"And your goodnes have I founden alway yet,
Of which, my dere herte, and al my knight,
I thanke it you, as ferre as I have wit,
Al can I nat as much as it were right,
And I emforth my conning and my might
Have, and aie shal, how sore that ye smert,
Ben to you trew and hole with all mine herte.

"And dredelesse that shal be founden at preue,
But, herte mine, what al this is to sain
Shall well be told, so that ye nought you greue
Though I to you right on your self complain,
For there with meane I finally the pain,
That halte your herte and mine in heauinesse,
Fully to slaine, and every wrong redresse.

"My good mine, not I, for why ne how
That jelousie alas, that wicked wivere,
Thus causelesse is cropen into you,

The harme of which I would faine delivere :
Alas, that he all hole or of him some slivere
Should have his refute in so digne a place,
That Jove, him sone out of your herte race.

"But O thou, O auctour of nature,
Is this an honour to thy dignite,
That folke vngilty suffren here iniure,
And who that gilty is, al quite goeth he?
O were it lefull for to plaine of the,
That vndeserved sufferest jalousie,

O, that I would vpon thee plaine and crie.

"Eke al my wo is this, that folke now vsen
To saine right thus: ye jalousie is love,
And would a bushel of veuim al excusen,
For that a grane of love is on it shove,
But that wote high Jove that sit above,
If it be liker love, hate, or grame,
And after that it ought beare his name.

"But certaine is, some maner jalousie
Is excusable, more than some iwis,
As whan cause is, and some such fantasie
With pite so well expressed is,
That it vnneth doeth or saith amis,
But goodly drinketh vp al his distresse,
And that excuse I for the gentilnesse.

“And some so full of fury is, and despite,
That it surmounteth his repression,
But, herte mine, ye be not in that plite,
That thonke I God, for which your passion,
I will nat call it but illusion

Of haboundance of love, and besie cure,
That doth your herte this disease endure.

"Of whiche I am sory, but not wrothe,
But for my deuoir and your hertes rest,
Whan so you list, by ordal or by othe,
By sorte, or in what wise so you lest,
For love of God, let preue it for the best,
And if that I be gilty, do me die,
Alas, what might I more done or seie."

With that a few bright teeres new,
Out of her eien fel, and thus she seid,
"Now God thou wost, in thought ne dede untrew
To Troilus was never yet Creseid,"

With that her heed doun in the bed she leid,
And with the shete it wrigh, and sighed sore,
And held her pece, nat a word spake she more.

But now help God, to quench al this sorow,
So hope I that he shall, for he best may,
For I have sene of a full misty morow,
Folowen ful oft a mery somers day,
And after winter foloweth grene May,
Men sene all day, and reden eke in stories,
That after sharpe shoures ben victories."

This Troilus, whan he her wordes herde,
Have ye no care, him list nat to slepe,
For it thought him no strokes of a yerde
To here or see Creseide his lady wepe,
But well he felt about his herte crepe,
For every teare which that Creseide astert,
The crampe of death, to straine him by the herte,

And in his minde he gan the time accurse
That he came there, aud that he was borne,
For now is wicke tourned into worse,
And all that labour he hath doen beforne,
He wende it lost, he thought he nas but lorne,
"O Pandarus," thought he, "alas thy wilę,
Serveth of nought, so welaway the while."

And therwithall he hing adoun his hedde,
And fell on knees, and sorowfully he sight,
What might he sain? he felt he nas but dedde,
For wroth was she that should his sorows light:
But nathelesse, whan that he speaken might,
Than said he thus, "God wote that of this game,
Whan all is wist, than am I not to blame."

Therwith the sorow of his herte shet,
That from his iyen fell there nat a tere,
And every spirite his vigour in knet,
So they astonied or oppressed were:
The feling of sorrow, or of his fere,
Or aught els, fledde were out of toune,
A doune he fell all sodainly in swoune.

This was no little sorrow for to se,
But all was husht, and Pandare up as fast,
O nece, peace, or we be lost" (quod he.)
Bethe nat agast, but certain at last,

For this or that, he into bedde him cast,

66

And saied, "O thefe, is this a mannes herte ?"
And off he rent all to his bare sherte.

And saied "Nece, but and ye helpe us now,
Alas your owne Troilus is forlorne.
"Iwis so would I, and I wist how,

Full fain" (quod she) “alas that I was borne."
"Ye, nece, woll ye pullen out the thorne
That sticketh in his herte?" (quod Pandare)
"Say all foryeve, and stint is all this fare."
"Ye, that to me" (quod she)" full lever were
Than all the good the Sunne about goeth,"
And therwithall she swore him in his eare,
"Iwis my dere herte I am not wrothe,
Have here my trouth, and many other othe,
Now speake to me, for it am I Creseide:"
But all for naught, yet might he nat abreide.

Therwith his poulce, and paums of his hondes
They gan to frote, and wete his temples twain,
And to deliver him fro bitter bondes,
She oft him kist, and shortly for to sain,
Him to rewaken she did all her pain,
And at the last he gan his breath to drawe,
And of his swough sone after that adawe,

And gan bet minde, and reason to him take, But wonder sore he was abashed iwis, And with a sigh whan he gan bet awake He saied, "O mercy God, what thing is this?" "Why do ye with your selven thus amis ?" (Quod tho Creseide) "is this a mans game, What Troilus, woll ye do thus for shame ?"

And therwithal her arm over him she laied,
And all foryave, and oftime him kest.
He thonked her, and to her spake and saied
As fill to purpose, for his hertes rest,
And she to that answerde him as her lest,
And with her goodly wordes him disport
She gan and oft his sorowes to comfort.

(Quod Pandarus) "For ought I can aspies,
This light nor I ne serven here of naught,
Light is nat good for sike folkes iyes,
But for the love of God, sens ye been brought
In this good plite, let now none heyy thought
Been hanged in the bertes of you twey,
And bare the candle to the chimney,"

Soone after this, though it no nede were,
Whan she soche othes as her list devise
Had of hem take, her thought tho no fere,
Ne cause eke none, to bid him thens rise:
Yet lesse thing than othes may suffice,
In many a case, for every wight I gesse,
That loveth well, meaneth but gentilnesse.

But in effect she would wete anon,

Of what man, and eke where, and also why
He jalous was, sens there was cause non:
And eke the signe that he toke it by,
She bade him that to tell her busily,
Or eles certain she bare him on honde,
That this was doen of malice her to fonde.

Withouten more, shortly for to sain
He must obey unto his ladies hest,

And for the lasse harme he must somwhat fain,
He saied her, whan she was at soche a fest,
She might on him have loked at the lest,
Not I nat what, all dere inough a rishe,
As he that nedes must a cause out fish.

And she answerde, "Swete, all were it so
What harme was that, sens I non evill meane?
For by that God that bought us bòthe two,
In all maner thing is mine entent cleane:
Soch arguments ne be nat worth a beane :
Woll ye the childist ialous counterfete,
Now were it worthy that ye were ibete."

Tho Troilus gan sorowfully to sike

Lest she be wroth, him thought his herte deide,
And saied, "Alas upon my sorowes sike,
Have mercy, O swete herte mine Creseide:
And if that in tho wordes that I seide,
Be any wrong, I woll no more trespace,
Doeth what you list, I am all in your grace."

And she answerde, "Of gilt misericorde,
That is to saine, that I foryeve all this,
And evermore on this night you recorde,
And bethe well ware ye do no more amis:"
"Nay, dere herte mine, no more" (quod he) "iwis."
"And now" (quod she) "that I have you do smart,
Foryeve it to me, mine owne swete herte,"

This Troilus with blisse of that surprised,
Put all in Goddes hand, as be that ment
Nothing but well, and sodainly avised
He her in his armes fast to him hent:
And Pandarus, with a full good entent,
Laied him to slepe, and saied, "If ye be wise,
Sweveneth not now, lest more folke arise."

What might or may the sely larke say,
Whan that the sparhauke hath him in his fote,
I can no more, but of these ilke tway,
(To whom this tale sugre be or sote)
Though I tary a yeere, sometime I mote,
After mine aucthour tellen hir gladnesse,
As well as I have tolde hir hevinesse.

Creseide, which that felt her thus itake,
(As writen clerkes in hir bokes old)
Right as an aspen lefe she gan to quake,
Whan she him felt her in his armes fold:
But Troilus all hole of cares cold,
Gan thanken tho the blisfull goddes seven,
Through sondry pains to bring folk to Heven,

This Troilus in armes gan her straine,
And saied "Swete, as ever mote I gone,
Now be ye caught, here is but we twaine,
Now yeldeth you, for other boote is none :"
To that Creseide answerde thus anone,
"Ne had I er now, my swete herte dere,
Been yolde iwis, I were now not here."

O soth is saied, that healed for to be
As of a fever, or other great sicknesse,
Men must drinken, as we often se,

Full bitter drinke: and for to have gladnesse
Men drinken of pain, and great distresse :
I meane it here by, as for this aventure,
That through a pain hath founden al his cure.

And now swetnesse semeth far more swete,
That bitternesse assaied was biforne,
For out of wo in blisse now they flete,
Non soch they felten sens they were borne,
Now is this bet, than both two be lorne:
For love of God, take every woman hede,
To werken thus, if it come to the nede.
Creseide all quite from every drede and tene,
As she that just cause had him to trist,
Made him soche feast, it joy was to sene,
Whan she his trouth and clene entent wist:
And as about a tree with many a twist
Bitrent and writhe the swete wodbinde,
Can eche of hem in armes other winde.

And as the newe abashed nightingale,
That stinteth first, whan she beginneth sing,
Whan that she heareth any heerdes tale,
Or in the hedges any wight stearing,
And after siker doeth her voice out ring:
Right so Creseide, whan that her drede stent,
Opened her herte, and told him her entent.
And right as he that seeth his death ishapen,
And dien mote, in aught that he may gesse,
And sodainly rescuous doeth hem escapen,
And from his death is brought in sikernesse :
For all this world, in soche present gladnesse,
Was Troilus, and hath his lady swete:
With worse hap God let us never mete,

Her armes smal, her streight backe and soft,
Her sides long, fleshy, smooth, and white,
He gan to stroke, and good thrift had full oft,
Her snowisse throte, her brestes round and lite:
Thus in this Heaven he gan him to delite,
And therwithall a thousand times her kist,
That what to doen for joy unneth he wist.

Than saied he thus, “O Love, O Charite,
Thy mother eke, Citheria the swete,
That after thy selfe, next heried be she
Ueuus I meane, the well willy planete:
And next that, Imeneus I thee grete,
For never man was to you goddes hold,

As I, which ye have brought fro cares cold.

"And for thou me, that lest thonke coud deserve
Of them that nombred been unto thy grace,
Hast holpen, there I likely was to sterve,
And me bestowed in so high a place,
That thilke boundes may no blisse surpace,
I can no more, but laude and reverence
Be to thy bounte and thine excellence"

And therwithall Creseide anon he kist;
Of whiche certain she felt no disease,
And thus saied he, "Now would God I wist,
Mine herte swete, how I you best might please:
What man" (quod he) "was ever thus at ease,
As 1? On which the fairest, and the best
That ever I seie, deineth her to rest.

"Here may men seen that mercy passeth right,
The experience of that is felt in me,
That am unworthy to so swete a wight,
But herte mine, of your benignite
So thinke, that though I unworthy be,
Yet mote I nede amenden in some wise,

Right through the vertue of your hie service.

And for the love of God, my lady dere,

Sith he hath wrought me for I shal you serve,
As thus I meane : woll ye be my fere,
To do me live, if that you list, or sterve:
So teacheth me, how that I may deserve,
Your thonk, so that I through mine ignoraunce,
Ne doe nothing that you be displeasaunce.

For certes, freshe and womanliche wife,
This dare I say, that trouth and diligence,
That shall ye finden in me all my life,
Ne I woll not certain breaken your defence,
And if I doe, present or in absence,
For love of God, let slea me with the dede,
If that it like unto your womanhede."
“Iwis" (quod she)" mine owne hertes lust,
My ground of ease, and al mine herte dere,
Graunt mercy, for on that is all my trust:
But let us fall away fro this matere,
For it suffiseth, this that said is here,
And at o worde, without repentaunce,
Welcome my knight, my peace, my suffisaunce,"

Of hir delite or joies, one of the least
Were impossible to my wit to say,
But judgeth ye that have been at the feast
Of soche gladnesse, if that him list play:
I can no more but thus, these ilke tway,
That night betwixen drede and sikernesse,
Felten in love the greate worthinesse.

O blisfull night, of hem so long isought,
How blithe unto hem bothe two thou were?
Why ne had I soch feast with my soule ibought?
Ye, or but the least joy that was there?
Away thou foule daunger and thou fere,
And let him in this Heaven blisse dwell,
That is so high, that all ue can I tell.

But soth is, though I cannot tellen all,
As can mine aucthour of his excellence,
Yet have I saied, and God toforne shall,
In every thing all holly his sentence:
And if that I, at loves reverence,
Have any worde in eched for the best,
Doeth therwithall right as your selven lest.

For my wordes here, and every part,
I speake hem all under correction
Of you that feling have in loves art,
And put it all in your discrecion,
To encrease or make diminicion
Of my language, and that I you beseech,
But now to purpose of my rather speech,

These ilke two that ben in armes laft,
So lothe to hem a sonder gon it were,
That eche from other wenden been biraft,
Or eles lo, this was her moste fere,

That all this thing but nice dreames were,
For which full oft eche of hem saied, "O swete,
Clepe I you thus, or els doe I it mete."

And lord so he gan goodly on her se,
That never his loke ne blent from her face,
And saied, "O my dere herte, may it be
That it be soth, that ye beene in this place?"
"Ye herte mine, God thanke I of his grace,"
(Quod tho Creseide) and therwithall him kist,
That where her spirite was, for joy she nist.

This Troilus full often her iyen two
Gan for to kisse, and saied: "O iyen clere,
It weren ye that wrought me soche wo,
Ye humble nettes of my lady dere:
Tho there be mercy written in your chere,
God wote the text full harde is for to find,
How coud ye withouten bonde me bind ?"

Therwith he gan her fast in armes take,
And well an hundred times gan he sike,
Not such sorrowfull sighes as men make
For wo, or eles whan that folke be sike:
But easie sighes, soche as been to like,
That shewed his affection within,
Of soche maner sighes could he not blin.

Sone after this, they spake of sondry things
As fill to purpose of this aventure,
And plaiyng enterchauugeden hir rings,
Of which I can not tellen no scripture,
But well I wot, a broche of gold and azure,
In which a rubbie set was like an herte,
Creseide him yave, and stacke it on his sherte.

"For of fortunes sharpe adversite,
The worst kind of infortune is this,
A man that hath been in prosperite,
And it remember, whan it passed is.
Thou art wise inough, forthy, doe not amis,
Be not to rakell, though thou sit warme,
For if thou be, certain it woll thee harme.

"Thou art at ease, and hold thee well therin,
For al so sure as redde is every fire,
As great a crafte is to kepe well as win,
Bridle alway well thy speach and thy desire,
For worldly ioy holdeth not by a wire,
That preveth well, it brest alday so ofte,
Forthy neede is to werken with it softe."

(Quod Troilus) "I hope, and God to forne,
My dere frende, that I shall so me bere,
That in my gift there shall nothing been lorne,
Ne I nill not rakle, as for to greven here;
It nedeth not this matter often tere,
For wistest thou mine herte wel Pandare,
God wote of this thou wouldest lite care."

Tho gan he tell him of his glad night,
And whereof first his herte dradde, and how,
And saied "Frende, as I am true knight,
And by that faith I owe to God and you,
I had it never halfe so hote as now,
And aie the more that desire me biteth
To love her best, the more it me deliteth.

"I not my selfe not wisely, what it is,
But now I feele a new qualite,
Ye all another than I did er this:"
Pandare answerd and saied thus, "that he
That ones may in Heaven blisse be,
He feeleth other waies dare I lay,
Than thilke time he first heard of it say."

This is a worde for all, that Troilus
Was never ful to speke of this matere,
And for to praisen unto Pandarus
The bounte of his right lady dere,

And Pandarus to thanke, and maken chere,
This tale was aie span newe to begin,
Til that the tale departed hem a twinne.

Soone after this, for that fortune it would,
Icomen was the blisfull time swete,
That Troilus was warned, that he should,
There he was erst, Creseide his lady mete:
For which he felt his herte in ioy flete,
And faithfully gan all the goodes hery,
And let see now, if that he can be mery,

And holden was the forme, and al the gise
Of her comming, and of his also,
As it was erst, which nedeth nought devise,
But plainly to theffect right for to go:
In ioy and surete Pandarus hem two
Abedde brought, whan hem both lest,
And thus they ben in quiet and in rest.

Naught nedeth it to you sith they ben met
To aske at me, if that they blithe were,
For if it erst was well, tho was it bet
A thousand folde, this nedeth not enquere:
A go was every sorow and every fere,
And both iwis they had, and so they wend,
As much joy as herte may comprehend.

This nis na litel thing of for to sey,
This passeth every wit for to devise,
For eche of hem gan others lust obey,
Felicite, which that these clerkes wise
Commenden so, ne may no here suffise,
This ioy ne may not iwritten be with inke,
This passeth al that herte may bethinke.

But cruel day, so welaway the stound,
Gan for to aproche, as they by signes knew,
For which hem thought felen dethes wound,
So wo was hem, that chaungen gan hir hew
And day they gonnen to dispise al new,
Calling it traitour, envious and worse,
And bitterly the daies light they corse.

(Quod Troilus) " Alas, now am I ware
That Pirous, and tho swifte stedes thre,
Which that drawen forth the Sunnes chare,
Han gon some by pathe in dispite of me,
And maketh it so sone day to be,
And for the Sunne him hasten thus to rise,
Ne shall I neve don him sacrifice.

But nedes day departe hem must sone,
And whan hir speech done was, and hir chere,
They twin anon, as they were wont to done,
And setten time of meting eft ifere:
And many a night they wrought in this manere:
And thus fortune a time ladde in ioie
Creseide, and eke this kinges son of Troie.

In suffisaunee, in blisse, and in singings,
This Troilus gan all his life to lede,
He spendeth, justeth, and maketh feestings,
He geveth frely oft, and chaungeth wede,
He helde about him alway out of drede
A world of folke, as come him well of kind,
The freshest and the best he coulde find.

That such a voice was of him, and a steven,
Throughout the world, of honour and largesse,
That it vp ronge vnto the yate of Heven,
And as in love he was in such gladnesse,
That in his herte he demed, as 1 gesse,
That there nis lover in this world at ease,
So wel as he, and thus gan love him please.

The goodlihede or beaute, which the kind,
In any other lady had isette,

Can not the mountenaunce of a gnat vnbind,
About his herte, of al Creseides nette:
He was so narowe imasked, and iknette,
That is vndon in any maner side,

That nil nat ben, for ought that may betide.

And by the hond full ofte he would take
This Pandarus, and into gardin lede,
And such a feest, and such a processe make
Him of Creseide, and of her womanhede,
And of her beaute, that withouten drede,
It was an Heven his wordes for to here,
And than he woulde sing in this manere:

"Love, that of erth and sea hath governance,
Love, that his heestes hath in Heven hie,
Love, that with an holsome aliaunce
Halte people ioyned, as him list hem gie,
Love, that knitteth law and companie,
And couples doth in vertue for to dwell,
Binde this accord, that I have told and tell.

"That, that the world with faith, which that is
Diverseth so his staundes according, [stable,
That elements that bethe discordable,
Holden a bonde, perpetually during,
That Phebus mote his rosy day forth bring,

And that the Mone hath lordship over the nights,
Al this doeth Love, aie heried be his mights.

"That, that the sea, that greedy is to flowen,
Constraineth to a certaine ende so

His floodes, that so fiercely they ne growen
To drenchen earth and all for evermo,
And if that Love aught let his bridle go,
All that now loveth asunder should lepe,

And lost were all, that Love halt now to hepe.

"So would to God, that authour is of kind,
That with his bond, Love of his vertue list
To searchen hertes all, and fast bind,
That from his bond no wight the wey out wist,
And hertes cold, hem would I that hem twist,
To maken hem love, and that list hem aie rew
On hertes sore, and keep hem that ben trew."

In all needes for the townes werre
He was, and aye the first in armes dight,
And certainely, but if that bookes erre,
Save Hector, most idradde of any wight,
And this encrease of hardinesse and might
Come him of love, his ladies thanke to win,
That altered his spirit so within.

In time of truce on hanking would he ride,
Or els hunt bore, beare, or lioun,
The small beastes let he gon beside,
And whan that he come riding into the toun,
Full oft his lady from her window doun,
As fresh as faucon, comen out of mue,
Full redely was him goodly to salue.

And most of love and vertue was his speech,
And in dispite had all wretchednesse,
And doubtlesse no need was him beseech
To honouren hem that had worthinesse,
And easen hem that weren in distresse,
And glad was he, if any wight well ferde
That lover was, whan he it wist or herde.

For sooth to saine, he lost held every wight,
But if he were in Loves high servise,
I meane folke that aught it ben of right,
And over all this, so well could he devise
Of sentement, and in so vncouth wise
All his array, that every lover thought,
That al was wel, what so he said or wrought.

And though that he be come of blood roiall,
Him list of pride at no wight for to chace,
Benigne he was to ech in generall,

For which he gate him thank in every place:
Thus wolde Love, iheried by his grace,
That pride, and ire, envie, and avarice,
He gan to flie, and every other vice.

Thou lady bright, the doughter of Diane,
Thy blind and winged son eke dan Cupide,
Ye sustren nine eke, that by Helicone
In hill Pernaso, listen for to abide,
That ye thus ferre han deined me to gide,
I can no more, but sens that ye woll wend,
Ye heried ben for aye withouten end.

Through you have I said fully in my song
Theffect and ioy of Troilus servise,
All be that there was some disease among,
As mine authour listeth to devise,
My thirde booke now end I in this wise,
And Troilus in lust and in quiete,

Is with Creseide his owne herte swete.

EXPLICIT LIBER QUARTUS.

BUT all too little, welaway the while Lasteth such joy, ithonked bee Fortune, That seemeth truest, whan she woll begile, And can to fooles her songe entune,

That she hem hent, that blent, traitor commune:
And whan a wight is from her whele ithrow,
Than laugheth she, and maketh him the mowe.

From Troilus she gan her bright face
Away to writhe, and tooke of him none hede,
And cast him clene out of his ladies grace,
And on her whele she set vp Diomede,
For which mine herte right now ginneth blede,
And now my pen alas, with which I write,
Quaketh for drede of that I must endite.

For how Creseide Troilus forsooke,
Or at the least, how that she was vnkind,
Mote henceforth ben matter of my booke,
As writen folk through which it is in mind,
Alas, that they should ever cause find
To speake her harme, and if they on her lie,
Iwis hemselfe should have the villanie.

O ye Herines, nightes doughters three,
That endelesse complaine ever in paine,
Megera, Alecto, and eke Tesiphonee,
Thou cruell Mars eke, father of Quirine,
This ilke fourth booke helpe me to fine,
So that the loos, and love, and life ifere
Of Troilus be fully shewed here.

INCIPIT LIBER QUARTUS.

LIGGING in host, as I have said ere this,
The Greekes strong, about Troy toun,
Befell, that whan that Phebus shining is
Upon the breast of Hercules Lion,
That Hector, with many a bold baron,
Cast on a day with Greekes for to fight,
As he was wont, to greve hem what he might.

Not I how long or short it was bitwene
This purpose, and that day they fighten ment,
But on a day well armed bright and shene,
Hector and many a worship knight out went
With speare in honde, and big bowes bent,
And in the berde withouten lenger lette,
Hir fomen in the field anone hem mette.

The longe day with speares sharpe iground
With arrows, dartes, swerds, and maces fell,
They fight, and bringen horse and man to ground,
And with hir axes out the braines quell,
But in the last shoure, sooth to tell,
The folke of Troy hem selven so misleden,
That with the worse at night home they fleden.