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Out of these blake wawes for to sayle, | |
O wind, O wind, the weder ginneth clere; | |
For in this see the boot hath swich travayle, | |
Of my conning, that unnethe I it stere: | |
5 | This see clepe I the tempestous matere |
Of desespeir that Troilus was inne: | |
But now of hope the calendes biginne. |
O lady myn, that called art Cleo, | |
Thou be my speed fro this forth, and my muse, | |
10 | To ryme wel this book, til I have do; |
Me nedeth here noon other art to use. | |
Forwhy to every lovere I me excuse, | |
That of no sentement I this endite, | |
But out of Latin in my tonge it write. |
15 | Wherfore I nil have neither thank ne blame |
Of al this werk, but prey yow mekely, | |
Disblameth me if any word be lame, | |
For as myn auctor seyde, so seye I. | |
Eek though I speke of love unfelingly, | |
20 | No wondre is, for it nothing of newe is; |
A blind man can nat juggen wel in hewis. |
Ye knowe eek, that in forme of speche is chaunge | |
With-inne a thousand yeer, and wordes tho | |
That hadden prys, now wonder nyce and straunge | |
25 | Us thinketh hem; and yet they spake hem so, |
And spedde as wel in love as men now do; | |
Eek for to winne love in sondry ages, | |
In sondry londes, sondry ben usages. |
And forthy if it happe in any wyse, | |
30 | That here be any lovere in this place |
That herkneth, as the storie wol devyse, | |
How Troilus com to his lady grace, | |
And thenketh, so nolde I nat love purchace, | |
Or wondreth on his speche or his doinge, | |
35 | I noot; but it is me no wonderinge; |
For every wight which that to Rome went, | |
Halt nat o path, or alwey o manere; | |
Eek in som lond were al the gamen shent, | |
If that they ferde in love as men don here, | |
40 | As thus, in open doing or in chere, |
In visitinge, in forme, or seyde hire sawes; | |
Forthy men seyn, ech contree hath his lawes. |
Eek scarsly been ther in this place three | |
That han in love seid lyk and doon in al; | |
45 | For to thy purpos this may lyken thee, |
And thee right nought, yet al is seyd or shal; | |
Eek som men grave in tree, som in stoon wal, | |
As it bitit; but syn I have begonne, | |
Myn auctor shal I folwen, if I conne. |
Next: From Troilus and Criseyde, Book II, lines 50-77: Pandarus goes to his niece Criseyde |