PROCHEN gan the fatel destyné,
That Joves hath in dispossisioun,
And to yow, angry Parcas, sustren thre,
Comitteth to don execucioune;
For whiche Criseyde most out of the towne,
And Troilus shal dwellen forth in pyne,
Til Lachesis his thred no longer twyne.
The golde tressed Phebus, heigh on lofte,
Thries hadde alle with his bemes clere,
The snowes molte; and Zephirus as ofte
Ybrought ayeyn the tender leves grene,
Syn that the sone of Ecuba the queene
Bygan to love hire firste, for whom his sorwe
Was alle, that she departe sholde a morwe.
Ful redy was at prime Dyomede,
Criseyde unto the Grekes oste to lede;
For sorwe of which she felt hire herte blede,
As she that nyste what was best to rede
And trewely, as men in bokes rede,
Men wiste never womman han the care,
Ne was so loth out of a town to fare.
This Troilus, withouten reed or lore,
As man that hath his joyes ek forlore,
Was waytynge on his lady everemore,
As she that was sothfaste, crop and moore
Of al his lust or joyes here tofore:
But Troylus, now farewel al thy joye!
For shaltow nevere se hire eft in Troye.
Soth is, that while he bode in this manere,
He gan his wo ful manly for to hyde.
That wel unnethes it sene was in his chere;
But at the yate ther she sholde oute ryde,
With certeyn folk he hoved hire tabide,
So wo bygon, al wolde he nought hym pleyne,
That on his hors unneth he sat for peyne.
For ire he quook, so gan his herte gnawe,
Whan Dyomede on horse gan him dresse,
And seyde unto hymself this ilke sawe,
́Allas!' quod he, thus foule a wrechedenesse ! Whi suffre Ich it? whi nyl Ich it redresse? Were it not bet at oones for to dye,
Than everemore in langoure thus to crye?
'Why nyl I make atones rich and pore
To have inough to done or that she go?
Whi nyl I brynge alle Troie upon a rore?
Whi nyl I slen this Dyomede also?
Whi nyl I rather with a man or two,
Stele hire awey? Whi wol I this endure?
Whi nyl I holpen to myn owene cure?'
But whi he nolde don so fel a dede,
That shal I seyn, and whi hym liste it spare ;-He hadde in herte alweyes a manere drede, Leste that Criseyde, in rumour of this fare, Shold han ben slayn; lo! this was al hise care; And elles certeyn, as I seyde yore,
He hadde it done withouten wordes more.
Criseyde when she redy was to ride,
Ful sorwfully she sighte, and seyde, 'Allas!'
But forth she mot, for ought that may betide,
And forth she rite ful sorwfully a pas;
Ther is non other remede in this cas.
What wonder is, though that hyre soore smerte,
When she forgothe hire owen swete herte?
This Troilus, in gise of curteysie,
With hauke on hond, and with an huge route
Of knyghtes, rood and dide hyre compaynye,
Passynge alle the valeye fer withoute;
And ferther wold han riden out of doute
Ful fayn, and wo was hym to gon so soone,
But torne he moste, and it was eke to done.
And right with that was Antenor ycome
Oute of the Grekes oste, and every wight
Was of it glad, and seyde he was welcome;
And Troilus, al nere his herte lighte,
He peyned hym with al his fulle myght
Hym to with-holde of wepynge at the leeste,
And Antenor he kyste, and made feeste.
And therwithal he most his leve take,
And caste his eye upon hire pitously,
And neer he rood, his cause for to make,
To take hire by the honde al sobrely:
And Lorde! so she gan wepen tendrely!
And he ful soft and sleighely gan hire seye,
Now hold youre day, and do me not to dye.'
With that his curser turned he aboute,
With face pale, and unto Dyomede
No worde he spak, ne non of al his route;
Of whiche the sone of Tideus tooke hede,
As he that couthe moore than the crede
In swiche a craft, and by the reyne hire hente, 90 And Troilus to Troye homwarde he wente.
This Dyomede, that ledde hyre by the bridel,
When that he saugh the folk of Troye awaye,
Thoughte, 'Al my laboure shal not been on ydel,
If that Y may, for somwhat shal I
seye;
For at the werste, it may yit shorte oure weye;
I have herde seyde ek, tymes twyes twelve,
He is a fool that wol foryete hyme-selve.'
But natheles, this thoughte he wel ynoughe
Thatcerteinliche I am aboute noughte,
If that I speke of love, or mak it tough;
For douteles, if she have in hire thoughte
Hym that I gesse, he may not ben ybrought
So soone aweye, but I shal fynde a meene,
That she nat wit as yet shal what I meene.'
This Dyomede, as he that koude his goode,
When this was don, gan fallen forth in speche
Of this and that; and axed whi she stood
In swiche disese, and gan hire ek byseche
That if that he encresse myght or eche,
With any thyng hyre ese, that she sholde
Comaunde it hym, and seyde he don it wolde.
For treweliche he swor hire as a knyghte,
That ther nas thyng with whiche he myght hire
That he nolde don his peyne and al his myght,
|