Than to dispute, and axe amonges alle
How is this candel in the straw y- falle?
A! benedicite! for al among that fare 860
The harm is doon, and fare-wel feldefare!
If that ye suffre him al night in this wo,
God help me so, ye hadde him never leef,
That dar I seyn, now there is but we two; 865
But wel I woot, that ye wol not do so;
Ye been to wys to do so gret folye,
To putte his lyf al night in jupartye.’
Ye hadde never thing so leef,’ quod she.
‘Now by my thrift,’ quod he, ‘that shal be sene; 871
For, sin ye make this ensample of me,
If I al night wolde him in sorwe see
For al the tresour in the toun of Troye,
I bidde god, I never mote have joye! 875
Shul putte al night his lyf in jupartye
For thing of nought! Now, by that god above,
Nought only this delay comth of folye,
But of malyce, if that I shal nought lye.
What, platly, and ye suffre him in distresse, 881
Ye neither bountee doon ne gentilesse!’
And ye therwith shal stinte al his disese;
Have here, and bereth him this blewe ring, 885
For ther is no-thing mighte him bettre plese,
Save I my-self, ne more his herte apese;
And sey my dere herte, that his sorwe
Is causeles, that shal be seen to-morwe.’
Ye, nece myn, that ring moste han a stoon
That mighte dede men alyve maken;
And swich a ring, trowe I that ye have noon.
Discrecioun out of your heed is goon;
That fele I now,’ quod he, ‘and that is routhe; 895
O tyme y-lost, wel maystow cursen slouthe!
Ne sorweth not, ne stinteth eek for lyte?
But if a fool were in a jalous rage,
I nolde setten at his sorwe a myte, 900
But feffe him with a fewe wordes whyte
Another day, whan that I mighte him finde:
But this thing stont al in another kinde.
That with his deeth he wol his sorwes wreke; 905
For trusteth wel, how sore that him smerte,
He wol to yow no jalouse wordes speke.
And for-thy nece, er that his herte breke,
So spek your-self to him of this matere;
For with o word ye may his herte stere.
And his coming unwist is t’every wight;
Ne, pardee harm may ther be noon ne sinne;
I wol my-self be with yow al this night,
Ye knowe eek how it is your owne knight,
And that, by right, ye moste upon him triste, 916
And I al prest to fecche him whan yow liste.’
And eek so lyk a sooth, at pryme face,
And Troilus hir knight to hir so dere, 920
His privè coming, and the siker place,
That, though that she dide him as thanne a grace,
Considered alle thinges as they stode,
No wonder is, sin she dide al for gode.
My sowle bringe, as me is for him wo!
And eem, y- wis, fayn wolde I doon the beste,
If that I hadde grace to do so.
But whether that ye dwelle or for him go,
I am, til god me bettre minde sende, 930
At dulcarnon, right at my wittes ende.’
Dulcarnon called is “fleminge of wrecches”;
It semeth hard, for wrecches wol not lere
For verray slouthe or othere wilful tecches; 935
This seyd by hem that be not worth two fecches.
But ye ben wys, and that we han on honde
Nis neither hard, ne skilful to withstonde.’
But er he come I wil up first aryse; 940
And, for the love of god, sin al my trist
Is on yow two, and ye ben bothe wyse,
So wircheth now in so discreet a wyse,
That I honour may have, and he plesaunce;
For I am here al in your governaunce.’
Ther good thrift on that wyse gentil herte!
But liggeth stille, and taketh him right here,
It nedeth not no ferther for him sterte;
And ech of yow ese otheres sorwes smerte,
For love of god; and, Venus, I thee herie; 951
For sone hope I we shulle ben alle merie.’
Ful sobrely, right by hir beddes heed,
And in his beste wyse
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