That yet fele I myn herte for him wepe.
Was I so bisy no man for to preche,
Ne never was to wight so depe y-sworn,
Or he me tolde who mighte been his leche. 571
But now to yow rehersen al his speche,
Or alle his woful wordes for to soune,
Ne bid me not, but ye wol see me swowne.
And to non harm of yow, thus am I driven;
And for the love of god that us hath wrought,
Swich chere him dooth, that he and I may liven.
Now have I plat to yow myn herte schriven; 579
And sin ye woot that myn entente is clene,
Tak hede ther-of, for I non yvel mene.
That han swich oon y-caught with-oute net;
And be ye wys, as ye ben fair to see,
Wel in the ring than is the ruby set. 585
Ther were never two so wel y-met,
Whan ye ben his al hool, as he is youre:
Ther mighty god yet graunte us see that houre!’
‘As helpe me god, ye shenden every deel!’
‘O mercy, dere nece,’ anoon quod he, 591
‘What-so I spak, I mente nought but weel,
By Mars the god, that helmed is of steel;
Now beth nought wrooth, my blood, my nece dere.’
‘Now wel,’ quod she, ‘foryeven be it here!’
And lord, how he was glad and wel bigoon!
Criseyde aroos, no lenger she ne stente,
But straught in-to hir closet wente anoon,
And sette here doun as stille as any stoon,
And every word gan up and doun to winde, 601
That he hadde seyd, as it com hir to minde;
Right for the newe cas; but whan that she
Was ful avysed, tho fond she right nought
Of peril, why she oughte afered be. 606
For man may love, of possibilitee,
A womman so, his herte may to-breste,
And she nought love ayein, but-if hir leste.
Th’ascry aroos at skarmish al with-oute,
And men cryde in the strete, ‘see, Troilus
Hath right now put to flight the Grekes route!’
With that gan al hir meynee for to shoute,
‘A! go we see, caste up the latis wyde;
For thurgh this strete he moot to palays ryde; 616
Of Dardanus, ther open is the cheyne.’
With that com he and al his folk anoon
An esy pas rydinge, in routes tweyne, 620
Right as his happy day was, sooth to seyne,
For which, men say, may nought disturbed be
That shal bityden of necessitee.
Al armed, save his heed, ful richely, 625
And wounded was his hors, and gan to blede,
On whiche he rood a pas, ful softely;
But swich a knightly sighte, trewely,
As was on him, was nought, with-outen faile, 629
To loke on Mars, that god is of batayle.
He was to seen, fulfild of heigh prowesse;
For bothe he hadde a body and a might
To doon that thing, as wel as hardinesse;
And eek to seen him in his gere him dresse, 635
So fresh, so young, so weldy semed he,
It was an heven up-on him for to see.
That by a tissew heng, his bak bihinde,
His sheld to-dasshed was with swerdes and maces, 640
In which men mighte many an arwe finde
That thirled hadde horn and nerf and rinde;
And ay the peple cryde, ‘here cometh our joye,
And, next his brother, holdere up of Troye!’
Whan he the peple up-on him herde cryen,
That to biholde it was a noble game,
How sobreliche he caste doun his yën.
Cryseyda gan al his chere aspyen,
And leet so softe it in hir herte sinke, 650
That to hir-self she seyde, ‘who yaf me drinke?’
Remembringe hir right thus, ‘lo, this is he
Which that myn uncle swereth he moot be deed,
But I on him have mercy and pitee;’ 655
And with that thought, for pure a-shamed, she
Gan in hir heed to pulle, and that as faste,
Whyl he and al the peple for-by paste,
With-inne hir thought his excellent prowesse, 660
And his estat, and also his renoun,
His wit, his shap, and eek his gentilesse;
But most hir favour was, for his
| Previous chapter/page | Back | Home | Email this | Search | Discuss | Bookmark | Next chapter/page |