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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book II, lines 386-504:
Criseyde says she rather loves Troilus than have Troilus and her uncle Pandarus kill themselves
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Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book II, lines 505-595: Pandarus tells about Troilus

505Tho Pandarus a litel gan to smyle,
And seyde, `By my trouthe, I shal yow telle.
This other day, nought gon ful longe whyle,
In-with the paleys-gardyn, by a welle,
Gan he and I wel half a day to dwelle,
510Right for to speken of an ordenaunce,
How we the Grekes myghte disavaunce.

`Sone after that bigonne we to lepe,
And casten with our dartes to and fro,
Til at the laste he seyde he wolde slepe,
515And on the gres a-doun he leyde him tho;
And I after gan rome to and fro
Til that I herde, as that I welk allone,
How he bigan ful wofully to grone.

`Tho gan I stalke him softely bihinde,
520And sikerly, the sothe for to seyne,
As I can clepe ayein now to my minde,
Right thus to Love he gan him for to pleyne;
He seyde, "Lord! Have routhe up-on my peyne,
Al have I been rebel in myn entente;
525Now, MEA CULPA, lord! I me repente.

`"O God, that at thy disposicioun
Ledest the fyn by juste purveiaunce,
Of every wight, my lowe confessioun
Accepte in gree, and send me swich penaunce
530As lyketh thee, but from desesperaunce,
That may my goost departe awey fro thee,
Thou be my sheld, for thy benignytee.

`"For certes, lord, so soore hath she me wounded,
That stod in blak, with loking of hir yen,
535That to myn hertes botme it is y-sounded,
Thorugh which I woot that I mot nedes dyen;
This is the worste, I dar me not biwreyen;
And wel the hotter been the gledes rede,
That men hem wryen with asshen pale and dede."

540`With that he smoot his heed adoun anoon,
And gan to motre, I noot what, trewely.
And I with that gan stille awey to goon,
And leet ther-of as no-thing wist hadde I,
And come ayein anoon and stood him by,
545And seyde, "A-wake, ye slepen al to longe;
It semeth nat that love dooth yow longe,

`"That slepen so that no man may yow wake.
Who sey ever or this so dul a man?"
"Ye, freend," quod he, "do ye your hedes ake
550For love, and lat me liven as I can."
But though that he for wo was pale and wan,
Yet made he tho as freshe a countenaunce
As though he shulde have led the newe daunce.

`This passed forth, til now, this other day,
555It fel that I com roming al allone
Into his chaumbre, and fond how that he lay
Upon his bed; but man so sore grone
Ne herde I never, and what that was his mone,
Ne wist I nought; for, as I was cominge,
560Al sodeynly he lefte his compleyninge.

`Of which I took somwat suspecioun,
And neer I com, and fond he wepte sore;
And God so wis be my savacioun,
As never of thing hadde I no routhe more.
565For neither with engyn, ne with no lore,
Unnethes mighte I fro the deeth him kepe;
That yet fele I myn herte for him wepe.

`And God woot, never, sith that I was born,
Was I so bisy no man for to preche,
570Ne never was to wight so depe y-sworn,
Or he me tolde who mighte been his leche.
But now to yow rehercen al his speche,
Or alle his woful wordes for to soune,
Ne bid me not, but ye wol see me swowne.

575`But for to save his lyf, and elles nought,
And to non harm of yow, thus am I driven;
And for the love of God that us hath wrought,
Swich chere him dooth, that he and I may liven.
Now have I plat to yow myn herte shryven;
580And sin ye woot that myn entente is clene,
Tak hede ther-of, for I non yvel mene.

`And right good thrift, I prey to God, have ye,
That han swich oon y-caught withouten net;
And be ye wys, as ye ben fair to see,
585Wel in the ring than is the ruby set.
Ther were never two so wel y-met,
Whan ye ben his al hool, as he is youre:
Ther mighty God yet graunte us see that houre!'

`Nay, therof spak I not, a, ha!' quod she,
590`As helpe me God, ye shenden every deel!'
`O mercy, dere nece,' anoon quod he,
`What-so I spak, I mente nought but weel,
By Mars the god, that helmed is of steel;
Now beth nought wrooth, my blood, my nece dere.'
595`Now wel,' quod she, `foryeven be it here!'

Next Next:
From Troilus and Criseyde, Book II, lines 596-644:
Troilus defeats the Greeks and Criseyde watches his triumphal procession