And in that temple, with hir eyen clere,
Me caughte first my righte lady dere.
My dere herte laughe, and yonder pleye
Saugh I hir ones eek ful blisfully. 570
And yonder ones to me gan she seye,
“Now goode swete, love me wel, I preye.”
And yond so goodly gan she me biholde,
That to the deeth myn herte is to hir holde.
Herde I myn alderlevest lady dere 576
So wommanly, with voys melodious,
Singen so wel, so goodly, and so clere,
That in my soule yet me thinketh I here
The blisful soun; and, in that yonder place, 580
My lady first me took un-to hir grace.’
Whanne I the proces have in my memorie,
How thou me hast werreyed on every syde,
Men mighte a book make of it, lyk a storie.
What nede is thee to seke on me victorie,
Sin I am thyn, and hoolly at thy wille?
What joye hastow thyn owene folk to spille? 588
Thou mighty god, and dredful for to greve!
Now mercy, lord, thou wost wel I desire
Thy grace most, of alle lustes leve. 592
And live and deye I wol in thy bileve;
For which I n’axe in guerdon but a bone,
That thou Criseyde ayein me sende sone.
As thou dost myn to longen hir to see;
Than woot I wel, that she nil not sojorne.
Now, blisful lord, so cruel thou ne be
Un-to the blood of Troye, I preye thee, 600
As Juno was un-to the blood Thebane,
For which the folk of Thebes caughte hir bane.’
Ther-as Criseyde out-rood a ful good paas,
And up and doun ther made he many a wente, 605
And to him-self ful ofte he seyde ‘allas!
From hennes rood my blisse and my solas!
As wolde blisful god now, for his joye,
I mighte hir seen ayein come in-to Troye.
Allas! and there I took of hir my leve!
And yond I saugh hir to hir fader ryde,
For sorwe of which myn herte shal tocleve. 613
And hider hoom I com whan it was eve;
And here I dwelle out-cast from alle joye,
And shal, til I may seen hir eft in Troye.’
To ben defet, and pale, and waxen lesse
Than he was wont, and that men seyde softe,
‘What may it be? who can the sothe gesse 620
Why Troilus hath al this hevinesse?’
And al this nas but his malencolye,
That he hadde of him-self swich fantasye.
That every wight that wente by the weye
Had of him routhe, and that they seyen sholde, 626
‘I am right sory Troilus wol deye.’
And thus he droof a day yet forth or tweye.
As ye have herd, swich lyf right gan he lede,
As he that stood bitwixen hope and drede.
Th’encheson of his wo, as he best mighte,
And make a song of wordes but a fewe,
Somwhat his woful herte for to lighte.
And whan he was from every mannes sighte, 635
With softe voys he, of his lady dere,
That was absent, gan singe as ye may here.
With herte soor wel oughte I to bewayle,
That ever derk in torment, night by night,
Toward my deeth with wind in stere I sayle; 641
For which the tenthe night if that I fayle
The gyding of thy bemes brighte an houre,
My ship and me Caribdis wol devoure.’
He fil ayein in-to his sykes olde;
And every night, as was his wone to done,
He stood the brighte mone to beholde,
And al his sorwe he to the mone tolde;
And seyde, ‘y-wis, whan thou art horned newe, 650
I shal be glad, if al the world be trewe!
Whan hennes rood my righte lady dere,
That cause is of my torment and my sorwe;
For whiche, O brighte Lucina the clere, 655
For love of god, ren faste aboute thy spere!
For whan thyn hornes newe ginne springe,
Than shal she come, that may my blisse bringe!’
Than they be wont to be, him thoughte tho; 660
And that
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