Three random poems from PoetryDB
Undoubtedly he will relent, and turn From his displeasure; in whose look serene, When angry most he seemed and most severe, What else but favour, grace, and mercy, shone? So spake our father penitent; nor Eve Felt less remorse: they, forthwith to the place Repairing where he judged them, prostrate fell Before him reverent; and both confessed Humbly their faults, and pardon begged; with tears Watering the ground, and with their sighs the air Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign Of sorrow unfeigned, and humiliation meek. Thus they, in lowliest plight, repentant stood Praying; for from the mercy-seat above Prevenient grace descending had removed The stony from their hearts, and made new flesh Regenerate grow instead; that sighs now breathed Unutterable; which the Spirit of prayer Inspired, and winged for Heaven with speedier flight Than loudest oratory: Yet their port Not of mean suitors; nor important less Seemed their petition, than when the ancient pair In fables old, less ancient yet than these, Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha, to restore The race of mankind drowned, before the shrine Of Themis stood devout. To Heaven their prayers Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious winds Blown vagabond or frustrate: in they passed Dimensionless through heavenly doors; then clad With incense, where the golden altar fumed, By their great intercessour, came in sight Before the Father's throne: them the glad Son Presenting, thus to intercede began. See$ Father, what first-fruits on earth are sprung From thy implanted grace in Man; these sighs And prayers, which in this golden censer mixed With incense, I thy priest before thee bring; Fruits of more pleasing savour, from thy seed Sown with contrition in his heart, than those Which, his own hand manuring, all the trees Of Paradise could have produced, ere fallen From innocence. Now therefore, bend thine ear To supplication; hear his sighs, though mute; Unskilful with what words to pray, let me Interpret for him; me, his advocate And propitiation; all his works on me, Good, or not good, ingraft; my merit those Shall perfect, and for these my death shall pay. Accept me; and, in me, from these receive The smell of peace toward mankind: let him live Before thee reconciled, at least his days Numbered, though sad; till death, his doom, (which I To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse,) To better life shall yield him: where with me All my redeemed may dwell in joy and bliss; Made one with me, as I with thee am one. To whom the Father, without cloud, serene. All thy request for Man, accepted Son, Obtain; all thy request was my decree: But, longer in that Paradise to dwell, The law I gave to Nature him forbids: Those pure immortal elements, that know, No gross, no unharmonious mixture foul, Eject him, tainted now; and purge him off, As a distemper, gross, to air as gross, And mortal food; as may dispose him best For dissolution wrought by sin, that first Distempered all things, and of incorrupt Corrupted. I, at first, with two fair gifts Created him endowed; with happiness, And immortality: that fondly lost, This other served but to eternize woe; Till I provided death: so death becomes His final remedy; and, after life, Tried in sharp tribulation, and refined By faith and faithful works, to second life, Waked in the renovation of the just, Resigns him up with Heaven and Earth renewed. But let us call to synod all the Blest, Through Heaven's wide bounds: from them I will not hide My judgements; how with mankind I proceed, As how with peccant Angels late they saw, And in their state, though firm, stood more confirmed. He ended, and the Son gave signal high To the bright minister that watched; he blew His trumpet, heard in Oreb since perhaps When God descended, and perhaps once more To sound at general doom. The angelick blast Filled all the regions: from their blisful bowers Of amarantine shade, fountain or spring, By the waters of life, where'er they sat In fellowships of joy, the sons of light Hasted, resorting to the summons high; And took their seats; till from his throne supreme The Almighty thus pronounced his sovran will. O Sons, like one of us Man is become To know both good and evil, since his taste Of that defended fruit; but let him boast His knowledge of good lost, and evil got; Happier! had it sufficed him to have known Good by itself, and evil not at all. He sorrows now, repents, and prays contrite, My motions in him; longer than they move, His heart I know, how variable and vain, Self-left. Lest therefore his now bolder hand Reach also of the tree of life, and eat, And live for ever, dream at least to live For ever, to remove him I decree, And send him from the garden forth to till The ground whence he was taken, fitter soil. Michael, this my behest have thou in charge; Take to thee from among the Cherubim Thy choice of flaming warriours, lest the Fiend, Or in behalf of Man, or to invade Vacant possession, some new trouble raise: Haste thee, and from the Paradise of God Without remorse drive out the sinful pair; From hallowed ground the unholy; and denounce To them, and to their progeny, from thence Perpetual banishment. Yet, lest they faint At the sad sentence rigorously urged, (For I behold them softened, and with tears Bewailing their excess,) all terrour hide. If patiently thy bidding they obey, Dismiss them not disconsolate; reveal To Adam what shall come in future days, As I shall thee enlighten; intermix My covenant in the Woman's seed renewed; So send them forth, though sorrowing, yet in peace: And on the east side of the garden place, Where entrance up from Eden easiest climbs, Cherubick watch; and of a sword the flame Wide-waving; all approach far off to fright, And guard all passage to the tree of life: Lest Paradise a receptacle prove To Spirits foul, and all my trees their prey; With whose stolen fruit Man once more to delude. He ceased; and the arch-angelick Power prepared For swift descent; with him the cohort bright Of watchful Cherubim: four faces each Had, like a double Janus; all their shape Spangled with eyes more numerous than those Of Argus, and more wakeful than to drouse, Charmed with Arcadian pipe, the pastoral reed Of Hermes, or his opiate rod. Mean while, To re-salute the world with sacred light, Leucothea waked; and with fresh dews imbalmed The earth; when Adam and first matron Eve Had ended now their orisons, and found Strength added from above; new hope to spring Out of despair; joy, but with fear yet linked; Which thus to Eve his welcome words renewed. Eve, easily my faith admit, that all The good which we enjoy from Heaven descends; But, that from us aught should ascend to Heaven So prevalent as to concern the mind Of God high-blest, or to incline his will, Hard to belief may seem; yet this will prayer Or one short sigh of human breath, upborne Even to the seat of God. For since I sought By prayer the offended Deity to appease; Kneeled, and before him humbled all my heart; Methought I saw him placable and mild, Bending his ear; persuasion in me grew That I was heard with favour; peace returned Home to my breast, and to my memory His promise, that thy seed shall bruise our foe; Which, then not minded in dismay, yet now Assures me that the bitterness of death Is past, and we shall live. Whence hail to thee, Eve rightly called, mother of all mankind, Mother of all things living, since by thee Man is to live; and all things live for Man. To whom thus Eve with sad demeanour meek. Ill-worthy I such title should belong To me transgressour; who, for thee ordained A help, became thy snare; to me reproach Rather belongs, distrust, and all dispraise: But infinite in pardon was my Judge, That I, who first brought death on all, am graced The source of life; next favourable thou, Who highly thus to entitle me vouchsaf'st, Far other name deserving. But the field To labour calls us, now with sweat imposed, Though after sleepless night; for see!the morn, All unconcerned with our unrest, begins Her rosy progress smiling: let us forth; I never from thy side henceforth to stray, Where'er our day's work lies, though now enjoined Laborious, till day droop; while here we dwell, What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks? Here let us live, though in fallen state, content. So spake, so wished much humbled Eve; but Fate Subscribed not: Nature first gave signs, impressed On bird, beast, air; air suddenly eclipsed, After short blush of morn; nigh in her sight The bird of Jove, stooped from his aery tour, Two birds of gayest plume before him drove; Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods, First hunter then, pursued a gentle brace, Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind; Direct to the eastern gate was bent their flight. Adam observed, and with his eye the chase Pursuing, not unmoved, to Eve thus spake. O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh, Which Heaven, by these mute signs in Nature, shows Forerunners of his purpose; or to warn Us, haply too secure, of our discharge From penalty, because from death released Some days: how long, and what till then our life, Who knows? or more than this, that we are dust, And thither must return, and be no more? Why else this double object in our sight Of flight pursued in the air, and o'er the ground, One way the self-same hour? why in the east Darkness ere day's mid-course, and morning-light More orient in yon western cloud, that draws O'er the blue firmament a radiant white, And slow descends with something heavenly fraught? He erred not; for by this the heavenly bands Down from a sky of jasper lighted now In Paradise, and on a hill made halt; A glorious apparition, had not doubt And carnal fear that day dimmed Adam's eye. Not that more glorious, when the Angels met Jacob in Mahanaim, where he saw The field pavilioned with his guardians bright; Nor that, which on the flaming mount appeared In Dothan, covered with a camp of fire, Against the Syrian king, who to surprise One man, assassin-like, had levied war, War unproclaimed. The princely Hierarch In their bright stand there left his Powers, to seise Possession of the garden; he alone, To find where Adam sheltered, took his way, Not unperceived of Adam; who to Eve, While the great visitant approached, thus spake. Eve$ now expect great tidings, which perhaps Of us will soon determine, or impose New laws to be observed; for I descry, From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill, One of the heavenly host; and, by his gait, None of the meanest; some great Potentate Or of the Thrones above; such majesty Invests him coming! yet not terrible, That I should fear; nor sociably mild, As Raphael, that I should much confide; But solemn and sublime; whom not to offend, With reverence I must meet, and thou retire. He ended: and the Arch-Angel soon drew nigh, Not in his shape celestial, but as man Clad to meet man; over his lucid arms A military vest of purple flowed, Livelier than Meliboean, or the grain Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old In time of truce; Iris had dipt the woof; His starry helm unbuckled showed him prime In manhood where youth ended; by his side, As in a glistering zodiack, hung the sword, Satan's dire dread; and in his hand the spear. Adam bowed low; he, kingly, from his state Inclined not, but his coming thus declared. Adam, Heaven's high behest no preface needs: Sufficient that thy prayers are heard; and Death, Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress, Defeated of his seisure many days Given thee of grace; wherein thou mayest repent, And one bad act with many deeds well done Mayest cover: Well may then thy Lord, appeased, Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious claim; But longer in this Paradise to dwell Permits not: to remove thee I am come, And send thee from the garden forth to till The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil. He added not; for Adam at the news Heart-struck with chilling gripe of sorrow stood, That all his senses bound; Eve, who unseen Yet all had heard, with audible lament Discovered soon the place of her retire. O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death! Must I thus leave thee$ Paradise? thus leave Thee, native soil! these happy walks and shades, Fit haunt of Gods? where I had hope to spend, Quiet though sad, the respite of that day That must be mortal to us both. O flowers, That never will in other climate grow, My early visitation, and my last ;t even, which I bred up with tender hand From the first opening bud, and gave ye names! Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount? Thee lastly, nuptial bower! by me adorned With what to sight or smell was sweet! from thee How shall I part, and whither wander down Into a lower world; to this obscure And wild? how shall we breathe in other air Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits? Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild. Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign What justly thou hast lost, nor set thy heart, Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine: Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes Thy husband; whom to follow thou art bound; Where he abides, think there thy native soil. Adam, by this from the cold sudden damp Recovering, and his scattered spirits returned, To Michael thus his humble words addressed. Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or named Of them the highest; for such of shape may seem Prince above princes! gently hast thou told Thy message, which might else in telling wound, And in performing end us; what besides Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair, Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring, Departure from this happy place, our sweet Recess, and only consolation left Familiar to our eyes! all places else Inhospitable appear, and desolate; Nor knowing us, nor known: And, if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of Him who all things can, I would not cease To weary him with my assiduous cries: But prayer against his absolute decree No more avails than breath against the wind, Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth: Therefore to his great bidding I submit. This most afflicts me, that, departing hence, As from his face I shall be hid, deprived His blessed countenance: Here I could frequent With worship place by place where he vouchsafed Presence Divine; and to my sons relate, 'On this mount he appeared; under this tree 'Stood visible; among these pines his voice 'I heard; here with him at this fountain talked: So many grateful altars I would rear Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone Of lustre from the brook, in memory, Or monument to ages; and theron Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers: In yonder nether world where shall I seek His bright appearances, or foot-step trace? For though I fled him angry, yet recalled To life prolonged and promised race, I now Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts Of glory; and far off his steps adore. To whom thus Michael with regard benign. Adam, thou knowest Heaven his, and all the Earth; Not this rock only; his Omnipresence fills Land, sea, and air, and every kind that lives, Fomented by his virtual power and warmed: All the earth he gave thee to possess and rule, No despicable gift; surmise not then His presence to these narrow bounds confined Of Paradise, or Eden: this had been Perhaps thy capital seat, from whence had spread All generations; and had hither come From all the ends of the earth, to celebrate And reverence thee, their great progenitor. But this pre-eminence thou hast lost, brought down To dwell on even ground now with thy sons: Yet doubt not but in valley, and in plain, God is, as here; and will be found alike Present; and of his presence many a sign Still following thee, still compassing thee round With goodness and paternal love, his face Express, and of his steps the track divine. Which that thou mayest believe, and be confirmed Ere thou from hence depart; know, I am sent To show thee what shall come in future days To thee, and to thy offspring: good with bad Expect to hear; supernal grace contending With sinfulness of men; thereby to learn True patience, and to temper joy with fear And pious sorrow; equally inured By moderation either state to bear, Prosperous or adverse: so shalt thou lead Safest thy life, and best prepared endure Thy mortal passage when it comes.--Ascend This hill; let Eve (for I have drenched her eyes) Here sleep below; while thou to foresight wakest; As once thou sleptst, while she to life was formed. To whom thus Adam gratefully replied. Ascend, I follow thee, safe Guide, the path Thou leadest me; and to the hand of Heaven submit, However chastening; to the evil turn My obvious breast; arming to overcome By suffering, and earn rest from labour won, If so I may attain. -- So both ascend In the visions of God. It was a hill, Of Paradise the highest; from whose top The hemisphere of earth, in clearest ken, Stretched out to the amplest reach of prospect lay. Not higher that hill, nor wider looking round, Whereon, for different cause, the Tempter set Our second Adam, in the wilderness; To show him all Earth's kingdoms, and their glory. His eye might there command wherever stood City of old or modern fame, the seat Of mightiest empire, from the destined walls Of Cambalu, seat of Cathaian Can, And Samarchand by Oxus, Temir's throne, To Paquin of Sinaean kings; and thence To Agra and Lahor of great Mogul, Down to the golden Chersonese; or where The Persian in Ecbatan sat, or since In Hispahan; or where the Russian Ksar In Mosco; or the Sultan in Bizance, Turchestan-born; nor could his eye not ken The empire of Negus to his utmost port Ercoco, and the less maritim kings Mombaza, and Quiloa, and Melind, And Sofala, thought Ophir, to the realm Of Congo, and Angola farthest south; Or thence from Niger flood to Atlas mount The kingdoms of Almansor, Fez and Sus, Morocco, and Algiers, and Tremisen; On Europe thence, and where Rome was to sway The world: in spirit perhaps he also saw Rich Mexico, the seat of Montezume, And Cusco in Peru, the richer seat Of Atabalipa; and yet unspoiled Guiana, whose great city Geryon's sons Call El Dorado. But to nobler sights Michael from Adam's eyes the film removed, Which that false fruit that promised clearer sight Had bred; then purged with euphrasy and rue The visual nerve, for he had much to see; And from the well of life three drops instilled. So deep the power of these ingredients pierced, Even to the inmost seat of mental sight, That Adam, now enforced to close his eyes, Sunk down, and all his spirits became entranced; But him the gentle Angel by the hand Soon raised, and his attention thus recalled. Adam, now ope thine eyes; and first behold The effects, which thy original crime hath wrought In some to spring from thee; who never touched The excepted tree; nor with the snake conspired; Nor sinned thy sin; yet from that sin derive Corruption, to bring forth more violent deeds. His eyes he opened, and beheld a field, Part arable and tilth, whereon were sheaves New reaped; the other part sheep-walks and folds; I' the midst an altar as the land-mark stood, Rustick, of grassy sord; thither anon A sweaty reaper from his tillage brought First fruits, the green ear, and the yellow sheaf, Unculled, as came to hand; a shepherd next, More meek, came with the firstlings of his flock, Choicest and best; then, sacrificing, laid The inwards and their fat, with incense strowed, On the cleft wood, and all due rights performed: His offering soon propitious fire from Heaven Consumed with nimble glance, and grateful steam; The other's not, for his was not sincere; Whereat he inly raged, and, as they talked, Smote him into the midriff with a stone That beat out life; he fell;and, deadly pale, Groaned out his soul with gushing blood effused. Much at that sight was Adam in his heart Dismayed, and thus in haste to the Angel cried. O Teacher, some great mischief hath befallen To that meek man, who well had sacrificed; Is piety thus and pure devotion paid? To whom Michael thus, he also moved, replied. These two are brethren, Adam, and to come Out of thy loins; the unjust the just hath slain, For envy that his brother's offering found From Heaven acceptance; but the bloody fact Will be avenged; and the other's faith, approved, Lose no reward; though here thou see him die, Rolling in dust and gore. To which our sire. Alas! both for the deed, and for the cause! But have I now seen Death? Is this the way I must return to native dust? O sight Of terrour, foul and ugly to behold, Horrid to think, how horrible to feel! To whom thus Michael. Death thou hast seen In his first shape on Man; but many shapes Of Death, and many are the ways that lead To his grim cave, all dismal; yet to sense More terrible at the entrance, than within. Some, as thou sawest, by violent stroke shall die; By fire, flood, famine, by intemperance more In meats and drinks, which on the earth shall bring Diseases dire, of which a monstrous crew Before thee shall appear; that thou mayest know What misery the inabstinence of Eve Shall bring on Men. Immediately a place Before his eyes appeared, sad, noisome, dark; A lazar-house it seemed; wherein were laid Numbers of all diseased; all maladies Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms Of heart-sick agony, all feverous kinds, Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs, Intestine stone and ulcer, colick-pangs, Demoniack phrenzy, moaping melancholy, And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy, Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence, Dropsies, and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums. Dire was the tossing, deep the groans; Despair Tended the sick busiest from couch to couch; And over them triumphant Death his dart Shook, but delayed to strike, though oft invoked With vows, as their chief good, and final hope. Sight so deform what heart of rock could long Dry-eyed behold? Adam could not, but wept, Though not of woman born; compassion quelled His best of man, and gave him up to tears A space, till firmer thoughts restrained excess; And, scarce recovering words, his plaint renewed. O miserable mankind, to what fall Degraded, to what wretched state reserved! Better end here unborn. Why is life given To be thus wrested from us? rather, why Obtruded on us thus? who, if we knew What we receive, would either no accept Life offered, or soon beg to lay it down; Glad to be so dismissed in peace. Can thus The image of God in Man, created once So goodly and erect, though faulty since, To such unsightly sufferings be debased Under inhuman pains? Why should not Man, Retaining still divine similitude In part, from such deformities be free, And, for his Maker's image sake, exempt? Their Maker's image, answered Michael, then Forsook them, when themselves they vilified To serve ungoverned Appetite; and took His image whom they served, a brutish vice, Inductive mainly to the sin of Eve. Therefore so abject is their punishment, Disfiguring not God's likeness, but their own; Or if his likeness, by themselves defaced; While they pervert pure Nature's healthful rules To loathsome sickness; worthily, since they God's image did not reverence in themselves. I yield it just, said Adam, and submit. But is there yet no other way, besides These painful passages, how we may come To death, and mix with our connatural dust? There is, said Michael, if thou well observe The rule of Not too much; by temperance taught, In what thou eatest and drinkest; seeking from thence Due nourishment, not gluttonous delight, Till many years over thy head return: So mayest thou live; till, like ripe fruit, thou drop Into thy mother's lap; or be with ease Gathered, nor harshly plucked; for death mature: This is Old Age; but then, thou must outlive Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty; which will change To withered, weak, and gray; thy senses then, Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forego, To what thou hast; and, for the air of youth, Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign A melancholy damp of cold and dry To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume The balm of life. To whom our ancestor. Henceforth I fly not death, nor would prolong Life much; bent rather, how I may be quit, Fairest and easiest, of this cumbrous charge; Which I must keep till my appointed day Of rendering up, and patiently attend My dissolution. Michael replied. Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou livest Live well; how long, or short, permit to Heaven: And now prepare thee for another sight. He looked, and saw a spacious plain, whereon Were tents of various hue; by some, were herds Of cattle grazing; others, whence the sound Of instruments, that made melodious chime, Was heard, of harp and organ; and, who moved Their stops and chords, was seen; his volant touch, Instinct through all proportions, low and high, Fled and pursued transverse the resonant fugue. In other part stood one who, at the forge Labouring, two massy clods of iron and brass Had melted, (whether found where casual fire Had wasted woods on mountain or in vale, Down to the veins of earth; thence gliding hot To some cave's mouth; or whether washed by stream From underground;) the liquid ore he drained Into fit moulds prepared; from which he formed First his own tools; then, what might else be wrought Fusil or graven in metal. After these, But on the hither side, a different sort From the high neighbouring hills, which was their seat, Down to the plain descended; by their guise Just men they seemed, and all their study bent To worship God aright, and know his works Not hid; nor those things last, which might preserve Freedom and peace to Men; they on the plain Long had not walked, when from the tents, behold! A bevy of fair women, richly gay In gems and wanton dress; to the harp they sung Soft amorous ditties, and in dance came on: The men, though grave, eyed them; and let their eyes Rove without rein; till, in the amorous net Fast caught, they liked; and each his liking chose; And now of love they treat, till the evening-star, Love's harbinger, appeared; then, all in heat They light the nuptial torch, and bid invoke Hymen, then first to marriage rites invoked: With feast and musick all the tents resound. Such happy interview, and fair event Of love and youth not lost, songs, garlands, flowers, And charming symphonies, attached the heart Of Adam, soon inclined to admit delight, The bent of nature; which he thus expressed. True opener of mine eyes, prime Angel blest; Much better seems this vision, and more hope Of peaceful days portends, than those two past; Those were of hate and death, or pain much worse; Here Nature seems fulfilled in all her ends. To whom thus Michael. Judge not what is best By pleasure, though to nature seeming meet; Created, as thou art, to nobler end Holy and pure, conformity divine. Those tents thou sawest so pleasant, were the tents Of wickedness, wherein shall dwell his race Who slew his brother; studious they appear Of arts that polish life, inventers rare; Unmindful of their Maker, though his Spirit Taught them; but they his gifts acknowledged none. Yet they a beauteous offspring shall beget; For that fair female troop thou sawest, that seemed Of Goddesses, so blithe, so smooth, so gay, Yet empty of all good wherein consists Woman's domestick honour and chief praise; Bred only and completed to the taste Of lustful appetence, to sing, to dance, To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye: To these that sober race of men, whose lives Religious titled them the sons of God, Shall yield up all their virtue, all their fame Ignobly, to the trains and to the smiles Of these fair atheists; and now swim in joy, Erelong to swim at large; and laugh, for which The world erelong a world of tears must weep. To whom thus Adam, of short joy bereft. O pity and shame, that they, who to live well Entered so fair, should turn aside to tread Paths indirect, or in the mid way faint! But still I see the tenour of Man's woe Holds on the same, from Woman to begin. From Man's effeminate slackness it begins, Said the Angel, who should better hold his place By wisdom, and superiour gifts received. But now prepare thee for another scene. He looked, and saw wide territory spread Before him, towns, and rural works between; Cities of men with lofty gates and towers, Concourse in arms, fierce faces threatening war, Giants of mighty bone and bold emprise; Part wield their arms, part curb the foaming steed, Single or in array of battle ranged Both horse and foot, nor idly mustering stood; One way a band select from forage drives A herd of beeves, fair oxen and fair kine, From a fat meadow ground; or fleecy flock, Ewes and their bleating lambs over the plain, Their booty; scarce with life the shepherds fly, But call in aid, which makes a bloody fray; With cruel tournament the squadrons join; Where cattle pastured late, now scattered lies With carcasses and arms the ensanguined field, Deserted: Others to a city strong Lay siege, encamped; by battery, scale, and mine, Assaulting; others from the wall defend With dart and javelin, stones, and sulphurous fire; On each hand slaughter, and gigantick deeds. In other part the sceptered heralds call To council, in the city-gates; anon Gray-headed men and grave, with warriours mixed, Assemble, and harangues are heard; but soon, In factious opposition; till at last, Of middle age one rising, eminent In wise deport, spake much of right and wrong, Of justice, or religion, truth, and peace, And judgement from above: him old and young Exploded, and had seized with violent hands, Had not a cloud descending snatched him thence Unseen amid the throng: so violence Proceeded, and oppression, and sword-law, Through all the plain, and refuge none was found. Adam was all in tears, and to his guide Lamenting turned full sad; O!what are these, Death's ministers, not men? who thus deal death Inhumanly to men, and multiply Ten thousandfold the sin of him who slew His brother: for of whom such massacre Make they, but of their brethren; men of men But who was that just man, whom had not Heaven Rescued, had in his righteousness been lost? To whom thus Michael. These are the product Of those ill-mated marriages thou sawest; Where good with bad were matched, who of themselves Abhor to join; and, by imprudence mixed, Produce prodigious births of body or mind. Such were these giants, men of high renown; For in those days might only shall be admired, And valour and heroick virtue called; To overcome in battle, and subdue Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite Man-slaughter, shall be held the highest pitch Of human glory; and for glory done Of triumph, to be styled great conquerours Patrons of mankind, Gods, and sons of Gods; Destroyers rightlier called, and plagues of men. Thus fame shall be achieved, renown on earth; And what most merits fame, in silence hid. But he, the seventh from thee, whom thou beheldst The only righteous in a world preverse, And therefore hated, therefore so beset With foes, for daring single to be just, And utter odious truth, that God would come To judge them with his Saints; him the Most High Rapt in a balmy cloud with winged steeds Did, as thou sawest, receive, to walk with God High in salvation and the climes of bliss, Exempt from death; to show thee what reward Awaits the good; the rest what punishment; Which now direct thine eyes and soon behold. He looked, and saw the face of things quite changed; The brazen throat of war had ceased to roar; All now was turned to jollity and game, To luxury and riot, feast and dance; Marrying or prostituting, as befel, Rape or adultery, where passing fair Allured them; thence from cups to civil broils. At length a reverend sire among them came, And of their doings great dislike declared, And testified against their ways; he oft Frequented their assemblies, whereso met, Triumphs or festivals; and to them preached Conversion and repentance, as to souls In prison, under judgements imminent: But all in vain: which when he saw, he ceased Contending, and removed his tents far off; Then, from the mountain hewing timber tall, Began to build a vessel of huge bulk; Measured by cubit, length, and breadth, and highth; Smeared round with pitch; and in the side a door Contrived; and of provisions laid in large, For man and beast: when lo, a wonder strange! Of every beast, and bird, and insect small, Came sevens, and pairs; and entered in as taught Their order: last the sire and his three sons, With their four wives; and God made fast the door. Mean while the south-wind rose, and, with black wings Wide-hovering, all the clouds together drove From under Heaven; the hills to their supply Vapour, and exhalation dusk and moist, Sent up amain; and now the thickened sky Like a dark cieling stood; down rushed the rain Impetuous; and continued, till the earth No more was seen: the floating vessel swum Uplifted, and secure with beaked prow Rode tilting o'er the waves; all dwellings else Flood overwhelmed, and them with all their pomp Deep under water rolled; sea covered sea, Sea without shore; and in their palaces, Where luxury late reigned, sea-monsters whelped And stabled; of mankind, so numerous late, All left, in one small bottom swum imbarked. How didst thou grieve then, Adam, to behold The end of all thy offspring, end so sad, Depopulation! Thee another flood, Of tears and sorrow a flood, thee also drowned, And sunk thee as thy sons; till, gently reared By the Angel, on thy feet thou stoodest at last, Though comfortless; as when a father mourns His children, all in view destroyed at once; And scarce to the Angel utter'dst thus thy plaint. O visions ill foreseen! Better had I Lived ignorant of future! so had borne My part of evil only, each day's lot Enough to bear; those now, that were dispensed The burden of many ages, on me light At once, by my foreknowledge gaining birth Abortive, to torment me ere their being, With thought that they must be. Let no man seek Henceforth to be foretold, what shall befall Him or his children; evil he may be sure, Which neither his foreknowing can prevent; And he the future evil shall no less In apprehension than in substance feel, Grievous to bear: but that care now is past, Man is not whom to warn: those few escaped Famine and anguish will at last consume, Wandering that watery desart: I had hope, When violence was ceased, and war on earth, All would have then gone well; peace would have crowned With length of happy days the race of Man; But I was far deceived; for now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste. How comes it thus? unfold, celestial Guide, And whether here the race of Man will end. To whom thus Michael. Those, whom last thou sawest In triumph and luxurious wealth, are they First seen in acts of prowess eminent And great exploits, but of true virtue void; Who, having spilt much blood, and done much wast Subduing nations, and achieved thereby Fame in the world, high titles, and rich prey; Shall change their course to pleasure, ease, and sloth, Surfeit, and lust; till wantonness and pride Raise out of friendship hostile deeds in peace. The conquered also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose And fear of God; from whom their piety feigned In sharp contest of battle found no aid Against invaders; therefore, cooled in zeal, Thenceforth shall practice how to live secure, Worldly or dissolute, on what their lords Shall leave them to enjoy; for the earth shall bear More than enough, that temperance may be tried: So all shall turn degenerate, all depraved; Justice and temperance, truth and faith, forgot; One man except, the only son of light In a dark age, against example good, Against allurement, custom, and a world Offended: fearless of reproach and scorn, The grand-child, with twelve sons encreased, departs From Canaan, to a land hereafter called Egypt, divided by the river Nile; See where it flows, disgorging at seven mouths Into the sea: To sojourn in that land He comes, invited by a younger son In time of dearth; a son, whose worthy deeds Raise him to be the second in that realm Of Pharaoh: There he dies, and leaves his race Growing into a nation, and now grown Suspected to a sequent king, who seeks To stop their overgrowth, as inmate guests Or violence, he of their wicked ways Shall them admonish; and before them set The paths of righteousness, how much more safe And full of peace; denouncing wrath to come On their impenitence; and shall return Of them derided, but of God observed The one just man alive; by his command Shall build a wonderous ark, as thou beheldst, To save himself, and houshold, from amidst A world devote to universal wrack. No sooner he, with them of man and beast Select for life, shall in the ark be lodged, And sheltered round; but all the cataracts Of Heaven set open on the Earth shall pour Rain, day and night; all fountains of the deep, Broke up, shall heave the ocean to usurp Beyond all bounds; till inundation rise Above the highest hills: Then shall this mount Of Paradise by might of waves be moved Out of his place, pushed by the horned flood, With all his verdure spoiled, and trees adrift, Down the great river to the opening gulf, And there take root an island salt and bare, The haunt of seals, and orcs, and sea-mews' clang: To teach thee that God attributes to place No sanctity, if none be thither brought By men who there frequent, or therein dwell. And now, what further shall ensue, behold. He looked, and saw the ark hull on the flood, Which now abated; for the clouds were fled, Driven by a keen north-wind, that, blowing dry, Wrinkled the face of deluge, as decayed; And the clear sun on his wide watery glass Gazed hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew, As after thirst; which made their flowing shrink From standing lake to tripping ebb, that stole With soft foot towards the deep; who now had stopt His sluces, as the Heaven his windows shut. The ark no more now floats, but seems on ground, Fast on the top of some high mountain fixed. And now the tops of hills, as rocks, appear; With clamour thence the rapid currents drive, Towards the retreating sea, their furious tide. Forthwith from out the ark a raven flies, And after him, the surer messenger, A dove sent forth once and again to spy Green tree or ground, whereon his foot may light: The second time returning, in his bill An olive-leaf he brings, pacifick sign: Anon dry ground appears, and from his ark The ancient sire descends, with all his train; Then with uplifted hands, and eyes devout, Grateful to Heaven, over his head beholds A dewy cloud, and in the cloud a bow Conspicuous with three lifted colours gay, Betokening peace from God, and covenant new. Whereat the heart of Adam, erst so sad, Greatly rejoiced; and thus his joy broke forth. O thou, who future things canst represent As present, heavenly Instructer! I revive At this last sight; assured that Man shall live, With all the creatures, and their seed preserve. Far less I now lament for one whole world Of wicked sons destroyed, than I rejoice For one man found so perfect, and so just, That God vouchsafes to raise another world From him, and all his anger to forget. But say, what mean those coloured streaks in Heaven Distended, as the brow of God appeased? Or serve they, as a flowery verge, to bind The fluid skirts of that same watery cloud, Lest it again dissolve, and shower the earth? To whom the Arch-Angel. Dextrously thou aimest; So willingly doth God remit his ire, Though late repenting him of Man depraved; Grieved at his heart, when looking down he saw The whole earth filled with violence, and all flesh Corrupting each their way; yet, those removed, Such grace shall one just man find in his sight, That he relents, not to blot out mankind; And makes a covenant never to destroy The earth again by flood; nor let the sea Surpass his bounds; nor rain to drown the world, With man therein or beast; but, when he brings Over the earth a cloud, will therein set His triple-coloured bow, whereon to look, And call to mind his covenant: Day and night, Seed-time and harvest, heat and hoary frost, Shall hold their course; till fire purge all things new, Both Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell.
But al to litel, weylaway the whyle, Lasteth swich Ioye, y-thonked be Fortune! That semeth trewest, whan she wol bygyle, And can to foles so hir song entune, That she hem hent and blent, traytour comune; And whan a wight is from hir wheel y-throwe, Than laugheth she, and maketh him the mowe. From Troilus she gan hir brighte face Awey to wrythe, and took of him non hede, But caste him clene out of his lady grace, And on hir wheel she sette up Diomede; For which right now myn herte ginneth blede, And now my penne, allas! With which I wryte, Quaketh for drede of that I moot endyte. For how Criseyde Troilus forsook, Or at the leste, how that she was unkinde, Mot hennes-forth ben matere of my book, As wryten folk through which it is in minde. Allas! That they sholde ever cause finde To speke hir harm; and if they on hir lye, Y-wis, hem-self sholde han the vilanye. O ye Herines, Nightes doughtren three, That endelees compleynen ever in pyne, Megera, Alete, and eek Thesiphone; Thou cruel Mars eek, fader to Quiryne, This ilke ferthe book me helpeth fyne, So that the los of lyf and love y-fere Of Troilus be fully shewed here. Explicit prohemium. Incipit Quartus Liber. Ligginge in ost, as I have seyd er this, The Grekes stronge, aboute Troye toun, Bifel that, whan that Phebus shyning is Up-on the brest of Hercules Lyoun, That Ector, with ful many a bold baroun, Caste on a day with Grekes for to fighte, As he was wont to greve hem what he mighte. Not I how longe or short it was bitwene This purpos and that day they fighte mente; But on a day wel armed, bright and shene, Ector, and many a worthy wight out wente, With spere in hond and bigge bowes bente; And in the herd, with-oute lenger lette, Hir fomen in the feld anoon hem mette. The longe day, with speres sharpe y-grounde, With arwes, dartes, swerdes, maces felle, They fighte and bringen hors and man to grounde, And with hir axes out the braynes quelle. But in the laste shour, sooth for to telle, The folk of Troye hem-selven so misledden, That with the worse at night homward they fledden. At whiche day was taken Antenor, Maugre Polydamas or Monesteo, Santippe, Sarpedon, Polynestor, Polyte, or eek the Troian daun Ripheo, And othere lasse folk, as Phebuseo. So that, for harm, that day the folk of Troye Dredden to lese a greet part of hir Ioye. Of Pryamus was yeve, at Greek requeste, A tyme of trewe, and tho they gonnen trete, Hir prisoneres to chaungen, moste and leste, And for the surplus yeven sommes grete. This thing anoon was couth in every strete, Bothe in thassege, in toune, and every-where, And with the firste it cam to Calkas ere. Whan Calkas knew this tretis sholde holde, In consistorie, among the Grekes, sone He gan in thringe forth, with lordes olde, And sette him there-as he was wont to done; And with a chaunged face hem bad a bone, For love of god, to don that reverence, To stinte noyse, and yeve him audience. Thanne seyde he thus, `Lo! Lordes myne, I was Troian, as it is knowen out of drede; And, if that yow remembre, I am Calkas, That alderfirst yaf comfort to your nede, And tolde wel how that ye sholden spede. For dredelees, thorugh yow, shal, in a stounde, Ben Troye y-brend, and beten doun to grounde. `And in what forme, or in what maner wyse This town to shende, and al your lust to acheve, Ye han er this wel herd it me devyse; This knowe ye, my lordes, as I leve. And for the Grekes weren me so leve, I com my-self in my propre persone, To teche in this how yow was best to done; `Havinge un-to my tresour ne my rente Right no resport, to respect of your ese. Thus al my good I loste and to yow wente, Wening in this you, lordes, for to plese. But al that los ne doth me no disese. I vouche-sauf, as wisly have I Ioye, For you to lese al that I have in Troye, `Save of a doughter, that I lafte, allas! Slepinge at hoom, whanne out of Troye I sterte. O sterne, O cruel fader that I was! How mighte I have in that so hard an herte? Allas! I ne hadde y-brought hir in hir sherte! For sorwe of which I wol not live to morwe, But-if ye lordes rewe up-on my sorwe. `For, by that cause I say no tyme er now Hir to delivere, I holden have my pees; But now or never, if that it lyke yow, I may hir have right sone, doutelees. O help and grace! Amonges al this prees, Rewe on this olde caitif in destresse, Sin I through yow have al this hevinesse! `Ye have now caught and fetered in prisoun Troians y-nowe; and if your willes be, My child with oon may have redempcioun. Now for the love of god and of bountee, Oon of so fele, allas! So yeve him me. What nede were it this preyere for to werne, Sin ye shul bothe han folk and toun as yerne? `On peril of my lyf, I shal nat lye, Appollo hath me told it feithfully; I have eek founde it be astronomye, By sort, and by augurie eek trewely, And dar wel seye, the tyme is faste by, That fyr and flaumbe on al the toun shal sprede; And thus shal Troye turne to asshen dede. `For certeyn, Phebus and Neptunus bothe, That makeden the walles of the toun, Ben with the folk of Troye alwey so wrothe, That thei wol bringe it to confusioun, Right in despyt of king Lameadoun. By-cause he nolde payen hem hir hyre, The toun of Troye shal ben set on-fyre.' Telling his tale alwey, this olde greye, Humble in speche, and in his lokinge eke, The salte teres from his eyen tweye Ful faste ronnen doun by eyther cheke. So longe he gan of socour hem by-seke That, for to hele him of his sorwes sore, They yave him Antenor, with-oute more. But who was glad y-nough but Calkas tho? And of this thing ful sone his nedes leyde On hem that sholden for the tretis go, And hem for Antenor ful ofte preyde To bringen hoom king Toas and Criseyde; And whan Pryam his save-garde sente, Thembassadours to Troye streyght they wente. The cause y-told of hir cominge, the olde Pryam the king ful sone in general Let here-upon his parlement to holde, Of which the effect rehersen yow I shal. Thembassadours ben answered for fynal, Theschaunge of prisoners and al this nede Hem lyketh wel, and forth in they procede. This Troilus was present in the place, Whan axed was for Antenor Criseyde, For which ful sone chaungen gan his face, As he that with tho wordes wel neigh deyde. But nathelees, he no word to it seyde, Lest men sholde his affeccioun espye; With mannes herte he gan his sorwes drye. And ful of anguissh and of grisly drede Abood what lordes wolde un-to it seye; And if they wolde graunte, as god forbede, Theschaunge of hir, than thoughte he thinges tweye, First, how to save hir honour, and what weye He mighte best theschaunge of hir withstonde; Ful faste he caste how al this mighte stonde. Love him made al prest to doon hir byde, And rather dye than she sholde go; But resoun seyde him, on that other syde, `With-oute assent of hir ne do not so, Lest for thy werk she wolde be thy fo, And seyn, that thorugh thy medling is y-blowe Your bother love, there it was erst unknowe.' For which he gan deliberen, for the beste, That though the lordes wolde that she wente, He wolde lat hem graunte what hem leste, And telle his lady first what that they mente. And whan that she had seyd him hir entente, Ther-after wolde he werken also blyve, Though al the world ayein it wolde stryve. Ector, which that wel the Grekes herde, For Antenor how they wolde han Criseyde, Gan it withstonde, and sobrely answerde: -- `Sires, she nis no prisoner,' he seyde; `I noot on yow who that this charge leyde, But, on my part, ye may eft-sone hem telle, We usen here no wommen for to selle.' The noyse of peple up-stirte thanne at ones, As breme as blase of straw y-set on fyre; For infortune it wolde, for the nones, They sholden hir confusioun desyre. `Ector,' quod they, `what goost may yow enspyre This womman thus to shilde and doon us lese Daun Antenor? -- a wrong wey now ye chese -- `That is so wys, and eek so bold baroun, And we han nede to folk, as men may see; He is eek oon, the grettest of this toun; O Ector, lat tho fantasyes be! O king Priam,' quod they, `thus seggen we, That al our voys is to for-gon Criseyde;' And to deliveren Antenor they preyde. O Iuvenal, lord! Trewe is thy sentence, That litel witen folk what is to yerne That they ne finde in hir desyr offence; For cloud of errour let hem not descerne What best is; and lo, here ensample as yerne. This folk desiren now deliveraunce Of Antenor, that broughte hem to mischaunce! For he was after traytour to the toun Of Troye; allas! They quitte him out to rathe; O nyce world, lo, thy discrecioun! Criseyde, which that never dide hem skathe, Shal now no lenger in hir blisse bathe; But Antenor, he shal com hoom to toune, And she shal out; thus seyden here and howne. For which delibered was by parlement For Antenor to yelden out Criseyde, And it pronounced by the president, Al-theigh that Ector `nay' ful ofte preyde. And fynaly, what wight that it with-seyde, It was for nought, it moste been, and sholde; For substaunce of the parlement it wolde. Departed out of parlement echone, This Troilus, with-oute wordes mo, Un-to his chaumbre spedde him faste allone, But-if it were a man of his or two, The whiche he bad out faste for to go, By-cause he wolde slepen, as he seyde, And hastely up-on his bed him leyde. And as in winter leves been biraft, Eche after other, til the tree be bare, So that ther nis but bark and braunche y-laft, Lyth Troilus, biraft of ech wel-fare, Y-bounden in the blake bark of care, Disposed wood out of his wit to breyde, So sore him sat the chaunginge of Criseyde. He rist him up, and every dore he shette And windowe eek, and tho this sorweful man Up-on his beddes syde a-doun him sette, Ful lyk a deed image pale and wan; And in his brest the heped wo bigan Out-breste, and he to werken in this wyse In his woodnesse, as I shal yow devyse. Right as the wilde bole biginneth springe Now here, now there, y-darted to the herte, And of his deeth roreth in compleyninge, Right so gan he aboute the chaumbre sterte, Smyting his brest ay with his festes smerte; His heed to the wal, his body to the grounde Ful ofte he swapte, him-selven to confounde. His eyen two, for pitee of his herte, Out stremeden as swifte welles tweye; The heighe sobbes of his sorwes smerte His speche him refte, unnethes mighte he seye, `O deeth, allas! Why niltow do me deye? A-cursed be the day which that nature Shoop me to ben a lyves creature!' But after, whan the furie and the rage Which that his herte twiste and faste threste, By lengthe of tyme somwhat gan asswage, Up-on his bed he leyde him doun to reste; But tho bigonne his teres more out-breste, That wonder is, the body may suffyse To half this wo, which that I yow devyse. Than seyde he thus, `Fortune! Allas the whyle! What have I doon, what have I thus a-gilt? How mightestow for reuthe me bigyle? Is ther no grace, and shal I thus be spilt? Shal thus Criseyde awey, for that thou wilt? Allas! How maystow in thyn herte finde To been to me thus cruel and unkinde? `Have I thee nought honoured al my lyve, As thou wel wost, above the goddes alle? Why wiltow me fro Ioye thus depryve? O Troilus, what may men now thee calle But wrecche of wrecches, out of honour falle In-to miserie, in which I wol biwayle Criseyde, allas! Til that the breeth me fayle? `Allas, Fortune! If that my lyf in Ioye Displesed hadde un-to thy foule envye, Why ne haddestow my fader, king of Troye, By-raft the lyf, or doon my bretheren dye, Or slayn my-self, that thus compleyne and crye, I, combre-world, that may of no-thing serve, But ever dye, and never fully sterve? `If that Criseyde allone were me laft, Nought roughte I whider thou woldest me stere; And hir, allas! Than hastow me biraft. But ever-more, lo! This is thy manere, To reve a wight that most is to him dere, To preve in that thy gerful violence. Thus am I lost, ther helpeth no defence! `O verray lord of love, O god, allas! That knowest best myn herte and al my thought, What shal my sorwful lyf don in this cas If I for-go that I so dere have bought? Sin ye Cryseyde and me han fully brought In-to your grace, and bothe our hertes seled, How may ye suffre, allas! It be repeled? `What I may doon, I shal, whyl I may dure On lyve in torment and in cruel peyne, This infortune or this disaventure, Allone as I was born, y-wis, compleyne; Ne never wil I seen it shyne or reyne; But ende I wil, as Edippe, in derknesse My sorwful lyf, and dyen in distresse. `O wery goost, that errest to and fro, Why niltow fleen out of the wofulleste Body, that ever mighte on grounde go? O soule, lurkinge in this wo, unneste, Flee forth out of myn herte, and lat it breste, And folwe alwey Criseyde, thy lady dere; Thy righte place is now no lenger here! `O wofulle eyen two, sin your disport Was al to seen Criseydes eyen brighte, What shal ye doon but, for my discomfort, Stonden for nought, and wepen out your sighte? Sin she is queynt, that wont was yow to lighte, In veyn fro-this-forth have I eyen tweye Y-formed, sin your vertue is a-weye. `O my Criseyde, O lady sovereyne Of thilke woful soule that thus cryeth, Who shal now yeven comfort to the peyne? Allas, no wight; but when myn herte dyeth, My spirit, which that so un-to yow hyeth, Receyve in gree, for that shal ay yow serve; For-thy no fors is, though the body sterve. `O ye loveres, that heighe upon the wheel Ben set of Fortune, in good aventure, God leve that ye finde ay love of steel, And longe mot your lyf in Ioye endure! But whan ye comen by my sepulture, Remembreth that your felawe resteth there; For I lovede eek, though I unworthy were. `O olde, unholsom, and mislyved man, Calkas I mene, allas! What eyleth thee To been a Greek, sin thou art born Troian? O Calkas, which that wilt my bane be, In cursed tyme was thou born for me! As wolde blisful Iove, for his Ioye, That I thee hadde, where I wolde, in Troye!' A thousand sykes, hottere than the glede, Out of his brest ech after other wente, Medled with pleyntes newe, his wo to fede, For which his woful teres never stente; And shortly, so his peynes him to-rente, And wex so mat, that Ioye nor penaunce He feleth noon, but lyth forth in a traunce. Pandare, which that in the parlement Hadde herd what every lord and burgeys seyde, And how ful graunted was, by oon assent, For Antenor to yelden so Criseyde, Gan wel neigh wood out of his wit to breyde, So that, for wo, he niste what he mente; But in a rees to Troilus he wente. A certeyn knight, that for the tyme kepte The chaumbre-dore, un-dide it him anoon; And Pandare, that ful tendreliche wepte, In-to the derke chaumbre, as stille as stoon, Toward the bed gan softely to goon, So confus, that he niste what to seye; For verray wo his wit was neigh aweye. And with his chere and loking al to-torn, For sorwe of this, and with his armes folden, He stood this woful Troilus biforn, And on his pitous face he gan biholden; But lord, so often gan his herte colden, Seing his freend in wo, whos hevinesse His herte slow, as thoughte him, for distresse. This woful wight, this Troilus, that felte His freend Pandare y-comen him to see, Gan as the snow ayein the sonne melte, For which this sorwful Pandare, of pitee, Gan for to wepe as tendreliche as he; And specheles thus been thise ilke tweye, That neyther mighte o word for sorwe seye. But at the laste this woful Troilus, Ney deed for smert, gan bresten out to rore, And with a sorwful noyse he seyde thus, Among his sobbes and his sykes sore, `Lo! Pandare, I am deed, with-outen more. Hastow nought herd at parlement,' he seyde, `For Antenor how lost is my Criseyde?' This Pandarus, ful deed and pale of hewe, Ful pitously answerde and seyde, `Yis! As wisly were it fals as it is trewe, That I have herd, and wot al how it is. O mercy, god, who wolde have trowed this? Who wolde have wend that, in so litel a throwe, Fortune our Ioye wolde han over-throwe? `For in this world ther is no creature, As to my doom, that ever saw ruyne Straungere than this, thorugh cas or aventure. But who may al eschewe, or al devyne? Swich is this world; for-thy I thus defyne, Ne trust no wight to finden in Fortune Ay propretee; hir yeftes been comune. `But tel me this, why thou art now so mad To sorwen thus? Why lystow in this wyse, Sin thy desyr al holly hastow had, So that, by right, it oughte y-now suffyse? But I, that never felte in my servyse A frendly chere or loking of an ye, Lat me thus wepe and wayle, til I dye. `And over al this, as thou wel wost thy-selve, This town is ful of ladies al aboute; And, to my doom, fairer than swiche twelve As ever she was, shal I finde, in som route, Ye, oon or two, with-outen any doute. For-thy be glad, myn owene dere brother, If she be lost, we shal recovere another. `What, god for-bede alwey that ech plesaunce In o thing were, and in non other wight! If oon can singe, another can wel daunce; If this be goodly, she is glad and light; And this is fayr, and that can good a-right. Ech for his vertu holden is for dere, Bothe heroner and faucon for rivere. `And eek, as writ Zanzis, that was ful wys, "The newe love out chaceth ofte the olde;" And up-on newe cas lyth newe avys. Thenk eek, thy-self to saven artow holde; Swich fyr, by proces, shal of kinde colde. For sin it is but casuel plesaunce, Som cas shal putte it out of remembraunce. `For al-so seur as day cometh after night, The newe love, labour or other wo, Or elles selde seinge of a wight, Don olde affecciouns alle over-go. And, for thy part, thou shalt have oon of tho To abrigge with thy bittre peynes smerte; Absence of hir shal dryve hir out of herte.' Thise wordes seyde he for the nones alle, To helpe his freend, lest he for sorwe deyde. For douteles, to doon his wo to falle, He roughte not what unthrift that he seyde. But Troilus, that neigh for sorwe deyde, Tok litel hede of al that ever he mente; Oon ere it herde, at the other out it wente: But at the laste answerde and seyde, `Freend, This lechecraft, or heled thus to be, Were wel sitting, if that I were a feend, To traysen hir that trewe is unto me! I pray god, lat this consayl never y-thee; But do me rather sterve anon-right here Er I thus do as thou me woldest lere. `She that I serve, y-wis, what so thou seye, To whom myn herte enhabit is by right, Shal han me holly hires til that I deye. For, Pandarus, sin I have trouthe hir hight, I wol not been untrewe for no wight; But as hir man I wol ay live and sterve, And never other creature serve. `And ther thou seyst, thou shalt as faire finde As she, lat be, make no comparisoun To creature y-formed here by kinde. O leve Pandare, in conclusioun, I wol not be of thyn opinioun, Touching al this; for whiche I thee biseche, So hold thy pees; thou sleest me with thy speche. `Thow biddest me I sholde love an-other Al freshly newe, and lat Criseyde go! It lyth not in my power, leve brother. And though I mighte, I wolde not do so. But canstow pleyen raket, to and fro, Netle in, dokke out, now this, now that, Pandare? Now foule falle hir, for thy wo that care! `Thow farest eek by me, thou Pandarus, As he, that whan a wight is wo bi-goon, He cometh to him a pas, and seyth right thus, "Thenk not on smert, and thou shalt fele noon." Thou most me first transmuwen in a stoon, And reve me my passiounes alle, Er thou so lightly do my wo to falle. `The deeth may wel out of my brest departe The lyf, so longe may this sorwe myne; But fro my soule shal Criseydes darte Out never-mo; but doun with Proserpyne, Whan I am deed, I wol go wone in pyne; And ther I wol eternaly compleyne My wo, and how that twinned be we tweyne. `Thow hast here maad an argument, for fyn, How that it sholde a lasse peyne be Criseyde to for-goon, for she was myn, And live in ese and in felicitee. Why gabbestow, that seydest thus to me That "him is wors that is fro wele y-throwe, Than he hadde erst non of that wele y-knowe?" `But tel me now, sin that thee thinketh so light To chaungen so in love, ay to and fro, Why hastow not don bisily thy might To chaungen hir that doth thee al thy wo? Why niltow lete hir fro thyn herte go? Why niltow love an-other lady swete, That may thyn herte setten in quiete? `If thou hast had in love ay yet mischaunce, And canst it not out of thyn herte dryve, I, that livede in lust and in plesaunce With hir as muche as creature on-lyve, How sholde I that foryete, and that so blyve? O where hastow ben hid so longe in muwe, That canst so wel and formely arguwe? `Nay, nay, god wot, nought worth is al thy reed, For which, for what that ever may bifalle, With-outen wordes mo, I wol be deed. O deeth, that endere art of sorwes alle, Com now, sin I so ofte after thee calle, For sely is that deeth, soth for to seyne, That, ofte y-cleped, cometh and endeth peyne. `Wel wot I, whyl my lyf was in quiete, Er thou me slowe, I wolde have yeven hyre; But now thy cominge is to me so swete, That in this world I no-thing so desyre. O deeth, sin with this sorwe I am a-fyre, Thou outher do me anoon yn teres drenche, Or with thy colde strook myn hete quenche! `Sin that thou sleest so fele in sondry wyse Ayens hir wil, unpreyed, day and night, Do me, at my requeste, this servyse, Delivere now the world, so dostow right, Of me, that am the wofulleste wight That ever was; for tyme is that I sterve, Sin in this world of right nought may I serve.' This Troilus in teres gan distille, As licour out of alambyk ful faste; And Pandarus gan holde his tunge stille, And to the ground his eyen doun he caste. But nathelees, thus thoughte he at the laste, `What, parde, rather than my felawe deye, Yet shal I som-what more un-to him seye:' And seyde, `Freend, sin thou hast swich distresse, And sin thee list myn arguments to blame, Why nilt thy-selven helpen doon redresse, And with thy manhod letten al this grame? Go ravisshe hir ne canstow not for shame! And outher lat hir out of toune fare, Or hold hir stille, and leve thy nyce fare. `Artow in Troye, and hast non hardiment To take a womman which that loveth thee, And wolde hir-selven been of thyn assent? Now is not this a nyce vanitee? Rys up anoon, and lat this weping be, And kyth thou art a man, for in this houre I wil be deed, or she shal bleven oure.' To this answerde him Troilus ful softe, And seyde, `Parde, leve brother dere, Al this have I my-self yet thought ful ofte, And more thing than thou devysest here. But why this thing is laft, thou shalt wel here; And whan thou me hast yeve an audience, Ther-after mayst thou telle al thy sentence. `First, sin thou wost this toun hath al this werre For ravisshing of wommen so by might, It sholde not be suffred me to erre, As it stant now, ne doon so gret unright. I sholde han also blame of every wight, My fadres graunt if that I so withstode, Sin she is chaunged for the tounes goode. `I have eek thought, so it were hir assent, To aske hir at my fader, of his grace; Than thenke I, this were hir accusement, Sin wel I woot I may hir not purchace. For sin my fader, in so heigh a place As parlement, hath hir eschaunge enseled, He nil for me his lettre be repeled. `Yet drede I most hir herte to pertourbe With violence, if I do swich a game; For if I wolde it openly distourbe, It moste been disclaundre to hir name. And me were lever deed than hir defame, As nolde god but-if I sholde have Hir honour lever than my lyf to save! `Thus am I lost, for ought that I can see; For certeyn is, sin that I am hir knight, I moste hir honour levere han than me In every cas, as lovere oughte of right. Thus am I with desyr and reson twight; Desyr for to destourben hir me redeth, And reson nil not, so myn herte dredeth.' Thus wepinge that he coude never cesse, He seyde, `Allas! How shal I, wrecche, fare? For wel fele I alwey my love encresse, And hope is lasse and lasse alwey, Pandare! Encressen eek the causes of my care; So wel-a-wey, why nil myn herte breste? For, as in love, ther is but litel reste.' Pandare answerde, `Freend, thou mayst, for me, Don as thee list; but hadde ich it so hote, And thyn estat, she sholde go with me; Though al this toun cryede on this thing by note, I nolde sette at al that noyse a grote. For when men han wel cryed, than wol they roune; A wonder last but nyne night never in toune. `Devyne not in reson ay so depe Ne curteysly, but help thy-self anoon; Bet is that othere than thy-selven wepe, And namely, sin ye two been al oon. Rys up, for by myn heed, she shal not goon; And rather be in blame a lyte y-founde Than sterve here as a gnat, with-oute wounde. `It is no shame un-to yow, ne no vyce Hir to with-holden, that ye loveth most. Paraunter, she mighte holden thee for nyce To lete hir go thus to the Grekes ost. Thenk eek Fortune, as wel thy-selven wost, Helpeth hardy man to his enpryse, And weyveth wrecches, for hir cowardyse. `And though thy lady wolde a litel hir greve, Thou shalt thy pees ful wel here-after make, But as for me, certayn, I can not leve That she wolde it as now for yvel take. Why sholde than for ferd thyn herte quake? Thenk eek how Paris hath, that is thy brother, A love; and why shaltow not have another? `And Troilus, o thing I dar thee swere, That if Criseyde, whiche that is thy leef, Now loveth thee as wel as thou dost here, God helpe me so, she nil nat take a-greef, Though thou do bote a-noon in this mischeef. And if she wilneth fro thee for to passe, Thanne is she fals; so love hir wel the lasse. `For-thy tak herte, and thenk, right as a knight, Thourgh love is broken alday every lawe. Kyth now sumwhat thy corage and thy might, Have mercy on thy-self, for any awe. Lat not this wrecched wo thin herte gnawe, But manly set the world on sixe and sevene; And, if thou deye a martir, go to hevene. `I wol my-self be with thee at this dede, Though ich and al my kin, up-on a stounde, Shulle in a strete as dogges liggen dede, Thourgh-girt with many a wyd and blody wounde. In every cas I wol a freend be founde. And if thee list here sterven as a wrecche, A-dieu, the devel spede him that it recche!' This Troilus gan with tho wordes quiken, And seyde, `Freend, graunt mercy, ich assente; But certaynly thou mayst not me so priken, Ne peyne noon ne may me so tormente, That, for no cas, it is not myn entente, At shorte wordes, though I dyen sholde, To ravisshe hir, but-if hir-self it wolde.' `Why, so mene I,' quod Pandarus, `al this day. But tel me than, hastow hir wil assayed, That sorwest thus?' And he answerde, `Nay.' `Wher-of artow,' quod Pandare, `than a-mayed, That nost not that she wol ben y-vel apayed To ravisshe hir, sin thou hast not ben there, But-if that Iove tolde it in thyn ere? `For-thy rys up, as nought ne were, anoon, And wash thy face, and to the king thou wende, Or he may wondren whider thou art goon. Thou most with wisdom him and othere blende; Or, up-on cas, he may after thee sende Er thou be war; and shortly, brother dere, Be glad, and lat me werke in this matere. `For I shal shape it so, that sikerly Thou shalt this night som tyme, in som manere, Com speke with thy lady prevely, And by hir wordes eek, and by hir chere, Thou shalt ful sone aperceyve and wel here Al hir entente, and in this cas the beste; And fare now wel, for in this point I reste.' The swifte Fame, whiche that false thinges Egal reporteth lyk the thinges trewe, Was thorugh-out Troye y-fled with preste winges Fro man to man, and made this tale al newe, How Calkas doughter, with hir brighte hewe, At parlement, with-oute wordes more, I-graunted was in chaunge of Antenore. The whiche tale anoon-right as Criseyde Had herd, she, which that of hir fader roughte, As in this cas, right nought, ne whanne he deyde, Ful bisily to Iuppiter bisoughte Yeve hem mischaunce that this tretis broughte. But shortly, lest thise tales sothe were, She dorste at no wight asken it, for fere. As she that hadde hir herte and al hir minde On Troilus y-set so wonder faste, That al this world ne mighte hir love unbinde, Ne Troilus out of hir herte caste; She wol ben his, whyl that hir lyf may laste. And thus she brenneth bothe in love and drede, So that she niste what was best to rede. But as men seen in toune, and al aboute, That wommen usen frendes to visyte, So to Criseyde of wommen com a route For pitous Ioye, and wenden hir delyte; And with hir tales, dere y-nough a myte, These wommen, whiche that in the cite dwelle, They sette hem doun, and seyde as I shal telle. Quod first that oon, `I am glad, trewely, By-cause of yow, that shal your fader see.' A-nother seyde, `Y-wis, so nam not I, For al to litel hath she with us be.' Quod tho the thridde, `I hope, y-wis, that she Shal bringen us the pees on every syde, That, whan she gooth, almighty god hir gyde!' Tho wordes and tho wommanisshe thinges, She herde hem right as though she thennes were; For, god it wot, hir herte on other thing is, Although the body sat among hem there. Hir advertence is alwey elles-where; For Troilus ful faste hir soule soughte; With-outen word, alwey on him she thoughte. Thise wommen, that thus wenden hir to plese, Aboute nought gonne alle hir tales spende; Swich vanitee ne can don hir non ese, As she that, al this mene whyle. brende Of other passioun than that they wende, So that she felte almost hir herte deye For wo, and wery of that companye. For which no lenger mighte she restreyne Hir teres, so they gonnen up to welle, That yaven signes of the bitter peyne In whiche hir spirit was, and moste dwelle; Remembring hir, fro heven unto which helle She fallen was, sith she forgoth the sighte Of Troilus, and sorowfully she sighte. And thilke foles sittinge hir aboute Wenden, that she wepte and syked sore By-cause that she sholde out of that route Departe, and never pleye with hem more. And they that hadde y-knowen hir of yore Seye hir so wepe, and thoughte it kindenesse, And eche of hem wepte eek for hir destresse; And bisily they gonnen hir conforten Of thing, god wot, on which she litel thoughte; And with hir tales wenden hir disporten, And to be glad they often hir bisoughte. But swich an ese ther-with they hir wroughte Right as a man is esed for to fele, For ache of heed, to clawen him on his hele! But after al this nyce vanitee They took hir leve, and hoom they wenten alle. Criseyde, ful of sorweful pitee, In-to hir chaumbre up wente out of the halle, And on hir bed she gan for deed to falle, In purpos never thennes for to ryse; And thus she wroughte, as I shal yow devyse. Hir ounded heer, that sonnish was of hewe, She rente, and eek hir fingres longe and smale She wrong ful ofte, and bad god on hir rewe, And with the deeth to doon bote on hir bale. Hir hewe, whylom bright, that tho was pale, Bar witnes of hir wo and hir constreynte; And thus she spak, sobbinge, in hir compleynte: `Alas!' quod she, `out of this regioun I, woful wrecche and infortuned wight, And born in corsed constellacioun, Mot goon, and thus departen fro my knight; Wo worth, allas! That ilke dayes light On which I saw him first with eyen tweyne, That causeth me, and I him, al this peyne!' Therwith the teres from hir eyen two Doun fille, as shour in Aperill ful swythe; Hir whyte brest she bet, and for the wo After the deeth she cryed a thousand sythe, Sin he that wont hir wo was for to lythe, She mot for-goon; for which disaventure She held hir-self a forlost creature. She seyde, `How shal he doon, and I also? How sholde I live, if that I from him twinne? O dere herte eek, that I love so, Who shal that sorwe sleen that ye ben inne? O Calkas, fader, thyn be al this sinne! O moder myn, that cleped were Argyve, Wo worth that day that thou me bere on lyve! `To what fyn sholde I live and sorwen thus? How sholde a fish with-oute water dure? What is Criseyde worth, from Troilus? How sholde a plaunte or lyves creature Live, with-oute his kinde noriture? For which ful oft a by-word here I seye, That "rotelees, mot grene sone deye." `I shal don thus, sin neither swerd ne darte Dar I non handle, for the crueltee, That ilke day that I from yow departe, If sorwe of that nil not my bane be, Than shal no mete or drinke come in me Til I my soule out of my breste unshethe; And thus my-selven wol I do to dethe. `And, Troilus, my clothes everichoon Shul blake been, in tokeninge, herte swete, That I am as out of this world agoon, That wont was yow to setten in quiete; And of myn ordre, ay til deeth me mete, The observaunce ever, in your absence, Shal sorwe been, compleynte, and abstinence. `Myn herte and eek the woful goost ther-inne Biquethe I, with your spirit to compleyne Eternally, for they shal never twinne. For though in erthe y-twinned be we tweyne, Yet in the feld of pitee, out of peyne, That hight Elysos, shul we been y-fere, As Orpheus and Erudice, his fere. `Thus, herte myn, for Antenor, allas! I sone shal be chaunged, as I wene. But how shul ye don in this sorwful cas, How shal youre tendre herte this sustene? But herte myn, for-yet this sorwe and tene, And me also; for, soothly for to seye, So ye wel fare, I recche not to deye.' How mighte it ever y-red ben or y-songe, The pleynte that she made in hir distresse? I noot; but, as for me, my litel tonge, If I discreven wolde hir hevinesse, It sholde make hir sorwe seme lesse Than that it was, and childishly deface Hir heigh compleynte, and therfore I it pace. Pandare, which that sent from Troilus Was to Criseyde, as ye han herd devyse, That for the beste it was accorded thus, And he ful glad to doon him that servyse, Un-to Criseyde, in a ful secree wyse, Ther-as she lay in torment and in rage, Com hir to telle al hoolly his message, And fond that she hir-selven gan to trete Ful pitously; for with hir salte teres Hir brest, hir face, y-bathed was ful wete; The mighty tresses of hir sonnish heres, Unbroyden, hangen al aboute hir eres; Which yaf him verray signal of martyre Of deeth, which that hir herte gan desyre. Whan she him saw, she gan for sorwe anoon Hir tery face a-twixe hir armes hide, For which this Pandare is so wo bi-goon, That in the hous he mighte unnethe abyde, As he that pitee felte on every syde. For if Criseyde hadde erst compleyned sore, Tho gan she pleyne a thousand tymes more. And in hir aspre pleynte than she seyde, `Pandare first of Ioyes mo than two Was cause causinge un-to me, Criseyde, That now transmuwed been in cruel wo. Wher shal I seye to yow "wel come" or no, That alderfirst me broughte in-to servyse Of love, allas! That endeth in swich wyse? `Endeth than love in wo? Ye, or men lyeth! And alle worldly blisse, as thinketh me. The ende of blisse ay sorwe it occupyeth; And who-so troweth not that it so be, Lat him upon me, woful wrecche, y-see, That my-self hate, and ay my birthe acorse, Felinge alwey, fro wikke I go to worse. `Who-so me seeth, he seeth sorwe al at ones, Peyne, torment, pleynte, wo, distresse. Out of my woful body harm ther noon is, As anguish, langour, cruel bitternesse, A-noy, smert, drede, fury, and eek siknesse. I trowe, y-wis, from hevene teres reyne, For pitee of myn aspre and cruel peyne! ' `And thou, my suster, ful of discomfort,' Quod Pandarus, `what thenkestow to do? Why ne hastow to thy-selven som resport, Why woltow thus thy-selve, allas, for-do? Leef al this werk and tak now hede to That I shal seyn, and herkne, of good entente, This, which by me thy Troilus thee sente.' Torned hir tho Criseyde, a wo makinge So greet that it a deeth was for to see: -- `Allas!' quod she, `what wordes may ye bringe? What wol my dere herte seyn to me, Which that I drede never-mo to see? Wol he have pleynte or teres, er I wende? I have y-nowe, if he ther-after sende!' She was right swich to seen in hir visage As is that wight that men on bere binde; Hir face, lyk of Paradys the image, Was al y-chaunged in another kinde. The pleye, the laughtre men was wont to finde On hir, and eek hir Ioyes everychone, Ben fled, and thus lyth now Criseyde allone. Aboute hir eyen two a purpre ring Bi-trent, in sothfast tokninge of hir peyne, That to biholde it was a dedly thing, For which Pandare mighte not restreyne The teres from his eyen for to reyne. But nathelees, as he best mighte, he seyde From Troilus thise wordes to Criseyde. `Lo, nece, I trowe ye han herd al how The king, with othere lordes, for the beste, Hath mad eschaunge of Antenor and yow, That cause is of this sorwe and this unreste. But how this cas doth Troilus moleste, That may non erthely mannes tonge seye; For verray wo his wit is al aweye. `For which we han so sorwed, he and I, That in-to litel bothe it hadde us slawe; But thurgh my conseil this day, fynally, He somwhat is fro weping now with-drawe. And semeth me that he desyreth fawe With yow to been al night, for to devyse Remede in this, if ther were any wyse. `This, short and pleyne, theffect of my message, As ferforth as my wit can comprehende. For ye, that been of torment in swich rage, May to no long prologe as now entende; And her-upon ye may answere him sende. And, for the love of god, my nece dere, So leef this wo er Troilus be here.' `Gret is my wo,' quod she, and sighte sore, As she that feleth dedly sharp distresse; `But yet to me his sorwe is muchel more, That love him bet than he him-self, I gesse. Allas! For me hath he swich hevinesse? Can he for me so pitously compleyne? Y-wis, his sorwe doubleth al my peyne. `Grevous to me, god wot, is for to twinne,' Quod she, `but yet it hardere is to me To seen that sorwe which that he is inne; For wel wot I, it wol my bane be; And deye I wol in certayn,' tho quod she; `But bidde him come, er deeth, that thus me threteth, Dryve out that goost which in myn herte beteth.' Thise wordes seyd, she on hir armes two Fil gruf, and gan to wepe pitously. Quod Pandarus, `Allas! Why do ye so, Syn wel ye woot the tyme is faste by, That he shal come? Arys up hastely, That he yow nat biwopen thus ne finde, But ye wol have him wood out of his minde! `For wiste he that ye ferde in this manere, He wolde him-selve slee; and if I wende To han this fare, he sholde not come here For al the good that Pryam may despende. For to what fyn he wolde anoon pretende, That knowe I wel; and for-thy yet I seye, So leef this sorwe, or platly he wol deye. `And shapeth yow his sorwe for to abregge, And nought encresse, leve nece swete; Beth rather to him cause of flat than egge, And with som wysdom ye his sorwes bete. What helpeth it to wepen ful a strete, Or though ye bothe in salte teres dreynte? Bet is a tyme of cure ay than of pleynte. `I mene thus; whan I him hider bringe, Sin ye ben wyse, and bothe of oon assent, So shapeth how distourbe your goinge, Or come ayen, sone after ye be went. Wommen ben wyse in short avysement; And lat sen how your wit shal now avayle; And what that I may helpe, it shal not fayle.' `Go,' quod Criseyde, `and uncle, trewely, I shal don al my might, me to restreyne From weping in his sighte, and bisily, Him for to glade, I shal don al my peyne, And in myn herte seken every veyne; If to this soor ther may be founden salve, It shal not lakken, certain, on myn halve.' Goth Pandarus, and Troilus he soughte, Til in a temple he fond him allone, As he that of his lyf no lenger roughte; But to the pitouse goddes everichone Ful tendrely he preyde, and made his mone, To doon him sone out of this world to pace; For wel he thoughte ther was non other grace. And shortly, al the sothe for to seye, He was so fallen in despeyr that day, That outrely he shoop him for to deye. For right thus was his argument alwey: He seyde, he nas but loren, waylawey! `For al that comth, comth by necessitee; Thus to be lorn, it is my destinee. `For certaynly, this wot I wel,' he seyde, `That for-sight of divyne purveyaunce Hath seyn alwey me to for-gon Criseyde, Sin god seeth every thing, out of doutaunce, And hem disponeth, thourgh his ordenaunce, In hir merytes sothly for to be, As they shul comen by predestinee. `But nathelees, allas! Whom shal I leve? For ther ben grete clerkes many oon, That destinee thorugh argumentes preve; And som men seyn that nedely ther is noon; But that free chois is yeven us everichoon. O, welaway! So sleye arn clerkes olde, That I not whos opinion I may holde. `For som men seyn, if god seth al biforn, Ne god may not deceyved ben, pardee, Than moot it fallen, though men hadde it sworn, That purveyaunce hath seyn bifore to be. Wherfor I seye, that from eterne if he Hath wist biforn our thought eek as our dede, We have no free chois, as these clerkes rede. `For other thought nor other dede also Might never be, but swich as purveyaunce, Which may not ben deceyved never-mo, Hath feled biforn, with-outen ignoraunce. For if ther mighte been a variaunce To wrythen out fro goddes purveyinge, Ther nere no prescience of thing cominge; `But it were rather an opinioun Uncerteyn, and no stedfast forseinge; And certes, that were an abusioun, That god shuld han no parfit cleer witinge More than we men that han doutous weninge. But swich an errour up-on god to gesse Were fals and foul, and wikked corsednesse. `Eek this is an opinioun of somme That han hir top ful heighe and smothe y-shore; They seyn right thus, that thing is not to come For that the prescience hath seyn bifore That it shal come; but they seyn that therfore That it shal come, therfore the purveyaunce Wot it biforn with-outen ignoraunce; `And in this manere this necessitee Retorneth in his part contrarie agayn. For needfully bihoveth it not to be That thilke thinges fallen in certayn That ben purveyed; but nedely, as they seyn, Bihoveth it that thinges, whiche that falle, That they in certayn ben purveyed alle. `I mene as though I laboured me in this, To enqueren which thing cause of which thing be; As whether that the prescience of god is The certayn cause of the necessitee Of thinges that to comen been, pardee; Or if necessitee of thing cominge Be cause certeyn of the purveyinge. `But now ne enforce I me nat in shewinge How the ordre of causes stant; but wel wot I, That it bihoveth that the bifallinge Of thinges wist biforen certeynly Be necessarie, al seme it not ther-by That prescience put falling necessaire To thing to come, al falle it foule or faire. `For if ther sit a man yond on a see, Than by necessitee bihoveth it That, certes, thyn opinioun soth be, That wenest or coniectest that he sit; And ferther-over now ayenward yit, Lo, right so it is of the part contrarie, As thus; (now herkne, for I wol not tarie): `I seye, that if the opinioun of thee Be sooth, for that he sit, than seye I this, That he mot sitten by necessitee; And thus necessitee in either is. For in him nede of sittinge is, y-wis, And in thee nede of sooth; and thus, forsothe, Ther moot necessitee ben in yow bothe. `But thou mayst seyn, the man sit not therfore, That thyn opinioun of sitting soth is; But rather, for the man sit ther bifore, Therfore is thyn opinioun sooth, y-wis. And I seye, though the cause of sooth of this Comth of his sitting, yet necessitee Is entrechaunged, bothe in him and thee. `Thus on this same wyse, out of doutaunce, I may wel maken, as it semeth me, My resoninge of goddes purveyaunce, And of the thinges that to comen be; By whiche reson men may wel y-see, That thilke thinges that in erthe falle, That by necessitee they comen alle. `For al-though that, for thing shal come, y-wis, Therfore is it purveyed, certaynly, Nat that it comth for it purveyed is: Yet nathelees, bihoveth it nedfully, That thing to come be purveyed, trewely; Or elles, thinges that purveyed be, That they bityden by necessitee. `And this suffyseth right y-now, certeyn, For to destroye our free chois every del. -- But now is this abusion, to seyn, That fallinge of the thinges temporel Is cause of goddes prescience eternel. Now trewely, that is a fals sentence, That thing to come sholde cause his prescience. `What mighte I wene, and I hadde swich a thought, But that god purveyth thing that is to come For that it is to come, and elles nought? So mighte I wene that thinges alle and some, That whylom been bifalle and over-come, Ben cause of thilke sovereyn purveyaunce, That for-wot al with-outen ignoraunce. `And over al this, yet seye I more herto, That right as whan I woot ther is a thing, Y-wis, that thing mot nedefully be so; Eek right so, whan I woot a thing coming, So mot it come; and thus the bifalling Of thinges that ben wist bifore the tyde, They mowe not been eschewed on no syde.' Than seyde he thus, `Almighty Iove in trone, That wost of al this thing the soothfastnesse, Rewe on my sorwe, or do me deye sone, Or bring Criseyde and me fro this distresse.' And whyl he was in al this hevinesse, Disputinge with him-self in this matere, Com Pandare in, and seyde as ye may here. `O mighty god,' quod Pandarus, `in trone, Ey! Who seigh ever a wys man faren so? Why, Troilus, what thenkestow to done? Hastow swich lust to been thyn owene fo? What, parde, yet is not Criseyde a-go! Why list thee so thy-self for-doon for drede, That in thyn heed thyn eyen semen dede? `Hastow not lived many a yeer biforn With-outen hir, and ferd ful wel at ese? Artow for hir and for non other born? Hath kinde thee wroughte al-only hir to plese? Lat be, and thenk right thus in thy disese. That, in the dees right as ther fallen chaunces, Right so in love, ther come and goon plesaunces. `And yet this is a wonder most of alle, Why thou thus sorwest, sin thou nost not yit, Touching hir goinge, how that it shal falle, Ne if she can hir-self distorben it. Thou hast not yet assayed al hir wit. A man may al by tyme his nekke bede Whan it shal of, and sorwen at the nede. `For-thy take hede of that that I shal seye; I have with hir y-spoke and longe y-be, So as accorded was bitwixe us tweye. And ever-mor me thinketh thus, that she Hath som-what in hir hertes prevetee, Wher-with she can, if I shal right arede, Distorbe al this, of which thou art in drede. `For which my counseil is, whan it is night, Thou to hir go, and make of this an ende; And blisful Iuno, thourgh hir grete mighte, Shal, as I hope, hir grace un-to us sende. Myn herte seyth, "Certeyn, she shal not wende;" And for-thy put thyn herte a whyle in reste; And hold this purpos, for it is the beste.' This Troilus answerde, and sighte sore, `Thou seyst right wel, and I wil do right so;' And what him liste, he seyde un-to it more. And whan that it was tyme for to go, Ful prevely him-self, with-outen mo, Un-to hir com, as he was wont to done; And how they wroughte, I shal yow telle sone. Soth is, that whan they gonne first to mete, So gan the peyne hir hertes for to twiste, That neither of hem other mighte grete, But hem in armes toke and after kiste. The lasse wofulle of hem bothe niste Wher that he was, ne mighte o word out-bringe, As I seyde erst, for wo and for sobbinge. Tho woful teres that they leten falle As bittre weren, out of teres kinde, For peyne, as is ligne aloes or galle. So bittre teres weep nought, as I finde, The woful Myrra through the bark and rinde. That in this world ther nis so hard an herte, That nolde han rewed on hir peynes smerte. But whan hir woful wery gostes tweyne Retorned been ther-as hem oughte dwelle, And that som-what to wayken gan the peyne By lengthe of pleynte, and ebben gan the welle Of hire teres, and the herte unswelle, With broken voys, al hoors for-shright, Criseyde To Troilus thise ilke wordes seyde: `O Iove, I deye, and mercy I beseche! Help, Troilus!' And ther-with-al hir face Upon his brest she leyde, and loste speche; Hir woful spirit from his propre place, Right with the word, alwey up poynt to pace. And thus she lyth with hewes pale and grene, That whylom fresh and fairest was to sene. This Troilus, that on hir gan biholde, Clepinge hir name, (and she lay as for deed, With-oute answere, and felte hir limes colde, Hir eyen throwen upward to hir heed), This sorwful man can now noon other reed, But ofte tyme hir colde mouth he kiste; Wher him was wo, god and him-self it wiste! He rist him up, and long streight he hir leyde; For signe of lyf, for ought he can or may, Can he noon finde in no-thing on Criseyde, For which his song ful ofte is `weylaway!' But whan he saugh that specheles she lay, With sorwful voys and herte of blisse al bare, He seyde how she was fro this world y-fare! So after that he longe hadde hir compleyned, His hondes wrong, and seyde that was to seye, And with his teres salte hir brest bireyned, He gan tho teris wypen of ful dreye, And pitously gan for the soule preye, And seyde, `O lord, that set art in thy trone, Rewe eek on me, for I shal folwe hir sone!' She cold was and with-outen sentement, For aught he woot, for breeth ne felte he noon; And this was him a preignant argument That she was forth out of this world agoon; And whan he seigh ther was non other woon, He gan hir limes dresse in swich manere As men don hem that shul be leyd on bere. And after this, with sterne and cruel herte, His swerd a-noon out of his shethe he twighte, Him-self to sleen, how sore that him smerte, So that his sowle hir sowle folwen mighte, Ther-as the doom of Mynos wolde it dighte; Sin love and cruel Fortune it ne wolde, That in this world he lenger liven sholde. Thanne seyde he thus, fulfild of heigh desdayn, `O cruel Iove, and thou, Fortune adverse, This al and som, that falsly have ye slayn Criseyde, and sin ye may do me no werse, Fy on your might and werkes so diverse! Thus cowardly ye shul me never winne; Ther shal no deeth me fro my lady twinne. `For I this world, sin ye han slayn hir thus, Wol lete, and folowe hir spirit lowe or hye; Shal never lover seyn that Troilus Dar not, for fere, with his lady dye; For certeyn, I wol bere hir companye. But sin ye wol not suffre us liven here, Yet suffreth that our soules ben y-fere. `And thou, citee, whiche that I leve in wo, And thou, Pryam, and bretheren al y-fere, And thou, my moder, farwel! For I go; And Attropos, make redy thou my bere! And thou, Criseyde, o swete herte dere, Receyve now my spirit!' wolde he seye, With swerd at herte, al redy for to deye But as god wolde, of swough ther-with she abreyde, And gan to syke, and `Troilus' she cryde; And he answerde, `Lady myn Criseyde, Live ye yet?' and leet his swerd doun glyde. `Ye, herte myn, that thanked be Cupyde!' Quod she, and ther-with-al she sore sighte; And he bigan to glade hir as he mighte; Took hir in armes two, and kiste hir ofte, And hir to glade he dide al his entente; For which hir goost, that flikered ay on-lofte, In-to hir woful herte ayein it wente. But at the laste, as that hir eyen glente A-syde, anoon she gan his swerd aspye, As it lay bare, and gan for fere crye, And asked him, why he it hadde out-drawe? And Troilus anoon the cause hir tolde, And how himself ther-with he wolde have slawe. For which Criseyde up-on him gan biholde, And gan him in hir armes faste folde, And seyde, `O mercy, god, lo, which a dede! Allas! How neigh we were bothe dede! `Thanne if I ne hadde spoken, as grace was, Ye wolde han slayn your-self anoon?' quod she. `Ye, douteless;' and she answerde, `Allas! For, by that ilke lord that made me, I nolde a forlong wey on-lyve han be, After your deeth, to han been crouned quene Of al the lond the sonne on shyneth shene. `But with this selve swerd, which that here is, My-selve I wolde han slayn!' -- quod she tho; `But ho, for we han right y-now of this, And late us ryse and streight to bedde go And there lat ys speken of oure wo. For, by the morter which that I see brenne, Knowe I ful wel that day is not fer henne.' Whan they were in hir bedde, in armes folde, Nought was it lyk tho nightes here-biforn; For pitously ech other gan biholde, As they that hadden al hir blisse y-lorn, Biwaylinge ay the day that they were born. Til at the last this sorwful wight Criseyde To Troilus these ilke wordes seyde: -- `Lo, herte myn, wel wot ye this,' quod she, `That if a wight alwey his wo compleyne, And seketh nought how holpen for to be, It nis but folye and encrees of peyne; And sin that here assembled be we tweyne To finde bote of wo that we ben inne, It were al tyme sone to biginne. `I am a womman, as ful wel ye woot, And as I am avysed sodeynly, So wol I telle yow, whyl it is hoot. Me thinketh thus, that nouther ye nor I Oughte half this wo to make skilfully. For there is art y-now for to redresse That yet is mis, and sleen this hevinesse. `Sooth is, the wo, the whiche that we ben inne, For ought I woot, for no-thing elles is But for the cause that we sholden twinne. Considered al, ther nis no-more amis. But what is thanne a remede un-to this, But that we shape us sone for to mete? This al and som, my dere herte swete. `Now that I shal wel bringen it aboute To come ayein, sone after that I go, Ther-of am I no maner thing in doute. For dredeles, with-inne a wouke or two, I shal ben here; and, that it may be so By alle right, and in a wordes fewe, I shal yow wel an heep of weyes shewe. `For which I wol not make long sermoun, For tyme y-lost may not recovered be; But I wol gon to my conclusioun, And to the beste, in ought that I can see. And, for the love of god, for-yeve it me If I speke ought ayein your hertes reste; For trewely, I speke it for the beste; `Makinge alwey a protestacioun, That now these wordes, whiche that I shal seye, Nis but to shewe yow my mocioun, To finde un-to our helpe the beste weye; And taketh it non other wyse, I preye. For in effect what-so ye me comaunde, That wol I doon, for that is no demaunde. `Now herkneth this, ye han wel understonde, My goinge graunted is by parlement So ferforth, that it may not be with-stonde For al this world, as by my Iugement. And sin ther helpeth noon avysement To letten it, lat it passe out of minde; And lat us shape a bettre wey to finde. `The sothe is, that the twinninge of us tweyne Wol us disese and cruelliche anoye. But him bihoveth som-tyme han a peyne, That serveth love, if that he wol have Ioye. And sin I shal no ferthere out of Troye Than I may ryde ayein on half a morwe, It oughte lesse causen us to sorwe. `So as I shal not so ben hid in muwe, That day by day, myn owene herte dere, Sin wel ye woot that it is now a trewe, Ye shal ful wel al myn estat y-here. And er that truwe is doon, I shal ben here, And thanne have ye bothe Antenor y-wonne And me also; beth glad now, if ye conne; `And thenk right thus, "Criseyde is now agoon, But what! She shal come hastely ayeyn;" And whanne, allas? By god, lo, right anoon, Er dayes ten, this dar I saufly seyn. And thanne at erste shul we been so fayn, So as we shulle to-gederes ever dwelle, That al this world ne mighte our blisse telle. `I see that ofte, ther-as we ben now, That for the beste, our counseil for to hyde, Ye speke not with me, nor I with yow In fourtenight; ne see yow go ne ryde. May ye not ten dayes thanne abyde, For myn honour, in swich an aventure? Y-wis, ye mowen elles lite endure! `Ye knowe eek how that al my kin is here, But-if that onliche it my fader be; And eek myn othere thinges alle y-fere, And nameliche, my dere herte, ye, Whom that I nolde leven for to see For al this world, as wyd as it hath space; Or elles, see ich never Ioves face! `Why trowe ye my fader in this wyse Coveiteth so to see me, but for drede Lest in this toun that folkes me dispyse By-cause of him, for his unhappy dede? What woot my fader what lyf that I lede? For if he wiste in Troye how wel I fare, Us neded for my wending nought to care. `Ye seen that every day eek, more and more, Men trete of pees; and it supposed is, That men the quene Eleyne shal restore, And Grekes us restore that is mis. So though ther nere comfort noon but this, That men purposen pees on every syde, Ye may the bettre at ese of herte abyde. `For if that it be pees, myn herte dere, The nature of the pees mot nedes dryve That men moste entrecomunen y-fere, And to and fro eek ryde and gon as blyve Alday as thikke as been flen from an hyve; And every wight han libertee to bleve Where-as him list the bet, with-outen leve. `And though so be that pees ther may be noon, Yet hider, though ther never pees ne were, I moste come; for whider sholde I goon, Or how mischaunce sholde I dwelle there Among tho men of armes ever in fere? For which, as wisly god my soule rede, I can not seen wher-of ye sholden drede. `Have here another wey, if it so be That al this thing ne may yow not suffyse. My fader, as ye knowen wel, pardee, Is old, and elde is ful of coveityse, And I right now have founden al the gyse, With-oute net, wher-with I shal him hente; And herkeneth how, if that ye wole assente. `Lo, Troilus, men seyn that hard it is The wolf ful, and the wether hool to have; This is to seyn, that men ful ofte, y-wis, Mot spenden part, the remenant for to save. For ay with gold men may the herte grave Of him that set is up-on coveityse; And how I mene, I shal it yow devyse. `The moeble which that I have in this toun Un-to my fader shal I take, and seye, That right for trust and for savacioun It sent is from a freend of his or tweye, The whiche freendes ferventliche him preye To senden after more, and that in hye, Whyl that this toun stant thus in Iupartye. `And that shal been an huge quantitee, Thus shal I seyn, but, lest it folk aspyde, This may be sent by no wight but by me; I shal eek shewen him, if pees bityde, What frendes that ich have on every syde Toward the court, to doon the wrathe pace Of Priamus, and doon him stonde in grace. `So what for o thing and for other, swete, I shal him so enchaunten with my sawes, That right in hevene his sowle is, shal he mete! For al Appollo, or his clerkes lawes, Or calculinge avayleth nought three hawes; Desyr of gold shal so his sowle blende, That, as me lyst, I shal wel make an ende. `And if he wolde ought by his sort it preve If that I lye, in certayn I shal fonde Distorben him, and plukke him by the sleve, Makinge his sort, and beren him on honde, He hath not wel the goddes understonde. For goddes speken in amphibologyes, And, for o sooth they tellen twenty lyes. `Eek drede fond first goddes, I suppose, Thus shal I seyn, and that his cowarde herte Made him amis the goddes text to glose, Whan he for ferde out of his Delphos sterte. 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.' And treweliche, as writen wel I finde, That al this thing was seyd of good entente; 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 purpos ever to be trewe; Thus writen they that of hir werkes knewe. This Troilus, with herte and eres spradde, Herde al this thing devysen to and fro; And verraylich him semed that he hadde The selve wit; but yet to lete hir go His herte misforyaf him ever-mo. But fynally, he gan his herte wreste To trusten hir, and took it for the beste. For which the grete furie of his penaunce Was queynt with hope, and ther-with hem bitwene Bigan for Ioye 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. But natheles, the wending of Criseyde, 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, And seyde hire, `Certes, if ye be unkinde, And but ye come at day set in-to Troye, Ne shal I never have hele, honour, ne Ioye. `For al-so sooth as sonne up-rist on morwe, And, god! So wisly thou me, woful wrecche, 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! `For trewely, myn owene lady dere, Tho sleightes yet that I have herd yow stere 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 at-rede." `It is ful hard to halten unespyed Bifore a crepul, for he can the craft; Your fader is in sleighte as Argus yed; 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, Ne feyne a-right, and that is al my drede. `I noot if pees shal ever-mo bityde; But, pees or no, for ernest ne for game, I woot, sin Calkas on the Grekis syde Hath ones been, and lost so foule his name, 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. `Ye shal eek seen, your fader shal yow glose To been a wyf, and as he can wel preche, He shal som Grek so preyse and wel alose, That ravisshen he shal yow with his speche, 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! `And over al this, your fader shal despyse Us alle, and seyn this citee nis but lorn; And that thassege never shal aryse, For-why the Grekes han it alle sworn Til we be slayn, and doun our walles torn. And thus he shal yow with his wordes fere, That ay drede I, that ye wol bleve there. `Ye shul eek seen so many a lusty knight 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 Troianes, but-if routhe Remorde yow, or vertue of your trouthe. `And this to me so grevous is to thinke, That fro my brest it wol my soule rende; Ne dredeles, in me ther may not sinke A good opinioun, if that ye wende; 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. `For which, with humble, trewe, and pitous herte, 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 bitwixe us tweye; And thenk that folye is, whan man may chese, For accident his substaunce ay to lese. `I mene this, that sin we mowe er day Wel stele away, and been to-gider so, What wit were it to putten in assay, In cas ye sholden to your fader go, If that ye mighte come ayein or no? Thus mene I, that it were a gret folye To putte that sikernesse in Iupertye. `And vulgarly to speken of substaunce Of tresour, may we bothe with us lede Y-nough to live in honour and plesaunce, Til in-to tyme that we shal ben dede; And thus we may eschewen al this drede. For everich other wey ye can recorde, Myn herte, y-wis, may not ther-with acorde. `And hardily, ne dredeth no poverte, For I have kin and freendes elles-where That, though we comen in oure bare sherte, Us sholde neither lakke gold ne gere, But been honured whyl we dwelten there. And go we anoon, for, as in myn entente, This is the beste, if that ye wole assente.' Criseyde, with a syk, right in this wyse Answerde, `Y-wis, my dere herte trewe, We may wel stele away, as ye devyse, And finde swich unthrifty weyes newe; But afterward, ful sore it wol us rewe. And help me god so at my moste nede As causeles ye suffren al this drede! `For thilke day that I for cherisshinge Or drede of fader, or of other wight, Or for estat, delyt, or for weddinge, Be fals to yow, my Troilus, my knight, Saturnes doughter, Iuno, thorugh hir might, As wood as Athamante do me dwelle Eternaly in Stix, the put of helle! `And this on every god celestial I swere it yow; and eek on eche goddesse, On every Nymphe and deite infernal, On Satiry and Fauny more and lesse, That halve goddes been of wildernesse; And Attropos my threed of lyf to-breste If I be fals; now trowe me if thow leste! `And thou, Simoys, that as an arwe clere Thorugh Troye rennest ay downward to the see, Ber witnesse of this word that seyd is here, That thilke day that ich untrewe be To Troilus, myn owene herte free, That thou retorne bakwarde to thy welle, And I with body and soule sinke in helle! `But that ye speke, awey thus for to go And leten alle your freendes, god for-bede, For any womman, that ye sholden so, And namely, sin Troye hath now swich nede Of help; and eek of o thing taketh hede, If this were wist, my lif laye in balaunce, And your honour; god shilde us fro mischaunce! `And if so be that pees her-after take, As alday happeth, after anger, game, Why, lord! The sorwe and wo ye wolden make, That ye ne dorste come ayein for shame! And er that ye Iuparten so your name, Beth nought to hasty in this hote fare; For hasty man ne wanteth never care. `What trowe ye the peple eek al aboute Wolde of it seye? It is ful light to arede. They wolden seye, and swere it, out of doute, That love ne droof yow nought to doon this dede, But lust voluptuous and coward drede. Thus were al lost, y-wis, myn herte dere, Your honour, which that now shyneth so clere. `And also thenketh on myn honestee, That floureth yet, how foule I sholde it shende, And with what filthe it spotted sholde be, If in this forme I sholde with yow wende. Ne though I livede un-to the worldes ende, My name sholde I never ayeinward winne; Thus were I lost, and that were routhe and sinne. `And for-thy slee with reson al this hete; Men seyn, "The suffraunt overcometh," pardee; Eek "Who-so wol han leef, he lief mot lete;" Thus maketh vertue of necessitee By pacience, and thenk that lord is he Of fortune ay, that nought wol of hir recche; And she ne daunteth no wight but a wrecche. `And trusteth this, that certes, herte swete, Er Phebus suster, Lucina the shene, The Leoun passe out of this Ariete, I wol ben here, with-outen any wene. I mene, as helpe me Iuno, hevenes quene, The tenthe day, but-if that deeth me assayle, I wol yow seen with-outen any fayle.' `And now, so this be sooth,' quod Troilus, `I shal wel suffre un-to the tenthe day, Sin that I see that nede it moot be thus. But, for the love of god, if it be may, So lat us stele prively away; For ever in oon, as for to live in reste, Myn herte seyth that it wol been the beste.' `O mercy, god, what lyf is this?' quod she; `Allas, ye slee me thus for verray tene! I see wel now that ye mistrusten me; For by your wordes it is wel y-sene. Now, for the love of Cynthia the shene, Mistrust me not thus causeles, for routhe; Sin to be trewe I have yow plight my trouthe. `And thenketh wel, that som tyme it is wit To spende a tyme, a tyme for to winne; Ne, pardee, lorn am I nought fro yow yit, Though that we been a day or two a-twinne. Dryf out the fantasyes yow with-inne; And trusteth me, and leveth eek your sorwe, Or here my trouthe, I wol not live til morwe. `For if ye wiste how sore it doth me smerte, Ye wolde cesse of this; for god, thou wost, The pure spirit wepeth in myn herte, To see yow wepen that I love most, And that I moot gon to the Grekes ost. Ye, nere it that I wiste remedye To come ayein, right here I wolde dye! `But certes, I am not so nyce a wight That I ne can imaginen a wey To come ayein that day that I have hight. For who may holde thing that wol a-way? My fader nought, for al his queynte pley. And by my thrift, my wending out of Troye Another day shal torne us alle to Ioye. `For-thy, with al myn herte I yow beseke, If that yow list don ought for my preyere, And for the love which that I love yow eke, That er that I departe fro yow here, That of so good a comfort and a chere I may you seen, that ye may bringe at reste Myn herte, which that is at point to breste. `And over al this I pray yow,' quod she tho, `Myn owene hertes soothfast suffisaunce, Sin I am thyn al hool, with-outen mo, That whyl that I am absent, no plesaunce Of othere do me fro your remembraunce. For I am ever a-gast, for-why men rede, That "love is thing ay ful of bisy drede." `For in this world ther liveth lady noon, If that ye were untrewe, as god defende! That so bitraysed were or wo bigoon As I, that alle trouthe in yow entende. And douteles, if that ich other wende, I nere but deed; and er ye cause finde, For goddes love, so beth me not unkinde.' To this answerde Troilus and seyde, `Now god, to whom ther nis no cause y-wrye, Me glade, as wis I never un-to Criseyde, Sin thilke day I saw hir first with ye, Was fals, ne never shal til that I dye. At shorte wordes, wel ye may me leve; I can no more, it shal be founde at preve.' `Graunt mercy, goode myn, y-wis,' quod she, `And blisful Venus lat me never sterve Er I may stonde of plesaunce in degree To quyte him wel, that so wel can deserve; And whyl that god my wit wol me conserve, I shal so doon, so trewe I have yow founde, That ay honour to me-ward shal rebounde. `For trusteth wel, that your estat royal Ne veyn delyt, nor only worthinesse Of yow in werre, or torney marcial, Ne pompe, array, nobley, or eek richesse, Ne made me to rewe on your distresse; But moral vertue, grounded upon trouthe, That was the cause I first hadde on yow routhe! `Eek gentil herte and manhod that ye hadde, And that ye hadde, as me thoughte, in despyt Every thing that souned in-to badde, As rudenesse and poeplish appetyt; And that your reson brydled your delyt, This made, aboven every creature, That I was your, and shal, whyl I may dure. `And this may lengthe of yeres not for-do, Ne remuable fortune deface; But Iuppiter, that of his might may do The sorwful to be glad, so yeve us grace, Er nightes ten, to meten in this place, So that it may your herte and myn suffyse; And fareth now wel, for tyme is that ye ryse.' And after that they longe y-pleyned hadde, And ofte y-kist, and streite in armes folde, The day gan ryse, and Troilus him cladde, And rewfulliche his lady gan biholde, As he that felte dethes cares colde, And to hir grace he gan him recomaunde; Wher him was wo, this holde I no demaunde. For mannes heed imaginen ne can, Ne entendement considere, ne tonge telle The cruel peynes of this sorwful man, That passen every torment doun in helle. For whan he saugh that she ne mighte dwelle, Which that his soule out of his herte rente, With-outen more, out of the chaumbre he wente.
When passion's trance is overpast, If tenderness and truth could last, Or live, whilst all wild feelings keep Some mortal slumber, dark and deep, I should not weep, I should not weep! It were enough to feel, to see, Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly, And dream the rest--and burn and be The secret food of fires unseen, Couldst thou but be as thou hast been, After the slumber of the year The woodland violets reappear; All things revive in field or grove, And sky and sea, but two, which move And form all others, life and love.
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