From Geoffrey Chaucer's "Troilus and Criseyde", Book III, lines 1142-1337

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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book III, lines 1058-1141:
Pandarus brings Troilus and Criseyde together

Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book III, lines 1142-1337: Troilus and Criseyde finally touch each other

	Sone after this, though it no nede were,
	Whan she swich othes as hir list devyse
	Hadde of him take, hir thoughte tho no fere,
1145	Ne cause eek non, to bidde him thennes ryse.
	Yet lesse thing than othes may suffyse
	In many a cas; for every wight, I gesse,
	That loveth wel meneth but gentilesse.

But in effect she wolde wite anoon

1150 Of what man, and eek where, and also why

He jalous was, syn ther was cause noon;

And eek the signe, that he took it by,

She bad him that to telle hir bisily,

Or elles, certeyn, she bar him on honde,

1155 That this was doon of malis, hir to fonde.

Withouten more, shortly for to seyne,

He moste obeye unto his lady heste;

And for the lasse harm, he moste feyne.

He seyde hir, whan she was at swich a feste,

1160 She mighte on him han loked at the leste;

Not I not what, al dere ynough a risshe,

As he that nedes moste a cause fisshe.

And she answerde, `Swete, al were it so,

What harm was that, syn I non yvel mene?

1165 For, by that God that boughte us bothe two,

In alle thinge is myn entente clene.

Swich arguments ne been not worth a bene;

Wol ye the childish jalous countrefete?

Now were it worthy that ye were ybete.'

1170 Tho Troilus gan sorwfully to syke,

Lest she be wrooth, him thoughte his herte deyde;

And seyde, `Allas! Up-on my sorwes syke

Have mercy, swete herte myn, Criseyde!

And if that, in tho wordes that I seyde,

1175 Be any wrong, I wol no more trespace;

Do what yow list, I am al in your grace.'

And she answerde, `Of gilt misericorde!

That is to seyn, that I foryeve al this;

And ever-more on this night yow recorde,

1180 And beth wel war ye do no more amis.'

`Nay, dere herte myn,' quod he, `y-wis.'

`And now,' quod she, `that I have do yow smerte,

Foryeve it me, myn owene swete herte.'

This Troilus, with blisse of that supprysed,

1185 Put al in Goddes hond, as he that mente

No-thing but wel; and, sodeynly avysed,

He hir in armes faste to him hente.

And Pandarus, with a ful good entente,

Leyde him to slepe, and seyde, `If ye ben wyse,

1190 Swowneth not now, lest more folk aryse.'

What mighte or may the sely larke seye,

Whan that the sperhauk hath it in his foot?

I can no more, but of thise ilke tweye,

To whom this tale sucre be or soot,

1195 Though that I tarie a yeer, som-tyme I moot,

After myn auctor, tellen hir gladnesse,

As wel as I have told hir hevinesse.

Criseyde, which that felte hir thus ytake,

As writen clerkes in hir bokes olde,

1200 Right as an aspes leef she gan to quake,

Whan she him felte hir in his armes folde.

But Troilus, al hool of cares colde,

Gan thanken tho the blisful goddes sevene;

Thus sondry peynes bringen folk in hevene.

1205 This Troilus in armes gan hir streyne,

And seyde, `O swete, as ever mote I goon,

Now be ye caught, now is ther but we tweyne;

Now yeldeth yow, for other boot is non.'

To that Criseyde answerde thus anon,

1210 `Ne hadde I er now, my swete herte dere,

Ben yolde, ywis, I were now not here!'

O! Sooth is seyd, that heled for to be

As of a fevre or othere greet syknesse,

Men moste drinke, as men may often see,

1215 Ful bittre drink; and for to han gladnesse,

Men drinken often peyne and greet distresse;

I mene it here, as for this aventure,

That thurgh a peyne hath founden al his cure.

And now swetnesse semeth more sweet,

1220 That bitternesse assayed was biforn;

For out of wo in blisse now they flete;

Non swich they felten, sith they were born;

Now is this bet, than bothe two be lorn!

For love of God, take every womman hede

1225 To werken thus, if it comth to the nede.

Criseyde, al quit from every drede and tene,

As she that juste cause hadde him to triste,

Made him swich feste, it joye was to sene,

Whan she his trouthe and clene entente wiste.

1230 And as aboute a tree, with many a twiste,

Bitrent and wryth the sote wodebinde,

Gan ech of hem in armes other winde.

And as the newe abaysshed nightingale,

That stinteth first whan she biginneth to singe,

1235 Whan that she hereth any herde tale,

Or in the hegges any wight steringe,

And after siker dooth hir voys out-ringe;

Right so Criseyde, whan hir drede stente,

Opned hir herte and tolde him hir entente.

1240 And right as he that seeth his deeth yshapen,

And dyen moot, in ought that he may gesse,

And sodeynly rescous dooth him escapen,

And from his deeth is brought in sikernesse,

For al this world, in swich present gladnesse

1245 Was Troilus, and hath his lady swete;

With worse hap God lat us never mete!

Hir armes smale, hir streyghte bak and softe,

Hir sydes longe, fleshly, smothe, and whyte

He gan to stroke, and good thrift bad ful ofte

1250 Hir snowish throte, hir brestes rounde and lyte;

Thus in this hevene he gan him to delyte,

And therwithal a thousand tyme hir kiste;

That, what to done, for joye unnethe he wiste.

Than seyde he thus, `O, Love, O, Charitee,

1255 Thy moder eek, Citherea the swete,

After thyself next heried be she,

Venus mene I, the wel-willy planete;

And next that, Imeneus, I thee grete;

For never man was to yow goddes holde

1260 As I, which ye han brought fro cares colde.

`Benigne Love, thou holy bond of thinges,

Who-so wol grace, and list thee nought honouren,

Lo, his desyr wol flee withouten winges.

For, noldestow of bountee hem socouren

1265 That serven best and most alwey labouren,

Yet were al lost, that dar I wel seyn, certes,

But-if thy grace passed our desertes.

`And for thou me, that coude leest deserve

Of hem that nombred been unto thy grace,

1270 Hast holpen, ther I lykly was to sterve,

And me bistowed in so heygh a place

That thilke boundes may no blisse pace,

I can no more, but laude and reverence

Be to thy bountee and thyn excellence!'

1275 And therwithal Criseyde anoon he kiste,

Of which, certeyn, she felte no disese,

And thus seyde he, `Now wolde God I wiste,

Myn herte swete, how I yow mighte plese!

What man,' quod he, `was ever thus at ese

1280 As I, on whiche the faireste and the beste

That ever I say, deyneth hir herte reste.

`Here may men seen that mercy passeth right;

The experience of that is felt in me,

That am unworthy to so swete a wight.

1285 But herte myn, of your benignytee,

So thenketh, though that I unworthy be,

Yet mot I nede amenden in som wyse,

Right thourgh the vertu of your heyghe servyse.

`And for the love of God, my lady dere,

1290 Syn God hath wrought me for I shal yow serve,

As thus I mene, that ye wol be my stere,

To do me live, if that yow liste, or sterve,

So techeth me how that I may deserve

Your thank, so that I, thurgh myn ignoraunce,

1295 Ne do no thing that yow be displesaunce.

`For certes, fresshe wommanliche wyf,

This dar I seye, that trouthe and diligence,

That shal ye finden in me al my lyf,

Ne wol not, certeyn, breken your defence;

1300 And if I do, present or in absence,

For love of God, lat slee me with the dede,

If that it lyke unto your womanhede.'

`Ywis,' quod she, `myn owne hertes list,

My ground of ese, and al myn herte dere,

1305 Graunt mercy, for on that is al my trist;

But late us falle awey fro this matere;

For it suffyseth, this that seyd is here.

And at o word, withouten repentaunce,

Welcome, my knight, my pees, my suffisaunce!'

1310 Of hir delyt, or joyes oon the leste

Were impossible to my wit to seye;

But juggeth, ye that han ben at the feste,

Of swich gladnesse, if that hem liste pleye!

I can no more, but thus thise ilke tweye

1315 That night, bitwixen dreed and sikernesse,

Felten in love the grete worthinesse.

O blisful night, of hem so longe ysought,

How blithe unto hem bothe two thou were!

Why ne hadde I swich on with my soule ybought,

1320 Ye, or the leeste joye that was there?

A-wey, thou foule daunger and thou fere,

And lat hem in this hevene blisse dwelle,

That is so heygh, that al ne can I telle!

But sooth is, though I can not tellen al,

1325 As can myn auctor, of his excellence,

Yet have I seyd, and, God toforn, I shal

In every thing al hoolly his sentence.

And if that I, at loves reverence,

Have any word in eched for the beste,

1330 Doth therwith-al right as your-selven leste.

For myne wordes, here and every part,

I speke hem alle under correccioun

Of yow, that feling han in loves art,

And putte it al in your discrecioun

1335 To encrese or maken diminucioun

Of my langage, and that I yow biseche;

But now to purpos of my rather speche.

Next:
From Troilus and Criseyde, Book III, lines 1338-1414:
Troilus and Criseyde stay up all night

	But in effect she wolde wite anoon
1150	Of what man, and eek where, and also why
	He jalous was, syn ther was cause noon;
	And eek the signe, that he took it by,
	She bad him that to telle hir bisily,
	Or elles, certeyn, she bar him on honde,
1155	That this was doon of malis, hir to fonde.

	Withouten more, shortly for to seyne,
	He moste obeye unto his lady heste;
	And for the lasse harm, he moste feyne.
	He seyde hir, whan she was at swich a feste,
1160	She mighte on him han loked at the leste;
	Not I not what, al dere ynough a risshe,
	As he that nedes moste a cause fisshe.

	And she answerde, `Swete, al were it so,
	What harm was that, syn I non yvel mene?
1165	For, by that God that boughte us bothe two,
	In alle thinge is myn entente clene.
	Swich arguments ne been not worth a bene;
	Wol ye the childish jalous countrefete?
	Now were it worthy that ye were ybete.'

1170	Tho Troilus gan sorwfully to syke,
	Lest she be wrooth, him thoughte his herte deyde;
	And seyde, `Allas! Up-on my sorwes syke
	Have mercy, swete herte myn, Criseyde!
	And if that, in tho wordes that I seyde,
1175	Be any wrong, I wol no more trespace;
	Do what yow list, I am al in your grace.'

	And she answerde, `Of gilt misericorde!
	That is to seyn, that I foryeve al this;
	And ever-more on this night yow recorde,
1180	And beth wel war ye do no more amis.'
	`Nay, dere herte myn,' quod he, `y-wis.'
	`And now,' quod she, `that I have do yow smerte,
	Foryeve it me, myn owene swete herte.'

	This Troilus, with blisse of that supprysed,
1185	Put al in Goddes hond, as he that mente
	No-thing but wel; and, sodeynly avysed,
	He hir in armes faste to him hente.
	And Pandarus, with a ful good entente,
	Leyde him to slepe, and seyde, `If ye ben wyse,
1190	Swowneth not now, lest more folk aryse.'

	What mighte or may the sely larke seye,
	Whan that the sperhauk hath it in his foot?
	I can no more, but of thise ilke tweye,
	To whom this tale sucre be or soot,
1195	Though that I tarie a yeer, som-tyme I moot,
	After myn auctor, tellen hir gladnesse,
	As wel as I have told hir hevinesse.

	Criseyde, which that felte hir thus ytake,
	As writen clerkes in hir bokes olde,
1200	Right as an aspes leef she gan to quake,
	Whan she him felte hir in his armes folde.
	But Troilus, al hool of cares colde,
	Gan thanken tho the blisful goddes sevene;
	Thus sondry peynes bringen folk in hevene.

1205	This Troilus in armes gan hir streyne,
	And seyde, `O swete, as ever mote I goon,
	Now be ye caught, now is ther but we tweyne;
	Now yeldeth yow, for other boot is non.'
	To that Criseyde answerde thus anon,
1210	`Ne hadde I er now, my swete herte dere,
	Ben yolde, ywis, I were now not here!'

	O! Sooth is seyd, that heled for to be
	As of a fevre or othere greet syknesse,
	Men moste drinke, as men may often see,
1215	Ful bittre drink; and for to han gladnesse,
	Men drinken often peyne and greet distresse;
	I mene it here, as for this aventure,
	That thurgh a peyne hath founden al his cure.

	And now swetnesse semeth more sweet,
1220	That bitternesse assayed was biforn;
	For out of wo in blisse now they flete;
	Non swich they felten, sith they were born;
	Now is this bet, than bothe two be lorn!
	For love of God, take every womman hede
1225	To werken thus, if it comth to the nede.

	Criseyde, al quit from every drede and tene,
	As she that juste cause hadde him to triste,
	Made him swich feste, it joye was to sene,
	Whan she his trouthe and clene entente wiste.
1230	And as aboute a tree, with many a twiste,
	Bitrent and wryth the sote wodebinde,
	Gan ech of hem in armes other winde.

	And as the newe abaysshed nightingale,
	That stinteth first whan she biginneth to singe,
1235	Whan that she hereth any herde tale,
	Or in the hegges any wight steringe,
	And after siker dooth hir voys out-ringe;
	Right so Criseyde, whan hir drede stente,
	Opned hir herte and tolde him hir entente.

1240	And right as he that seeth his deeth yshapen,
	And dyen moot, in ought that he may gesse,
	And sodeynly rescous dooth him escapen,
	And from his deeth is brought in sikernesse,
	For al this world, in swich present gladnesse
1245	Was Troilus, and hath his lady swete;
	With worse hap God lat us never mete!

	Hir armes smale, hir streyghte bak and softe,
	Hir sydes longe, fleshly, smothe, and whyte
	He gan to stroke, and good thrift bad ful ofte
1250	Hir snowish throte, hir brestes rounde and lyte;
	Thus in this hevene he gan him to delyte,
	And therwithal a thousand tyme hir kiste;
	That, what to done, for joye unnethe he wiste.

	Than seyde he thus, `O, Love, O, Charitee,
1255	Thy moder eek, Citherea the swete,
	After thyself next heried be she,
	Venus mene I, the wel-willy planete;
	And next that, Imeneus, I thee grete;
	For never man was to yow goddes holde
1260	As I, which ye han brought fro cares colde.

	`Benigne Love, thou holy bond of thinges,
	Who-so wol grace, and list thee nought honouren,
	Lo, his desyr wol flee withouten winges.
	For, noldestow of bountee hem socouren
1265	That serven best and most alwey labouren,
	Yet were al lost, that dar I wel seyn, certes,
	But-if thy grace passed our desertes.

	`And for thou me, that coude leest deserve
	Of hem that nombred been unto thy grace,
1270	Hast holpen, ther I lykly was to sterve,
	And me bistowed in so heygh a place
	That thilke boundes may no blisse pace,
	I can no more, but laude and reverence
	Be to thy bountee and thyn excellence!'

1275	And therwithal Criseyde anoon he kiste,
	Of which, certeyn, she felte no disese,
	And thus seyde he, `Now wolde God I wiste,
	Myn herte swete, how I yow mighte plese!
	What man,' quod he, `was ever thus at ese
1280	As I, on whiche the faireste and the beste
	That ever I say, deyneth hir herte reste.

	`Here may men seen that mercy passeth right;
	The experience of that is felt in me,
	That am unworthy to so swete a wight.
1285	But herte myn, of your benignytee,
	So thenketh, though that I unworthy be,
	Yet mot I nede amenden in som wyse,
	Right thourgh the vertu of your heyghe servyse.

	`And for the love of God, my lady dere,
1290	Syn God hath wrought me for I shal yow serve,
	As thus I mene, that ye wol be my stere,
	To do me live, if that yow liste, or sterve,
	So techeth me how that I may deserve
	Your thank, so that I, thurgh myn ignoraunce,
1295	Ne do no thing that yow be displesaunce.

	`For certes, fresshe wommanliche wyf,
	This dar I seye, that trouthe and diligence,
	That shal ye finden in me al my lyf,
	Ne wol not, certeyn, breken your defence;
1300	And if I do, present or in absence,
	For love of God, lat slee me with the dede,
	If that it lyke unto your womanhede.'

	`Ywis,' quod she, `myn owne hertes list,
	My ground of ese, and al myn herte dere,
1305	Graunt mercy, for on that is al my trist;
	But late us falle awey fro this matere;
	For it suffyseth, this that seyd is here.
	And at o word, withouten repentaunce,
	Welcome, my knight, my pees, my suffisaunce!'

1310	Of hir delyt, or joyes oon the leste
	Were impossible to my wit to seye;
	But juggeth, ye that han ben at the feste,
	Of swich gladnesse, if that hem liste pleye!
	I can no more, but thus thise ilke tweye
1315	That night, bitwixen dreed and sikernesse,
	Felten in love the grete worthinesse.

	O blisful night, of hem so longe ysought,
	How blithe unto hem bothe two thou were!
	Why ne hadde I swich on with my soule ybought,
1320	Ye, or the leeste joye that was there?
	A-wey, thou foule daunger and thou fere,
	And lat hem in this hevene blisse dwelle,
	That is so heygh, that al ne can I telle!

	But sooth is, though I can not tellen al,
1325	As can myn auctor, of his excellence,
	Yet have I seyd, and, God toforn, I shal
	In every thing al hoolly his sentence.
	And if that I, at loves reverence,
	Have any word in eched for the beste,
1330	Doth therwith-al right as your-selven leste.

	For myne wordes, here and every part,
	I speke hem alle under correccioun
	Of yow, that feling han in loves art,
	And putte it al in your discrecioun
1335	To encrese or maken diminucioun
	Of my langage, and that I yow biseche;
	But now to purpos of my rather speche.