`But, dere frend, how shal myn wo ben lesse
	Til this be doon? And goode, eek tel me this,
	How wiltow seyn of me and my destresse?
	Lest she be wrooth, this drede I most, y-wys,
1020	Or nil not here or trowen how it is.
	Al this drede I, and eek for the manere
	Of thee, hir eem, she nil no swich thing here.'

	Quod Pandarus, `Thou hast a ful gret care
	Lest that the cherl may falle out of the mone!
1025	Why, lord! I hate of the thy nyce fare!
	Why, entremete of that thou hast to done!
	For goddes love, I bidde thee a bone,
	So lat me alone, and it shal be thy beste.' --
	`Why, freend,' quod he, `now do right as the leste.

1030	`But herke, Pandare, o word, for I nolde
	That thou in me wendest so greet folye,
	That to my lady I desiren sholde
	That toucheth harm or any vilenye;
	For dredelees, me were lever dye
1035	Than she of me ought elles understode
	But that, that mighte sounen into gode.'

	Tho lough this Pandare, and anoon answerde,
	`And I thy borw? Fy! No wight dooth but so;
	I roughte nought though that she stode and herde
1040	How that thou seyst; but farewel, I wol go.
	A-dieu! Be glad! God spede us bothe two!
	Yif me this labour and this besinesse,
	And of my speed be thyn al that swetnesse.'

	Tho Troilus gan doun on knees to falle,
1045	And Pandare in his armes hente faste,
	And seyde, `Now, fy on the Grekes alle!
	Yet, pardee, god shal helpe us at the laste;
	And dredelees, if that my lyf may laste,
	And God toforn, lo, som of hem shal smerte;
1050	And yet me athinketh that this avaunt me asterte!

	`Now, Pandare, I can no more seye,
	But thou wys, thou wost, thou mayst, thou art al!
	My lyf, my deeth, hool in thyn bonde I leye;
	Help now,' quod he, `Yis, by my trouthe, I shal.'
1055	`God yelde thee, freend, and this in special,'
	Quod Troilus, `that thou me recomaunde
	To hir that to the deeth me may comaunde.'

	This Pandarus tho, desirous to serve
	His fulle freend, than seyde in this manere,
1060	`Farwel, and thenk I wol thy thank deserve;
	Have here my trouthe, and that thou shalt wel here.' --
	And wente his wey, thenking on this matere,
	And how he best mighte hir beseche of grace,
	And finde a tyme therto, and a place.

1065	For every wight that hath an hous to founde
	Ne renneth nought the werk for to biginne
	With rakel hond, but he wol byde a stounde,
	And sende his hertes lyne out fro with-inne
	Alderfirst his purpos for to winne.
1070	Al this Pandare in his herte thoughte,
	And caste his werk ful wysly, or he wroughte.

	But Troilus lay tho no lenger doun,
	But up anoon up-on his stede bay,
	And in the feld he pleyde tho leoun;
1075	Wo was that Greek that with him mette that day.
	And in the toun his maner tho forth ay
	So goodly was, and gat him so in grace,
	That ech him lovede that loked on his face.

	For he bicom the frendlyeste wight,
1080	The gentileste, and eek the moste free,
	The thriftieste and oon the beste knight,
	That in his tyme was, or mighte be.
	Dede were his japes and his crueltee,
	His heighe port and his manere estraunge,
1085	And ech of tho gan for a vertu chaunge.

	Now lat us stinte of Troilus a stounde,
	That fareth lyk a man that hurt is sore,
	And is somdel of akinge of his wounde
	Y-lissed wel, but heled no del more:
1090	And, as an esy pacient, the lore
	Abit of him that gooth aboute his cure;
	And thus he dryveth forth his aventure.

Next: From Troilus and Criseyde, Book II, lines 1-49: Prologue