Great rumour rose, whan it was first espied,
In all the toune, and openly was spoken,
That Calcas traitour fled was and alied
To hem of Grece: and cast was to be wroken
On him, that falsely hath his faith broken,
And sayd, he and all his kinne atones,
Were worthy to be brent, both fell and bones.
Now had Calcas lefte in this mischaunce,
Unwist of this false and wicked dede,
A daughter, whiche was in great penaunce,
And of her life she was full sore in drede,
And wist ne never what best was to rede:
And as a widdow was she, and all alone,
And n'iste to whome she might make her mone.
Creseide was this ladies name aright,
As to my dome, in all Troies citie
Most fairest ladie, far passing every wight
So angelike shone her native beaute,
That no mortall thing seemed she:
And therewith was she so perfect a creature,
As she had be made in scorning of nature.
This ladie, that all day hearde at eare
Her fathers shame, falshede, and treasoun,
(Full nigh out of her wit for sorrow and feare,
In widdowes habite large of samite brown)
Before Hector on knees she fell adown,
And his mercy bad, her selfe excusing,
With pitous voice, and tenderly weeping.
Now was this Hector pitous of nature,
And saw that she was sorrowfull begone,
And that she was so faire a creature,
Of his goodnesse he gladed her anone,
And said: "Let fathers traison gone
Forth with mischance, and ye your selfe in joy
Dwelleth with us while you list in Troy.
"And all the honour that men may do you have,
As ferforth as though your father dwelt here,
Ye shull have, and your body shull men save,
As ferre as I may ought enquire and here :"
And she him thanked with full humble chere,
And ofter would, and it had been his will.
She took her leve, went home, and held her still.
And in her house she abode with such meine
As til her honour nede was to hold,
And while she was dwelling in that cite,
She kept her estate, and of yong and old
Full well beloved, and men well of her told:
But whether that she children had or none,
I rede it nat, therefore I let it gone.
The thinges fellen as they don of werre,
Betwixen hem of Troy and Greekes oft,
For sometime broughten they of Troy it derre,
And efte the Greekes founden nothing soft
The folke of Troy: and thus fortune aloft,
And under efte gan hem to whelmen both,
After her course, aie while that they were wroth.
But how this toune came to destruction,
Ne falleth not to purpose me to tell,
For it were a long digression
Fro my matter, and you too long to dwell;
But the Troyan jestes all as they fell,
In Omer, or in Dares, or in Dite,
Who so that can, may reden hem as they write.
But though the Greekes hem of Troy in shetten,
And hir citie besieged all about,
Hir old usages nolde they not letten,
As to honouren hir gods full devout,
But aldermost in honour out of dout,
They had a relike hight Palladion,
That was hir trust aboven every chon.
And so befell, whan comen was the time
Of Aprill, whan clothed is the mede,
With new grene, of lustie veer the prime,
And with sweet smelling floures white and rede
In sundrie wise shewed, as I rede,
The folke of Troie, their observances old,
Palladions feast went for to hold.
Unto the temple in all their best wise,
Generally there went many a wight,
To hearken of Palladions servise,
And namely many a lustie knight,
And many a ladie fresh, and maiden bright,
Full well arraied bothe most and least,
Both for the season and the high feast.
Among these other folke was Creseida,
In widdowes habite blacke: but natheles
Right as our first letter is now an a,
In beautie first so stood she makeles,
Her goodly looking gladed all the prees,
Nas never seene thing to be praised so derre,
Nor under cloude blacke so bright a sterre,
As was Creseide, they sayden everichone,
That her behelden in her blacke wede,
And yet she stood full lowe and still alone
Behinde other folke in little brede,
And nie the dore under shames drede,
Simple of attire, and debonaire of chere,
With full assured looking and manere.
This Troilus, as he was wont to guide
His yonge knightes, lad hem up and doune,
In thilke large temple on every side,
Beholding aie the ladies of the toune,
Now here now there, for no devotioune
Had he to none, to reven him his rest,
But gan to praise and lacke whom him lest.
And in his walk full fast he gan to waiten,
If knight or squier of his companie,
Gan for to sike, or let his eyen
baiten
On any woman, that he coud espie,
He would smile, and hold it a follie,
And say hem thus: "O Lord she sleepeth soft
For love of thee, whan thou turnest full oft.
"I have heard tell pardieux of your living,
Ye lovers, and eke your lewde observances,
And which a labour folke have in winning
Of love, and in keeping such doutaunces,
And whan your pray is lost, wo and
O, very fooles, blinde and nice be ye,
There is not one can ware by another be."
And with that word he gan cast up the brow,
Ascaunces, lo, is this not well yspoken,
At which the god of love gan looken low,
Right for dispite, and shope him to be wroken.
He kidde anone his bowe was not broken:
For sodainly he hitte him at the full,
And yet as proude a peacocke gan he pull.
O blinde world, o blind entention,
How often falleth all the effect contraire
Of surquedrie and foule presumption,
For caught is proud, and caught is debonaire:
This Troilus is clomben on the staire,
And little weneth that he mote descenden,
But all day it faileth that fooles wenden.
As proud Bayard beginneth for to skippe
Out of the way, so pricketh him his corne,
Till he a lash have of the longe whippe,
Than thinketh he, "Tho I praunce all beforne
First in the traise, full fat and new yshorne,
Yet am I but an horse, and horses law
I must endure, and with my feeres draw."
So fared it by this fiers and proud knight,
Though he a worthy kinges sonne were,
And wende nothing had had suche might,
Ayenst his will, that should his herte stere,
Yet with a looke his herte woxe on fire,
That he that now was most in pride above,
Woxe sodainly most subject unto love.
Forthy ensample taketh of this man,
Ye wise, proud, and worthy folkes all,
To scornen Love, which that so soone can
The freedome of your hertes to him thrall,
For ever it was, and ever it be shall,
That Love is he that all thinges may bind,
For no man may fordo the law of kind.
That this be sooth hath preved and doth yet,
For this (I trowe) ye know all and some,
Men reden not that folke han greater wit
Than they that han ben most with love ynome,
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