And, for a sooth, they tellen twenty lyes.
Thus shal I seyn, and that his coward herte
Made him amis the goddes text to glose,
Whan he for ferde out of his Delphos sterte. 1411
And but I make him sone to converte,
And doon my reed with-inne a day or tweye,
I wol to yow oblige me to deye.’
That al this thing was seyd of good entente; 1416
And that hir herte trewe was and kinde
Towardes him, and spak right as she mente,
And that she starf for wo neigh, whan she wente,
And was in purpose ever to be trewe; 1420
Thus writen they that of hir werkes knewe.
Herde al this thing devysen to and fro;
And verraylich him semed that he hadde
The selve wit; but yet to lete hir go 1425
His herte misforyaf him ever-mo.
But fynally, he gan his herte wreste
To trusten hir, and took it for the beste.
Was queynt with hope, and ther-with hem bitwene 1430
Bigan for joye the amorouse daunce.
And as the briddes, whan the sonne is shene,
Delyten in hir song in leves grene,
Right so the wordes that they spake y-fere
Delyted hem, and made hir hertes clere.
For al this world, may nought out of his minde;
For which ful ofte he pitously hir preyde,
That of hir heste he might hir trewe finde. 1439
And seyde hir, ‘certes, if ye be unkinde,
And but ye come at day set in-to Troye,
Ne shal I never have hele, honour, ne joye.
And, god! so wisly thou me, woful wrecche, 1444
To reste bringe out of this cruel sorwe,
I wol my-selven slee if that ye drecche.
But of my deeth though litel be to recche,
Yet, er that ye me cause so to smerte,
Dwel rather here, myn owene swete herte!
Tho sleightes yet that I have herd yow stere 1451
Ful shaply been to failen alle y-fere.
For thus men seyn, “that oon thenketh the bere,
But al another thenketh his ledere.”
Your sire is wys, and seyd is, out of drede,
“Men may the wyse at-renne, and not atrede.” 1456
Bifore a crepul, for he can the craft;
Your fader is in sleighte as Argus yëd;
For al be that his moeble is him biraft,
His olde sleighte is yet so with him laft,
Ye shal not blende him for your womanhede, 1462
Ne feyne a-right, and that is al my drede.
But, pees or no, for ernest ne for game,
I woot, sin Calkas on the Grekes syde
Hath ones been, and lost so foule his name, 1467
He dar no more come here ayein for shame;
For which that weye, for ought I can espye,
To trusten on, nis but a fantasye. 1470
To been a wyf, and as he can wel preche,
He shal som Greek so preyse and wel alsoe,
That ravisshen he shal yow with. his speche, 1474
Or do yow doon by force as he shal teche.
And Troilus, of whom ye nil han routhe,
Shal causeles so sterven in his trouthe!
Us alle, and seyn this citee nis but lorn;
And that th’assege never shal aryse, 1480
For-why the Grekes han it alle sworn
Til we be slayn, and doun our walles torn.
And thus he shal you with his wordes fere,
That ay drede I, that ye wol bleve there.
A-mong the Grekes, ful of worthinesse,
And eche of hem with herte, wit, and might
To plesen yow don al his besinesse,
That ye shul dullen of the rudenesse
Of us sely Trojanes, but-if routhe 1490
Remorde yow, or vertue of your trouthe.
That fro my brest it wol my soule rende;
Ne dredeles, in me ther may not sinke
A good opinioun, if that ye wende; 1495
For-why your faderes sleighte wol us shende.
And if ye goon, as I have told yow yore,
So thenk I nam but deed, with-oute more.
A thousand tymes mercy I yow preye;
So reweth on myn aspre peynes smerte,
And doth somwhat, as that I shal yow seye,
And lat us stele away
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