Lat be thyne olde ensaumples, I thee preye.’ 760
‘No,’ quod tho Pandarus, ‘therefore I seye,
Swich is delyt of foles to biwepe
Hir wo, but seken bote they ne kepe.
But tel me, if I wiste what she were 765
For whom that thee al this misaunter ayleth,
Dorstestow that I tolde hir in hir ere
Thy wo, sith thou darst not thy-self for fere,
And hir bisoughte on thee to han som routhe?’
‘Why nay,’ quod he, ‘by god and by my trouthe!’ 770
‘As though myn owene lyf lay on this nede?’
‘No, certes, brother,’ quod this Troilus.
‘And why?’—‘For that thou sholdest never spede.’
‘Wostow that wel?’—‘ Ye, that is out of drede,’ 775
Quod Troilus, ‘for al that ever ye conne,
She nil to noon swich wrecche as I be wonne.’
That thou despeyred art thus causelees?
What? liveth not thy lady? benedicite! 780
How wostow so that thou art graceless?
Swich yvel is not alwey boteless.
Why, put not impossible thus thy cure,
Sin thing to come is ofte in aventure.
As sharp as doth he, Ticius, in helle, 786
Whos stomak foules tyren ever-mo
That highte volturis, as bokes telle.
But I may not endure that thou dwelle
In so unskilful an opinioun 790
That of thy wo is no curacioun.
And for thyn ire and folish wilfulnesse,
For wantrust, tellen of thy sorwes smerte,
Ne to thyn owene help do bisinesse 795
As muche as speke a resoun more or lesse,
But lyest as he that list of no-thing recche.
What womman coude love swich a wrecche?
If thou thus deye, and she not why it is, 800
But that for fere is yolden up thy breeth,
For Grekes han biseged us, y-wis?
Lord, which a thank than shaltow han of this!
Thus wol she seyn, and al the toun at ones,
“The wrecche is deed, the devel have his bones!” 805
But, love a woman that she woot it nought,
And she wol quyte that thou shalt not fele;
Unknowe, unkist, and lost that is unsought.
What! many a man hath love ful dere y-bought 810
Twenty winter that his lady wiste,
That never yet his lady mouth he kiste.
Or be recreaunt for his owene tene,
Or sleen him-self, al be his lady fayr? 815
Nay, nay, but ever in oon be fresh and grene
To serve and love his dere hertes quene,
And thenke it is a guerdoun hir to serve
A thousand-fold more than he can deserve.’
And thoughte anoon what folye he was inne, 821
And how that sooth him seyde Pandarus,
That for to sleen him-self mighte he not winne,
But bothe doon unman hod and a sinne 824
And of his deeth his lady nought to wyte;
For of his wo, god woot, she knew ful lyte.
And seyde, ‘allas! What is me best to do?’
To whom Pandare answerde, ‘If thee lyke,
The best is that thou telle me thy wo; 830
And have mytrouthe, but thou it finde so,
I be thy bote, or that it be ful longe,
To peces do me drawe, and sithen honge!’
But, god wot, it is not the rather so; 835
Ful hard were it to helpen in this cas,
For wel finde I that Fortune is my of,
Ne alle the men that ryden conne or go
May of hir cruel wheel the harm withstonde;
For, as hir list, she pleyeth with free and bonde.’ 840
For thou art wrooth, ye now at erst I see;
Wostow nat wel that Fortune is commune
To every maner wight in som degree? 844
And yet thou hast this comfort, lo pardee!
That, as hir joyes moten over-goon,
So mote hir sorwes passen everichoon.
Than cessed she Fortune anoon to be;
Now, sith hir wheel by no wey may sojorne, 850
What wostow if hir mutabilitee
Right as thy-selven list, wol doon by thee,
Or
| Previous page | Back | Home | Email this | Search | Discuss | Bookmark | Next chapter/page |