From Geoffrey Chaucer's "Troilus and Criseyde", Book III, lines 1520-1554

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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book III, lines 1415-1519:
Morning comes and Troilus and Criseyde complain about the shortness of the night

Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book III, lines 1520-1554: Separated, Troilus and Criseyde think about each other

1520	Agayns his wil, syn it mot nedes be,
	This Troilus up roos, and faste him cledde,
	And in his armes took his lady free
	An hundred tyme, and on his wey him spedde,
	And with swich wordes as his herte bledde,
1525	He seyde, `Farewel, mr dere herte swete,
	Ther God us graunte sounde and sone to mete!'

To which no word for sorwe she answerde,

So sore gan his parting hir destreyne;

And Troilus un-to his palays ferde,

1530 As woo bigon as she was, sooth to seyne;

So hard him wrong of sharp desyr the peyne

For to ben eft there he was in plesaunce,

That it may never out of his remembraunce.

Retorned to his real palais, sone

1535 He softe into his bed gan for to slinke,

To slepe longe, as he was wont to done,

But al for nought; he may wel ligge and winke,

But sleep ne may ther in his herte sinke;

Thenkinge how she, for whom desyr him brende,

1540 A thousand fold was worth more than he wende.

And in his thought gan up and doun to winde

Hir wordes alle, and every countenaunce,

And fermely impressen in his minde

The leste poynt that to him was plesaunce;

1545 And verrayliche, of thilke remembraunce,

Desyr al newe him brende, and lust to brede

Gan more than erst, and yet took he non hede.

Criseyde also, right in the same wyse,

Of Troilus gan in hir herte shette

1550 His worthinesse, his lust, his dedes wyse,

His gentilesse, and how she with him mette,

Thonkinge love he so wel hir bisette;

Desyring eft to have hir herte dere

In swich a plit, she dorste make him chere.

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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book III, lines 1555-1582:
Pandarus congratulates Criseyde and plays with her

	To which no word for sorwe she answerde,
	So sore gan his parting hir destreyne;
	And Troilus un-to his palays ferde,
1530	As woo bigon as she was, sooth to seyne;
	So hard him wrong of sharp desyr the peyne
	For to ben eft there he was in plesaunce,
	That it may never out of his remembraunce.

	Retorned to his real palais, sone
1535	He softe into his bed gan for to slinke,
	To slepe longe, as he was wont to done,
	But al for nought; he may wel ligge and winke,
	But sleep ne may ther in his herte sinke;
	Thenkinge how she, for whom desyr him brende,
1540	A thousand fold was worth more than he wende.

	And in his thought gan up and doun to winde
	Hir wordes alle, and every countenaunce,
	And fermely impressen in his minde
	The leste poynt that to him was plesaunce;
1545	And verrayliche, of thilke remembraunce,
	Desyr al newe him brende, and lust to brede
	Gan more than erst, and yet took he non hede.

	Criseyde also, right in the same wyse,
	Of Troilus gan in hir herte shette
1550	His worthinesse, his lust, his dedes wyse,
	His gentilesse, and how she with him mette,
	Thonkinge love he so wel hir bisette;
	Desyring eft to have hir herte dere
	In swich a plit, she dorste make him chere.