| But Pandarus, that wel koude ech a deel |
| 695 | The olde daunce, and every poynt therinne, |
| Whan that he sey that alle thing was wel, |
| He thoughte he wolde up-on his werk biginne, |
| And gan the stuwe dore al softe unpinne; |
| And stille as stoon, withouten lenger lette, |
| 700 | By Troilus adown right he him sette. |
| And, shortly to the poynt right for to gon, |
| Of al this werk he tolde him word and ende, |
| And seyde, `Make thee redy right anon, |
| For thou shalt in-to hevene blisse wende.' |
| 705 | `Now blisful Venus, thou me grace sende,' |
| Quod Troilus, `for never yet no nede |
| Hadde I er now, ne halvendel the drede.' |
| Quod Pandarus, `Ne drede thee never a deel, |
| For it shal been right as thou wilt desyre; |
| 710 | So thryve I, this night shal I make it wel, |
| Or casten al the gruwel in the fyre.' |
| `Yit blisful Venus, this night thou me enspyre,' |
| Quod Troilus, `as wis as I thee serve, |
| And ever bet and bet shal, til I sterve. |
| 715 | `And if I hadde, O Venus ful of myrthe, |
| Aspectes badde of Mars or of Saturne, |
| Or thou combust or let were in my birthe, |
| Thy fader prey al thilke harm disturne |
| Of grace, and that I glad ayein may turne, |
| 720 | For love of him thou lovedest in the shawe, |
| I mene Adoon, that with the boor was slawe. |
| `O Jove eek, for the love of faire Europe, |
| The whiche in forme of bole awey thou fette; |
| Now help, O Mars, thou with thy blody cope, |
| 725 | For love of Cipris, thou me nought ne lette; |
| O Phebus, thenk whan Dane hirselven shette |
| Under the bark, and laurer wex for drede, |
| Yet for hir love, O help now at this nede! |
| `Mercurie, for the love of Hierse eke, |
| 730 | For which Pallas was with Aglauros wrooth, |
| Now help, and eek Diane, I thee biseke |
| That this viage be not to thee looth. |
| O fatal sustren, which, er any clooth |
| Me shapen was, my destene me sponne, |
| 735 | So helpeth to this werk that is bigonne!' |
| Quod Pandarus, `Thou wrecched mouses herte, |
| Art thou agast so that she wol thee byte? |
| Why, don this furred cloke up-on thy sherte, |
| And folowe me, for I wol have the wyte; |
| 740 | But byd, and lat me go bifore a lyte.' |
| And with that word he gan undo a trappe, |
| And Troilus he broughte in by the lappe. |
| The sterne wind so loude gan to route |
| That no wight other noyse mighte here; |
| 745 | And they that layen at the dore withoute, |
| Ful sikerly they slepten alle yfere; |
| And Pandarus, with a ful sobre chere, |
| Goth to the dore anon withouten lette, |
| Ther-as they laye, and softely it shette. |
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