By lenger wey than it was wont to go;
And seyde, ‘y-wis, me dredeth ever-mo,
The sonnes sone, Pheton, be on-lyve,
And that his fadres cartamis he dryve.’ 665
And on the Grekes ost he wolde see,
And to him-self right thus he wolde talke,
‘Lo, yonder is myn owene lady free,
Or elles yonder, ther tho tentes be! 670
And thennes comth this eyr, that is so sote,
That in my soule I fele it doth me bote.
Thus stoundemele encreseth in my face,
Is of my ladyes depe sykes sore. 675
I preve it thus, for in non othere place
Of al this toun, save onliche in this space,
Fele I no wind that souneth so lyk peyne;
It seyth, “allas! why twinned be we tweyne?” ’
Til fully passed was the nynthe night;
And ay bi- syde him was this Pandarus,
That bisily dide alle his fulle might
Him to comforte, and make his herte light;
Yevinge him hope alwey, the tenthe morwe
That she shal come, and stinten al his sorwe. 686
With wommen fewe, among the Grekes stronge;
For which ful ofte a day ‘allas!’ she seyde,
‘That I was born! Wel may myn herte longe 690
After my deeth; for now live I to longe!
Allas! and I ne may it not amende;
For now is wors than ever yet I wende.
To goon ayein, for nought I can him queme; 695
And if so be that I my terme passe,
My Troilus shal in his herte deme 697
That I am fals, and so it may wel seme.
Thus shal I have unthank on every syde;
That I was born, so weylawey the tyde!
To stele awey by nighte, and it bifalle
That I be caught, I shal be holde a spye;
Or elles, lo, this drede I most of alle,
If in the hondes of som wrecche I falle,
I am but lost, al be myn herte trewe; 706
Now mighty god, thou on my sorwe rewe!’
Hir limes lene, as she that al the day
Stood whan she dorste, and loked on the place 710
Ther she was born, and ther she dwelt hadde ay.
And al the night wepinge, allas ! she lay.
And thus despeired, out of alle cure,
She ladde hir lyf, this woful creature.
And in hir-self she wente ay portrayinge
Of Troilus the grete worthinesse,
And alle his goodly wordes recordinge
Sin first that day hir love bigan to springe.
And thus she sette hir woful herte a-fyre
Thorugh remembraunce of that she gan desyre. 721
That hir hadde herd compleynen in hir sorwe,
That nolde han wopen for his peynes smerte,
So tendrely she weep, bothe eve and morwe.
Hir nedede no teres for to borwe. 726
And this was yet the worste of al hir peyne,
Ther was no wight to whom she dorste hir pleyne.
Biheld the toures heighe and eek the halles; 730
‘Allas!’ quod she, ‘the plesaunce and the joye
The whiche that now al torned in-to galle is,
Have I had ofte with-inne yonder walles!
O Troilus, what dostow now,’ she seyde;
‘Lord! whether yet thou thenke up-on Criseyde? 735
And went with yow, as ye me radde er this!
Thanne hadde I now not syked half so sore.
Who mighte have seyd, that I had doon a-mis
To stele awey with swich on as he is? 740
But al to late cometh the letuarie,
Whan men the cors un-to the grave carie.
Prudence, allas! oon of thyn eyen three
Me lakked alwey, er that I cam here; 745
On tyme y-passed, wel remembred me;
And present tyme eek coude I wel y-see.
But futur tyme, er I was in the snare,
Coude I not seen; that causeth now my care. 749
I shal to-morwe at night, by est or weste,
Out of this ost stele on som maner syde,
And go with Troilus wher-as him leste.
This purpos wol I holde, and this is beste.
No
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