it were Eleyne,
That is thy brothers wyf, if ich it wiste;
Be what she be, and love hir as thee liste.
And tel me plat what is thyn enchesoun
And final cause of wo that ye endure;
For douteth no-thing, myn entencioun
Nis nought to yow of reprehencioun
To speke as now, for no wight may bireve 685
A man to love, til that him list to leve.
Mistrusten alle, or elles alle leve;
But wel I woot, the mene of it no vyce is,
For for to trusten sum wight is a preve 690
Of trouthe, and for-thy wolde I fayn remeve
Thy wrong conceyte, and do thee som wight triste,
Thy wo to telle; and tel me, if thee liste.
For, and he falle, he hath noon help to ryse;” 695
And sith thou hast a felawe, tel thy mone;
For this nis not, certeyn, the nexte wyse
To winnen love, as techen us the wyse,
To walwe and wepe as Niobe the quene,
Whos teres yet in marbel been y-sene. 700
And lat us lissen wo with other speche;
So may thy woful tyme seme lesse.
Delyte not in wo thy wo to seche, 704
As doon thise foles that hir sorwes eche
With sorwe, whan they han misaventure,
And listen nought to seche hem other cure.
To have an-other felawe in his peyne;”
That oughte wel ben our opinioun, 710
For, bothe thou and I, of love we pleyne;
So ful of sorwe am I, soth for to seyne,
That certeynly no more harde grace
May sitte on me, for-why ther is no space.
Lest I wolde of thy lady thee bigyle, 716
Thow wost thy-self whom that I love, pardee,
As I best can, gon sithen longe whyle.
And sith thou wost I do it for no wyle, 719
And sith I am he that thou tristest most,
Tel me sum what, sin al my wo thou wost.’
But longe he lay as stille as he ded were;
And after this with sykinge he abreyde,
And to Pandarus voys he lente his ere, 725
And up his eyen caste he, that in fere
Was Pandarus, lest that in frenesye
He sholde falle, or elles sone dye:
‘What? slombrestow as in a lytargye?
Or artow lyk an asse to the harpe, 731
That hereth soun, whan men the strenges plye,
But in his minde of that no melodye
May sinken, him to glade, for that he
So dul is of his bestialitee?’ 735
But Troilus yet him no word answerde,
For-why to telle nas not his entente
To never no man, for whom that he so ferde. 739
For it is seyd, ‘man maketh ofte a yerde
With which the maker is him-self y-beten
In sondry maner,’ as thise wyse treten,
That toucheth love that oughte be secree;
For of him-self it wolde y-nough outspringe, 745
But-if that it the bet governed be.
Eek som-tyme it is craf to some flee
Fro thing which in effect men hunte faste;
Al this gan Troilus in his herte caste.
‘Awake!’ he gan to syke wonder sore,
And seyde, ‘freend, though that I stille lye,
I am not deef; now pees, and cry no more;
For I have herd thy wordes and thy lore;
But suffre me my mischef to biwayle, 755
For thy proverbes may me nought avayle.
Eek I nil not be cured, I wol deye;
What knowe I of the quene
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