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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book III, lines 1-49:
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Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book III, lines 50-112: Pandarus and Criseyde enter Troilus' room

Incipit Liber Tercius.

50Lay al this mene whyle Troilus,
Recordinge his lessoun in this manere,
`Ma fey!' thought he, `Thus wole I seye and thus;
Thus wole I pleyne unto my lady dere;
That word is good, and this shal be my chere;
55This nil I not foryeten in no wyse.'
God leve him werken as he can devyse!

And, lord, so that his herte gan to quappe,
Heringe hir come, and shorte for to syke!
And Pandarus, that ledde hir by the lappe,
60Com ner, and gan in at the curtin pyke,
And seyde, `God do bote on alle syke!
See, who is here yow comen to visyte;
Lo, here is she that is your deeth to wyte.'

Ther-with it semed as he wepte almost;
65`A ha,' quod Troilus so rewfully,
`Wher me be wo, O mighty God, thow wost!
Who is al there? I se nought trewely.'
`Sire,' quod Criseyde, `it is Pandare and I.'
`Ye, swete herte? Allas, I may nought ryse
70To knele, and do yow honour in som wyse.'

And dressede him upward, and she right tho
Gan bothe here hondes softe upon him leye,
`O, for the love of God, do ye not so
To me,' quod she, `Ey! What is this to seye?
75Sire, come am I to yow for causes tweye;
First, yow to thonke, and of your lordshipe eke
Continuance I wolde yow biseke.'

This Troilus, that herde his lady preye
Of lordship him, wex neither quyk ne deed,
80Ne mighte a word for shame to it seye,
Although men sholde smyten of his heed.
But lord, so he wex sodeinliche reed,
And sire, his lesson, that he wende konne,
To preyen hir, is thurgh his wit yronne.

85Cryseyde al this aspyede wel ynough,
For she was wys, and lovede him never the lasse,
Al nere he malapert, or made it tough,
Or was to bold, to singe a fool a masse.
But whan his shame gan somwhat to passe,
90His resons, as I may my rymes holde,
I yow wole telle, as techen bokes olde.

In chaunged vois, right for his verray drede,
Which vois eek quook, and therto his manere
Goodly abayst, and now his hewes rede,
95Now pale, unto Criseyde, his lady dere,
With look doun cast and humble yolden chere,
Lo, the alderfirste word that him asterte
Was, twyes, `Mercy, mercy, swete herte!'

And stinte a whyl, and whan he mighte out bringe,
100The nexte word was, `God woot, for I have,
As feyfully as I have had konnynge,
Ben youres, also God so my soule save;
And shal til that I, woful wight, be grave.
And though I dar ne can unto yow pleyne,
105Ywis, I suffre nought the lasse peyne.

`Thus muche as now, O wommanliche wyf,
I may out bringe, and if this yow displese,
That shal I wreke upon myn owne lyf
Right sone, I trowe, and doon your herte an ese,
110If with my deeth your herte I may apese.
But syn that ye han herd me som-what seye,
Now recche I never how sone that I deye.'

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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book III, lines 113-154:
Troilus declares his love for Criseyde