Ye seyn, ye no-thing elles me requere?’
‘No, wis,’ quod he, ‘myn owene nece dere.’
‘Now wel,’ quod she, ‘and I wol doon my peyne; 475
I shal myn herte ayeins my lust constreyne,
Ne love a man, ne can I not, ne may
Ayeins my wil; but elles wol I fonde,
Myn honour sauf, plese him fro day to day; 480
Ther-to nolde I nought ones have seyd nay,
But that I dredde, as in my fantasye;
But cesse cause, ay cesseth maladye.
That in this proces if ye depper go, 485
That certaynly, for no savacioun
Of yow, though that ye sterve bothe two,
Though al the world on o day be my of,
Ne shal I never on him han other routhe.’—
‘I graunte wel,’ quod Pandare, ‘by my trouthe. 490
‘That, of this thing that ye han hight me here,
Ye wol it holden trewly un-to me?’
‘Ye, doutelees,’ quod she, ‘myn uncle dere.’
‘Ne that I shal han cause in this matere,’
Quod he, ‘to pleyne, or after yow to preche?’ 496
‘Why, no, pardee; what nedeth more speche?’
Til at the laste, ‘O good eem,’ quod she tho,
‘For love of god, which that us bothe made, 500
Tel me how first ye wisten of his wo:
Wot noon of hit but ye?’ He seyde, ‘no.’
‘Can he wel speke of love?’ quod she, ‘I preye,
Tel me, for I the bet me shal purveye.’
And seyde, ‘by my trouthe, I shal yow telle. 506
This other day, nought gon ful longe whyle,
In-with the paleys-gardyn, by a welle,
Gan he and I wel half a day to dwelle,
Right for to speken of an ordenaunce, 510
How we the Grekes mighte disavaunce.
And casten with our dartes to and fro,
Til at the laste he seyde, he wolde slepe,
And on the gres a-doun he leyde him tho;
And I after gan rome to and fro 516
Til that I herde, as that I welk allone,
How he bigan ful wofully to grone.
And sikerly, the sothe for to seyne, 520
As I can clepe ayein now to my minde,
Right thus to Love he gan him for to pleyne;
He seyde, “lord! have routhe up-on my peyne,
Al have I been rebel in myn entente;
Now, mea culpa, lord! I me repente. 525
Ledest the fyn, by juste purveyaunce,
Of every wight, my lowe confessioun
Accepte in gree, and send me swich penaunce 529
As lyketh thee, but from desesperaunce,
That may my goost departe awey fro thee,
Thou be my sheld, for thy benignitee.
That stod in blak, with loking of hir yën,
That to myn hertes botme it is y-sounded,
Thorugh which I woot that I mot nedes dyen; 536
This is the worste, I dar me not bi-wryen;
And wel the hotter been the gledes rede,
That men hem wryen with asshen pale and dede.”
And gan to motre, I noot what, trewely.
And I with that gan stille awey to goon,
And leet ther-of as no-thing wist hadde I,
And come ayein anoon and stood him by,
And seyde, “a-wake, ye slepen al to longe; 545
It semeth nat that love dooth yow longe,
Who sey ever or this so dul a man?”
“Ye, freend,” quod he, “do ye your hedes ake
For love, and lat me liven as I can.” 550
But though that he for wo was pale and wan,
Yet made he tho as fresh a contenaunce
As though he shulde have led the newe daunce.
It fel that I com roming al allone 555
Into his chaumbre, and fond how that he lay
Up-on his bed; but man so sore grone
Ne herde I never, and what that was his mone,
Ne wiste I nought; for, as I was cominge,
Al sodeynly he lefte his compleyninge. 560
And neer I com, and fond he wepte sore;
And god so wis be my savacioun,
As never of thing hadde I no routhe more.
For neither with engyn, ne with no lore,
Unethes
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