And after that they long yplained had,
And oft ikist, and straite in armes fold,
The day gan rise, and Troilus him clad,
And rufully his lady gan behold:
As he that felt deathes cares cold,
And to her grace he gan him recommaund,
Where he was wo, this hold I no demaund.

For mannes hedde imaginen ne can,
Ne entendement consider, ne tongue tell
The cruell paines of this sorowfull man,
That passen every torment doune in Hell:
For whan he sawe that she ne might dwell,
Which that his soule out of his herte rent,
Withouten more, out of the chamber he went.

INCIPIT LIBER QUINTUS.

APROCHEN gan the fatall destine,
That Joves hath in disposicioun,
And to you angry Parcas sustren thre,
Committeth to done execucioun,

For which Creseide must out of the toun,
And Troilus shall dwell forth in pine,
Till Lachesis his threde no lenger twine.

The golden tressed Phebus high on loft,
Thrise had all with his beames clere
The snowes molte, and Zephirus as oft
Ibrought ayen the tender leaves grene:
Sens that the sonne of Eccuba the quene
Began to love her first, for whom his sorrow
Was all, that she departe should a morow.

Full redy was at prime Diomede,
Creseide vnto the Grekes hoste to lede,
For sorow of which, she felt her herte blede,
As she that niste what was best to rede:
And truely, as men in bokes rede,
Men wiste never woman have the care,
Ne was so lothe out of a toune to fare.

This Troilus withouten rede or lore,
As man that hath his joies eke forlore,
Was waiting on his lady evermore,
As she that was sothfast croppe and more,
Of all his lust or joyes here tofore:
But Troilus, now farwell all thy joie,
For shalt thou never seen her eft in Troie.

Soth is, that while he bode in this manere,
He gan his wo full manly for to hide,
That well vnneth it seen was in his chere,
But at the yate there she should out ride,
With certain folke he hoved her to abide,
So wo bigon, all would he not him plain,
That on his horse vnneth he sate for pain.

For ire he quoke, so gan his herte gnaw,
Whan Diomede on horse gan him dight,
And sayd vnto himselfe this ilke saw,
"Alas," (quod he)" thus foule a wretchednesse
Why suffre I it? Why nill I it redresse?
Were it nat bet at ones for to die,

Than evermore in langour thus to crie?

"Why nill I make at ones rich and poore,
To have inough to done er that she go?
Why nill I bring all Troie vpon a roore?
Why nill I'slaen this Diomede also?
Why nill I rather with a man or two,
Steale her away? Why woll I this endure?
Why nill I helpen to mine owne cure?"

But why he nolde done so fell a deede,
That shall I sain, and why him list it spare,
He had in herte alway a maner drede,
Lest that Creseide, in rumour of this fare,
Should have ben slain, lo this was al his care,
And eles certain, as I sayed yore,
He had it done withouten wordes more.

Creseide whan she redy was to ride,
Full sorowfully she sighed, and sayd " Alas,"
But forth she mote, for aught that may betide,
And forth she rideth full sorowfully apaas:
There is no other remedy in this caas:
What wonder is, though that her sore smart
Whan she forgoeth her owne swete herte ?

This Troilus in gise of curtesie,
With hauke on hond, and with an huge rout
Of knightes, rode and did her companie,
Passing all the valey ferre without,
And ferther would have ridden out of doubt,
Full faine, and wo was him to gone so sone,
But tourne he must, and it was eke to done.

And right with that was Antenor icome,
Out of the Grekes hoste, and every wight
Was of him glad, and sayd he was welcome,
And Troilus, al nere his herte light,
He pained him, with all his full might
Him to with hold of weping at least,
And Antenor he kist, and made feast.

And therewithal he must his leave take,
And cast his iye upon her pitously,
And nere he rode, his cause for to make,
To take her by the honde al soberly:
And Lorde so she gan wepen tenderly,
And he full soft and slighly gan her seie,
"Now hold your day, and doe me not to deie."

With that his courser tourned he about,
With face pale, and vnto Diomede
No worde he spake, ne none of all his rout,
Of which the sonne of Tideus toke hede,
As he that kouthe more than the crede,
In soche a craft, and by the rain her hent,
And Troilus to Troie homewardes went,

This Diomede, that lad her by the bridell,
Whan that he saw the folke of Troy away,
Thought, "All my labor shall not been on idell,
If that I may, for somewhat shall I say:
For at the worst, it short maie our way,
I have heard say eke, times twise twelve,
He is a foole that woll foryete him selve."

But nathelesse, this thought he well inough
That "certainly I am about naught,
If that I speake of love, or make it to tought,
For doubtlesse, if she have in her thought,
Him that I gesse, he may not been ibrought
So sone away, but I shall find a meane,
That she nat yet wete shall what I meane,"

This Diomede, as he that could his good,
Whan this was done, gan fallen forth in spech
Of this and that, and aske why she stood
In soch disease, and gan her eke besech
That if that he encreasen might or ech
With any thing her ease, that she should
Commaunde it him, and said he done it would.

For truely he swore her as a knight,

That ther nas thing, with which he might her plese
That he nolde done his pain, and al his might
To done it, for to done her herte an ease:
And prayed her she would her sorrow appease,
And sayd, Iwis we Greekes can have joy
To honouren you, as well as folke of Troy."

He said eke thus, "I wot you thinketh strange,
No wonder is, for it is to you new,
Thacquaintance of these Trojans to change
For folke of Grece, that ye never knew:
But would never God, but if as true,
A Greeke ye should emong us all find,
As any Trojan is, and eke as kind.

"And bicause I swore you right now,
To ben your frende, and helply to my might,
And for that more acquaintaunce eke of you
Have I had, than an other straunger wight:
So fro this forth, I pray you day and night,
Commaundeth me, how sore that me smart,
To done all that may like unto your herte.
"And that ye me wold, as your brother treat,
And taketh not my frendship in dispite,
And though your sorowes been for thinges gret,
Not I nat why, but out of more respite,
Mine berte hath for to amend it great delite,
And if I may your harmes nat redresse,
I am right sory for your heavinesse.

"For though ye Trojans with us Greekes wroth
Have many a day been, alway yet parde,
O god of love, in sothe we serven bothe:
And for the love of God my lady free,
Whom so ye hate, as beth not wroth with me,
For truely there can no wight you serve,
That half so loth your wrathe would deserve.

"And nere it that we been so nere the tent
Of Calcas, which that seen us bothe may,
I would of this you tell all mine entent,
But this ensealed till an other day:
Yeve me your honde, I am and shall be aie,
God helpe me so, while that my life may dure,
Your owne, aboven every creature.

"Thus said I never er now to woman borne,
For God mine herte as wisely glad so,
I loved never woman here beforne,
As paramours, ne never shall no mo:
And for the love of God be not my fo,
All can I not to you, my lady dere,
Complain a right, for I am yet to lere.

"And wondreth nought, mine owne lady bright,
Though that I speake of love to you thus blive,
For I have heard or this of many a wight,.
Hath loved thing he never saw his live:
Eke I am not of power for to strive
Ayenst the god of love, but him obay
I woll alway, and mercy I you pray.

"There beeth so worthy knightes in this place,
And ye so faire, that everiche of hem all
Woll pain him to stonden in your grace,
But might to me so faire a grace fall
That ye me for your servaunt would call,
So lowly, ne so truely you serve,
Nill none of hem, as I shall till I sterve."

Creseide unto that purpose lite answerde,
As she that was with sorow oppressed so,
That in effect she naught his tales herde,
But here and there, now here a word or two;
Her thought her sorowfull herte brest a two,
For whan she gan her father ferre espie,
Well nigh doune of her hors she gan to sie.
But nathelesse she thonketh Diomede,
Of all his travaile and his good chere,
And that him list his frendship to her bede,
And she accepteth it in good manere,
And woll do fain that is him lefe and dere,
And trusten him she would, and well she might,
As saied she, and from her hors she alight.

Her father hath her in his armes nome,
And twenty times he kist his doughter swete,
And saied: "O dere doughter mine, welcome,"
She said eke, she was fain with him to mete:
And stode forth muet, milde, and mansuette,
But here I leave her with her father dwell,
And forth I woll of Troilus you tell.

To Troy is come this wofull Troilus,
In sorowe aboven all sorowes smert,
With felon loke, and face dispitous,
Tho sodainly doune from his hors he stert,
And through his paleis with swolne herte,
To chamber he went, of nothing toke he hede
Ne none to him dare speke o worde for drede.

And there his sorowes that he spared had,
He yave an issue large, and death he cride,
And in his throwes, frenetike and mad
He curseth Juno, Apollo, and eke Cupide,
He curseth Bachus, Ceres, and Cipride,
His birth, himselfe, his fate, and eke nature,
And save his ladie, every creature.

To bed he goth, and weileth there and turneth,
In furie, as doeth he Ixion in Hell,
And in this wise he nigh till day sojourneth,
But tho began his herte'alite vnswell,
Through teares, which that gonnen vp to wel,
And pitiously he cried upon Creseide,
And to him self right thus he spake and seide.

"Where is mine owne lady lefe and dere?
Where is her white brest, where is it, where?
Where been her armes, and her iyen clere
That yesterday this time with me were?
Now may I wepe alone many a teare,
And graspe about I may, but in this place
Save a pilew, I find naught to embrace.

"How shal I doen? whan shal she come againe ? I not alas, why let I her to go?

As would God I had as tho be slain :

O herte mine Creseide, O swete fo,

O lady mine, that I love and no mo,

To whom for ever more mine herte I vowe,

See how I die, ye nill me not rescowe.

Who seeth you now, my right lodesterre?
Who sitteth right now in your presence?
Who can comforten now your hertes werre ?
Now I am gon, whom yeve ye audience?
Who speaketh for me right now in my absence?
Alas no wight, and that is all my care,
For well wote I, as evill as I ye fare.

"How should I thus ten daies full endure,
Whan I the firste night have all this tene?
How shall she eke sorowfull creature,
For tendernesse, how shall she this sustene,
Soche wo for me? o pitous, pale, and grene,
Shall been your freshe womanly face,
For langour, er ye tourne vnto this place."

And whan he fill in any slombringes,
Anon begin he shoulde for to grone,
And dreamen of the dreadfullest thinges
That might been: as mete he were alone
In place horrible, making aie bis mone,
Or meten that he was emonges all
His enemies, and in hir hondes fall.

And therewithall his bodie should start,
And with the start all sodainly awake,
And soche a tremour fele about his herte,
That of the feare his bodie should quake:
And therwithall he should a noise make,
And seme as though he should fall depe,
From high alofe, and than he would wepe,

And rewen on himselfe so pitously,
That wonder was to here his fantasie,
An other time he should mightely
Comfort himselfe, and sain it was folie,
So causelesse, soche drede for to drie,
And eft begin his aspre sorowes new,
That every man might on his paines rew,

Who could tell all, or fully discrive

His wo, bis plaint, his langour, and his pine?
Nat all the men that han or been on live,
Thou reader mayst thy self full well devine,
That soche a wo my wit can not define,
Unidell for to write it should I swinke,
Whan that my wit is werie it to thinke.

On Heaven yet the sterres weren seen
Although full pale iwoxen was the Mone,
And whiten gan the orisont shene,
All eastward, as it was wont to done,
And Phebus with his rosie carte sone,
Gan after that to dresse him vp to fare,
Whan Troilus hath sent after Pandare.

This Pandare, that of all the day beforne
Ne might him comen this Troilus to se,
Although he on his hedde it had sworne,
For with the king Priam alday was he,
So that it lay nat in his liberte,

No where to gon, but on the morow he went
To Troilus, whan that he for him sent.

For in his herte he could well devine,
That Troilus al night for sorow woke,
And that he would tell him of his pine,
This knew he well inough without boke:
For which to chamber streight the way he toke,
And Troilus tho soberly he grette,

And on the bedde full sone he gan him sette.

"But of the fire and flambe funerall,
In which my body brennen shall to glede,
And of the feast and plaies palestrall,
At my vigile, I pray thee take good hede
That that be well: and offer Mars my stede,
My sword, mine helme: and leve brother dere,
My shelde to Pallas yeve, that shineth clere.

"The poudre in which min herte ibrend shal turn
That pray I thee thou take, and it conserve
In a vessell that men clepeth an vrne
Of gold, and to my lady that I serve,
For love of whom thus pitously I sterve,
So yeve it her, and doe me this pleasaunce,
To praien her to kepe it for a remembraunce.
"For well I fele by my ma'adie,
And by my dreames, now and and yore ago,
All certainly, that I mote nedes die :
The oule eke, which that hight Ascaphilo,
Hath after me shright, all these nightes two,
And god Mercurie, now of me wofull wretch
The soule guide, and whan thee list it fetch."

Pandare answerde and saied, "Troilus,
My dere frende, as I have told thee yore,
That it is follie for to sorowen thus,
And causelesse, for which I can no more:
But who so woll not trowen rede ne lore,
I can not seen in him no remedie,
But let him worchen with his fantasie,

"But, Troilus, I pray thee tell me now,
If that thou trowe er this that any wight,
Hath loved paramours as well as thou,
Ye, God wot, and fro many a worthy knight
Hath his ladie gon a fourtenight,

And he nat yet made halvendele the fare,
What nede is the to maken all this care?

"Sens day by day thou maist thy selven see
That from his love, or eles from his wife
A man mote twinnen of necessitie,
Ye though he love her as his owne life :
Yet nill he with himself thus maken strife,
For well thou wost, my leve brother dere,
That alway frendes may not been ifere.

"How done this foike, that seen hir loves wedded
By frendes might, as it betideth full oft,
And seen hem in hir spouses bedde ibedded?
God wote they take it wisely faire and soft:
For why, good hope halt vp hir herte aloft,
And for they can a time of sorow endure,
As time hem hurteth, a time doth hem cure.

"So shouldest thou endure, and letten slide
The time, and fonde to been glad and light,
Ten dayes nis not so long to abide,
And sens she to comen thee hath behight,
She nill her hest breaken for no wight,
For drede thee not, that she nill finde way
To come ayen, my life that durst I lay.

"Thy sweuenes eke, and all soch fantasie
Drive out, and let hem faren to mischaunce,
For they procede of thy melancolie,
That doth thee fele in slepe all this penaunce:
A straw for all sweuenes signifiaunce,
God helpe me so, I count hem not a bean,
There wot no man aright what dremes mean.

"For priestes of the temple tellen this,
That dreames been the reuelacions
Of Goddes, and als well they tel iwis,
That they been infernalles illusious
And leches saine, that of complections
Proceden they of fast, or glotonie,

Who wot in sothe thus what they signifie?

"Eke other saine, that through impressions,
As if a wight hath fast a thing in mind,
That thereof cometh soche avisions:
And other sain, as they in bokes find,
That after times of the yere by kind,

Men dreme, and that theffect goth by the Mone,
But leve no dreme, for it is nat to done.

"Wel worth of dreames aie these old wives,
And truly eke, augurie of these foules,
For feare of which, men wenen lese hir lives,
As ravens qualm, or schriching of these oules:
To trowen on it, bothe false and foule is,
Alas, alas, that so noble a creature
As is a man, should drede such ordure.

"For which with al mine herte I thee beseche,
Unto thy self, that all this thou foryeve,
And rise now vp, withouten more speche,
And let vs cast how forth may best be driven
The time, and eke how freshly we may liven,
Whan she cometh, the which shall be right sone,
God helpe me so, the best is thus to done.

"Rise, let vs speake of lustie life in Troy
That we have lad, and forth the time drive,
And eke of time coming vs rejoy,

That bringen shall our blisse now to blive,
And langour of these twise daies five
We shall therewith so foryet or oppresse,
That well vaneth it done shall vs duresse.

"This toune is full of lordes al about,
And truce lasten all this meane while,
Go we plaien vs in some lustie rout,
To Sarpedon, not hennes but a mile,
And thus thou shalt the time well beguile,
And drive it forth vnto that blisfull morow,
That thou her see, that cause is of thy sorow.

"Now rise, my dere brother Troilus,
For certes it non honour is to thee
To wepe, and in thy bedde to rouken thus,
For truely of o thing trust to me,
If thou thus ligge, a day, two or three,
The folke woll wene, that thou for cowardise,
Thee fainest sick, and that thou darst not rise."

This Troilus answerde: "O brother dere,
This folke know that have isuffred pain,
That though he wepe, and make sorowful chere
That feeleth harme and smart in every vain,
No wonder is; and though I ever plain
Or alway wepe, I am nothing to blame,
Sens that I have lost the cause of all my game.

"But sens of fine force I mote arise,
I shall arise, as sone as ever I may,
And God, to whom mine herte I sacrifice,
So send vs hastely the tenthe day:

For was there never foule so faine of May
As I shall ben, whan that she cometh in Troie,
That cause is of my tourment and my joie.
"But whider is thy rede," (quod Troilus)
"That we may play vs best in all this toun "
"By God my counsaile is," (quod Pandarus)
"To ride and play vs with king Sarpedoun."
So long of this they speaken vp and doun,
Till Troilus gan at the last assent
To rise, and forth to Sarpedon they went,

This Sarpedon, as he that honourable
Was ever his live, and full of hie prowesse,
With all that might iserved been on table,
That deintie was, all coste it great richesse,
He fedde hem day by day, that such noblesse
As saiden both the most and eke the least,
Was never er that day wiste at any feast.
Nor in this world there is none instrument,
Delicious, through winde, or touche on corde,
As ferre as any wight hath ever iwent,
That tonge teil, or herte may recorde,
But at that feast, it was well heard recorde:
Ne of ladies eke so faire a companie,
On daunce er tho, was never iseen with eye.

But what availeth this to Troilus,
That for his sorrow, nothing of it rought,
But ever in one, as herte pitous,
Full busily Creseide his lady sought:
On her was ever al that his herte thought,
Now this, now that, so fast imagining,
That glad iwis can him no feasting.

These ladies eke, that at this feast been,
Sens that he saw his lady was away,
It was his sorow upon hem for to seen,
Or for to heare on instrumentes play :
For she that of his herte hath the kay,
Was absent, lo this was his fantasie
That no wight shulde maken melodie.

Nor there nas houre in al the day or night,
Whan he was ther as no man might him here,
That he ne sayd, "O lovesome lady bright,
How have ye faren sins that ye were there?
Welcome iwis mine owne lady dere.
But welaway, all this nas but a mase,
Fortune his hove entended bet to glase."

The letters eke, that she of olde time
Had him isent, he would alone rede
An hundred sith, atwixt noone and prime,
Refiguring her shape, and her womanhede,
Within his herte, and every worde and dede
That passed was, and thus he drove to an end,
The fourth day, and saied he wol wend.

And said "Leve brother Pandarus,
Intendest thou that we shall here bleve,
Til Sarpedon woll forth conveyen us,
Yet were it fairer that we toke our leve:
For Goddes love, let us now sone at eve
Our leave take, and homeward let us turne,
For trewely I nill nat thus sojourne."

Pandare answerde, "Be we comen hither
To fetchen fire, and rennen home againe ?
God helpe me so, I can nat tellen whither
We might gone, if I shall sothly saine:
There any wight is of us more faine
Than Sarpedon, and if we hence hie
Thus sodainly, I hold it vilanie.

"Whan that we saiden we would bleve
With him a weke, and now thus sodainly
The fourth day to take of him our leve,
He would wondren on it trewly:
Let us holden forth our purpose fermely,
And sens that ye behighten him to abide,
Hold forward now, and after let us ride."

This Pandarus, with all pine and wo
Made him to dwell, and at the wekes end,
Of Sarpedon they toke hir leave tho,
And on hir way they speden hem to wend :
(Quod Troilus) "Now Lorde me grace send,
That I may find at mine home comming,
Creseide comen," and therwith gan he sing.
"Ye haselwode," thought this Pandare,
And to himselfe ful softly he seide,
"God wotte refroiden may this hotte fare,
Er Calcas sende Troilus Creseide:"
But nathelesse he yaped thus and seide,
And swore iwis, his herte him wel behight,
She wolde come as sone as ever she might.

Whan they unto the paleis were ycomen,
Of Troilus, they doun of horse alight,
And to the chambre hir way have they nomen,
And anto time that it gan to night,
They speken of Creseide the lady bright,
And after this, whan hem bothe lest,
They spede hem fro the supper unto rest.

On morow as sone as day began to clere,
This Troilus gan of his slepe to abreide,
And to Pandarus, his own brother dere,
"For loue of God," full pitously he seide:
"As go we seene the paleis of Creseide,
For sens we yet may have no more feest,
So let us seine her paleis at the leest."
And therewithall his meine for to blende,
A cause he fonde in toune for to go,
And to Creseides house they gan wende,
But Lorde this sely Troilus was wo,
Him thought his sorowful herte brast atwo,
For when he saw her doores sparred all,
Well nigh for sorow adoun he gan to fall.
Therwith whan he was ware, and gan behold
How shet was every window of the place,
As frost him thought his herte gan to cold,
For which with changed deedly pale face,
Withouten worde, he forth by gan to pace,
And as God would, he gan so faste ride,
That no wight of his countenance aspide.

Than said he thus: "O paleis desolate,
O house of houses, whilom best ibight,
9 paleis empty and disconsolate,

O thou lanterne, of which queint is the light,
O paleis whilom day, that now art night,
Wel oughtest thou to fall, and I to die,
Sens she is went, that wont was us to gie.

"O paleis whilom crowne of houses all, Enlumined with Sunne of all blisse,

O ring, of which the rubie is out fall,

O cause of wo, that cause hast ben of blisse :
Yet sens I may no bet, fain would I kisse
Thy colde doores, durst I for this rout,
And farewel shrine of which the saint is out."

Therwith he cast on Pandarus his eie,
With changed face, and pitous to behold,
And whan he might his time aright aspie,
Aie as he rode, to Pandarus he told
His new sorow, and eke his ioyes old,
So petously, and with so deed an hew,
That every wight might on his sorow rew.

Fro thence-forth he rideth vp and doune,
And every thing came him to remembraunce,
As he rode forth by the places of the toune,
In which he whilom had all his pleasaunce:
"Lo, yonder saw I mine owne lady daunce,
And in that temple with her eien clere,
Me caught first my right lady dere.

"And yonder have I herde full lustely
My dere herte laugh, and yonder play
Saw I her ones eke ful blisfully,
And yonder ones to me gan she say
'Now good sweete love me well I pray,'
And yonde so goodly gan she me behold,
That to the death mine herte is to her hold.
"And at the corner in the yonder house,
Herde I mine alderlevest lady dere,
So womanly, with voice melodiouse,
Singen so wel, so goodly and so clere,
That in my soule yet me thinketh I here
The blisful sowne, and in that yonder place
My lady first me toke vnto her grace."

Than thought he thus, "O blisful lord Cupide,
Whan I the processe have in memory,
How thou me hast weried on every side,
Men might a booke make of it like a story:
What nede is thee to seeke on me victory,
Sens I am thine, and holly at thy will,
What joy hast thou thine owne folke to spill?

"Wel hast thou, lord, iwroke on me thine ire,
Thou mighty god, and dredful for to greve,
Now mercy, lord, thou wost wel I desire
Thy grace most, of all lustes leve,
And live and die I wol in thy beleve,
For which I ne aske in guerdon but a bone,
That thou Creseide ayen me sende sone.

"Distraine her herte as fast to returne,
As thou doest mine to longen her to see,
Than wote I wel that she nil nat sojourne:
Now blisful lord, so cruel thou ne be
Unto the blood of Troy, I praie thee,
As Juno was vnto the blode Thebane,

For which the folke of Thebes caught hir bane."

And after this he to the yates went,
There as Creseide out rode, a full good paas,
And vp and doun there made he many a went,
And to him selfe ful oft he said, "Alas,
Fro hence rode my blisse and my solas,
As would blisful God now for his joie,
I might her sene ayen come to Troie,