From Geoffrey Chaucer's "Troilus and Criseyde", Book I, lines 582-679

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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book I, lines 540-581:
Pandarus visits his friend Troilus

Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book I, lines 582-679: Pandarus tries to comfort Troilus

	This Pandare, that neigh malt for wo and routhe,
	Ful often seyde, `Allas! what may this be?
	Now freend,' quod he, `if ever love or trouthe
585	Hath been, or is, bitwixen thee and me,
	Ne do thou never swiche a crueltee
	To hyde fro thy freend so greet a care;
	Wostow nought wel that it am I, Pandare?

`I wole parten with thee al thy peyne,

590 If it be so I do thee no comfort,

As it is freendes right, sooth for to seyne,

To entreparten wo, as glad desport.

I have, and shal, for trewe or fals report,

In wrong and right y-loved thee al my lyve;

595 Hyd not thy wo fro me, but telle it blyve.'

Than gan this sorwful Troilus to syke,

And seyde him thus, "God leve it be my beste

To telle it thee; for sith it may thee lyke,

Yet wole I telle it, though myn herte breste;

600 And wel woot I thou mayst do me no reste.

But lest thow deme I truste not to thee,

Now herkne, freend, for thus it stant with me.

`Love, ayeins the which whoso defendeth

Himselven most, him alderlest avayleth,

605 With disespeir so sorwfully me offendeth,

That streyght unto the deeth myn herte sayleth.

Therto desyr so brenningly me assaylleth,

That to ben slayn it were a gretter joye

To me than king of Grece been and Troye!

610 `Suffiseth this, my fulle freend Pandare,

That I have seyd, for now wostow my wo;

And for the love of god, my colde care

So hyd it wel, I telle it never to mo;

For harmes mighte folwen, mo than two,

615 If it were wist; but be thou in gladnesse,

And lat me sterve, unknowe, of my distresse.'

`How hastow thus unkindely and longe

Hid this fro me, thou fool?' quod Pandarus;

`Paraunter thou might after swich oon longe,

620 That myn avys anoon may helpen us.'

`This were a wonder thing,' quod Troylus,

`Thou koudest never in love thyselven wisse;

How devel maystow bringen me to blisse?'

`Ye, Troilus, now herke,' quod Pandare,

625 `Though I be nyce; it happeth ofte so,

That oon that exces doth ful yvele fare,

By good counseyl can kepe his freend therfro.

I have my-self eek seyn a blind man go

Ther as he fel that koude loke wyde;

630 A fool may eek a wys man ofte gyde.

`A whetston is no kerving instrument,

And yet it maketh sharpe kerving tolis.

And ther thou woost that I have ought miswent,

Eschewe thou that, for swich thing to thee scole is;

635 Thus ofte wyse men ben war by folis.

If thou do so, thy wit is wel biwared;

By his contrarie is every thing declared.

`For how might ever sweetnesse have be knowe

To him that never tasted bitternesse?

640 Ne no man may be inly glad, I trowe,

That never was in sorwe or som distresse;

Eek whyt by blak, by shame eek worthynesse,

Ech set by other, more for other semeth;

As men may see; and so the wyse it demeth.

645 `Sith thus of two contraries is a lore,

I, that have in love so ofte assayed

Grevaunces, oughte conne, and wel the more

Counsayllen thee of that thou art amayed.

Eek thee ne oughte nat ben yvel apayed,

650 Though I desyre with thee for to bere

Thyn hevy charge; it shal the lasse dere.

`I woot wel that it fareth thus by me

As to thy brother Parys an herdesse,

Which that ycleped was Oenone,

655 Wrot in a compleynte of hir hevinesse:

Ye say the lettre that she wroot, I gesse?'

`Nay, never yet, y-wis,' quod Troilus.

`Now,' quod Pandare, `herkneth, it was thus.

"Phebus, that first fond art of medicyne,'

660 Quod she, `and koude in every wightes care

Remede and reed, by herbes he knew fyne,

Yet to himself his konnyng was ful bare;

For love hadde him so bounden in a snare,

Al for the doughter of the kinge Admete,

665 That al his craft ne koude his sorwe bete."

`Right so fare I, unhappily for me;

I love oon best, and that me smerteth sore;

And yet, paraunter, can I rede thee,

And not myself; repreve me no more.

670 I have no cause, I woot wel, for to sore

As doth an hauk that listeth for to pleye,

But to thyn help yet somwhat can I seye.

`And of o thing right siker maystow be,

That certayn, for to deyen in the peyne,

675 That I shal never-mo discoveren thee;

Ne, by my trouthe, I kepe nat restreyne

Thee fro thy love, thogh that it were Eleyne,

That is thy brotheres wif, if ich it wiste;

Be what she be, and love hir as thee liste.

Next:
From Troilus and Criseyde, Book I, lines 680-721:
Pandarus urges Troilus to tell him what is wrong

	`I wole parten with thee al thy peyne,
590	If it be so I do thee no comfort,
	As it is freendes right, sooth for to seyne,
	To entreparten wo, as glad desport.
	I have, and shal, for trewe or fals report,
	In wrong and right y-loved thee al my lyve;
595	Hyd not thy wo fro me, but telle it blyve.'

	Than gan this sorwful Troilus to syke,
	And seyde him thus, "God leve it be my beste
	To telle it thee; for sith it may thee lyke,
	Yet wole I telle it, though myn herte breste;
600	And wel woot I thou mayst do me no reste.
	But lest thow deme I truste not to thee,
	Now herkne, freend, for thus it stant with me.

	`Love, ayeins the which whoso defendeth
	Himselven most, him alderlest avayleth,
605	With disespeir so sorwfully me offendeth,
	That streyght unto the deeth myn herte sayleth.
	Therto desyr so brenningly me assaylleth,
	That to ben slayn it were a gretter joye
	To me than king of Grece been and Troye!

610	`Suffiseth this, my fulle freend Pandare,
	That I have seyd, for now wostow my wo;
	And for the love of god, my colde care
	So hyd it wel, I telle it never to mo;
	For harmes mighte folwen, mo than two,
615	If it were wist; but be thou in gladnesse,
	And lat me sterve, unknowe, of my distresse.'

	`How hastow thus unkindely and longe
	Hid this fro me, thou fool?' quod Pandarus;
	`Paraunter thou might after swich oon longe,
620	That myn avys anoon may helpen us.'
	`This were a wonder thing,' quod Troylus,
	`Thou koudest never in love thyselven wisse;
	How devel maystow bringen me to blisse?'

	`Ye, Troilus, now herke,' quod Pandare,
625	`Though I be nyce; it happeth ofte so,
	That oon that exces doth ful yvele fare,
	By good counseyl can kepe his freend therfro.
	I have my-self eek seyn a blind man go
	Ther as he fel that koude loke wyde;
630	A fool may eek a wys man ofte gyde.

	`A whetston is no kerving instrument,
	And yet it maketh sharpe kerving tolis.
	And ther thou woost that I have ought miswent,
	Eschewe thou that, for swich thing to thee scole is;
635	Thus ofte wyse men ben war by folis.
	If thou do so, thy wit is wel biwared;
	By his contrarie is every thing declared.

	`For how might ever sweetnesse have be knowe
	To him that never tasted bitternesse?
640	Ne no man may be inly glad, I trowe,
	That never was in sorwe or som distresse;
	Eek whyt by blak, by shame eek worthynesse,
	Ech set by other, more for other semeth;
	As men may see; and so the wyse it demeth.

645	`Sith thus of two contraries is a lore,
	I, that have in love so ofte assayed
	Grevaunces, oughte conne, and wel the more
	Counsayllen thee of that thou art amayed.
	Eek thee ne oughte nat ben yvel apayed,
650	Though I desyre with thee for to bere
	Thyn hevy charge; it shal the lasse dere.

	`I woot wel that it fareth thus by me
	As to thy brother Parys an herdesse,
	Which that ycleped was Oenone,
655	Wrot in a compleynte of hir hevinesse:
	Ye say the lettre that she wroot, I gesse?'
	`Nay, never yet, y-wis,' quod Troilus.
	`Now,' quod Pandare, `herkneth, it was thus.

	"Phebus, that first fond art of medicyne,'
660	Quod she, `and koude in every wightes care
	Remede and reed, by herbes he knew fyne,
	Yet to himself his konnyng was ful bare;
	For love hadde him so bounden in a snare,
	Al for the doughter of the kinge Admete,
665	That al his craft ne koude his sorwe bete."

	`Right so fare I, unhappily for me;
	I love oon best, and that me smerteth sore;
	And yet, paraunter, can I rede thee,
	And not myself; repreve me no more.
670	I have no cause, I woot wel, for to sore
	As doth an hauk that listeth for to pleye,
	But to thyn help yet somwhat can I seye.

	`And of o thing right siker maystow be,
	That certayn, for to deyen in the peyne,
675	That I shal never-mo discoveren thee;
	Ne, by my trouthe, I kepe nat restreyne
	Thee fro thy love, thogh that it were Eleyne,
	That is thy brotheres wif, if ich it wiste;
	Be what she be, and love hir as thee liste.