To myn estat, by god, and by your trouthe,
To taken it, or to han of him routhe,
In harming of my-self or in repreve? 1140
Ber it a-yein, for him that ye on leve!’
And seyde, ‘now is this the grettest wonder
That ever I sey! lat be this nyce fare!
To deethe mote I smiten be with thonder,
If, for the citee which that stondeth yonder, 1146
Wolde I a lettre un-to yow bringe or take
To harm of yow; what list yow thus it make?
That he that most desireth yow to serve,
Of him ye recche leest wher he bicome,
And whether that he live or elles sterve.
But for al that that ever I may deserve,
Refuse it nought,’ quod he, and hente hir faste,
And in hir bosom the lettre doun he thraste, 1155
That folk may seen and gauren on us tweye.’
Quod she, ‘I can abyde til they be goon,’
And gan to smyle, and seyde him, ‘eem, I preye,
Swich answere as yow list your-self purveye, 1160
For trewely I nil no lettre wryte.’
‘No? than wol I,’ quod he, ‘so ye endyte.’
And he gan at him-self to jape faste, 1164
And seyde, ‘nece, I have so greet a pyne
For love, that every other day I faste’—
And gan his beste japes forth to caste;
And made hir so to laughe at his folye,
That she for laughter wende for to dye.
‘Now, eem,’ quod she, ‘we wol go dyne anoon;’
And gan some of hir women to hir calle,
And streyght in-to hir chaumbre gan she goon;
But of hir besinesses, this was oon
A-monges othere thinges, out of drede,
Ful prively this lettre for to rede; 1176
And fond no lak, she thoughte he coude good;
And up it putte, and went hir in to dyne.
And Pandarus, that in a study stood, 1180
Er he was war, she took him by the hood,
And seyde, ‘ye were caught er that ye wiste;’
‘I vouche sauf,’ quod he, ‘do what yow liste.’
And after noon ful sleyly Pandarus 1185
Gan drawe him to the window next the strete,
And seyde, ‘nece, who hath arayed thus
The yonder hous, that stant afor-yeyn us?’
‘Which hous?’ quod she, and gan for to biholde,
And knew it wel, and whos it was him tolde, 1190
And seten in the window bothe tweye.
Whan Pandarus saw tyme un-to his tale,
And saw wel that hir folk were alle aweye,
‘Now, nece myn, tel on,’ quod he, ‘I seye, 1195
How lyketh yow the lettre that ye woot?
Can he ther-on? for, by my trouthe, I noot.’
And gan to humme, and seyde, ‘so I trowe.’
‘Aquyte him wel, for goddes love,’ quod he;
‘My-self to medes wol the lettre sowe,’
And held his hondes up, and sat on knowe,
‘Now, goode nece, be it never so lyte,
Yif me the labour, it to sowe and plyte.’
‘And eek I noot what I sholde to him seye.’
‘Nay, nece,’ quod Pandare, ‘sey not so;
Yet at the leste thanketh him, I preye,
Of his good wil, and doth him not to deye.
Now for the love of me, my nece dere, 1210
Refuseth not at this tyme my preyere.’
God helpe me so, this is the firste lettre
That ever I wroot, ye, al or any del.’
And in-to a closet, for to avyse hir bettre,
She wente allone, and gan hir herte unfettre 1216
Out of disdaynes prison but a lyte;
And sette hir doun, and gan a lettre wryte,
Th’effect, as fer as I can understonde:—
She thonked him of al that he wel mente
Towardes hir, but holden him in honde
She nolde nought, ne make hir-selven bonde
In love, but as his suster, him to plese,
She wolde fayn, to doon his herte an ese.
There as he sat and loked in-to strete,
And doun she sette hir by him on a stoon
Of jaspre, up-on a quisshin gold y-bete,
And seyde, ‘as wisly helpe me
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