Previous: From Troilus and Criseyde, Book III, lines 694-749: Pandarus tells Troilus to prepare

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	`What! Which wey be ye comen, benedicite?'
	Quod she; `And how thus unwist of hem alle?'
	`Here at this secre trappe-dore,' quod he.
760	Quod tho Criseyde, `Lat me som wight calle.'
	`Ey! God forbede that it sholde falle,'
	Quod Pandarus, `that ye swich foly wroughte!
	They mighte deme thing they never er thoughte!

	`It is nought good a sleping hound to wake,
765	Ne yeve a wight a cause to devyne;
	Your wommen slepen alle, I undertake,
	So that, for hem, the hous men mighte myne;
	And slepen wolen til the sonne shyne.
	And whan my tale al brought is to an ende,
770	Unwist, right as I com, so wol I wende.

	`Now, nece myn, ye shul wel understonde,'
	Quod he, `so as ye wommen demen alle,
	That for to holde in love a man in honde,
	And him hir "leef" and "dere herte" calle,
775	And maken him an howve above a calle,
	I mene, as love an other in this whyle,
	She dooth hirself a shame, and him a gyle.

	`Now wherby that I telle yow al this?
	Ye woot yourself, as wel as any wight,
780	How that your love al fully graunted is
	To Troilus, the worthieste knight,
	Oon of this world, and therto trouthe plyght,
	That, but it were on him along, ye nolde
	Him never falsen, whyle ye liven sholde.

785	`Now stant it thus, that sith I fro yow wente,
	This Troilus, right platly for to seyn,
	Is thurgh a goter, by a prive wente,
	Into my chaumbre come in al this reyn,
	Unwist of every maner wight, certeyn,
790	Save of myself, as wisly have I joye,
	And by that feith I shal Pryam of Troye!

	`And he is come in swich peyne and distresse
	That, but he be al fully wood by this,
	He sodeynly moot falle into woodnesse,
795	But if God helpe; and cause why this is,
	He seyth him told is, of a freend of his,
	How that ye sholde love oon that hatte Horaste,
	For sorwe of which this night shalt been his laste.'

	Criseyde, which that al this wonder herde,
800	Gan sodeynly aboute hir herte colde,
	And with a syk she sorwfully answerde,
	`Allas! I wende, whoso tales tolde,
	My dere herte wolde me not holde
	So lightly fals! Allas! Conceytes wronge,
805	What harm they doon, for now live I to longe!

	`Horaste! Allas! And falsen Troilus?
	I knowe him not, God helpe me so,' quod she;
	`Allas! What wikked spirit tolde him thus?
	Now certes, eem, tomorwe, and I him see,
810	I shal ther-of as ful excusen me
	As ever dide womman, if him lyke';
	And with that word she gan ful sore syke.

	`O God!' quod she, `So worldly selinesse,
	Which clerkes callen fals felicitee,
815	Y-medled is with many a bitternesse!
	Ful anguisshous than is, God woot,' quod she,
	`Condicioun of veyn prosperitee;
	For either joyes comen nought yfere,
	Or elles no wight hath hem alwey here.

820	`O brotel wele of mannes joye unstable!
	With what wight so thou be, or how thou pleye,
	Either he woot that thou, joye, art muable,
	Or woot it not, it moot ben oon of tweye;
	Now if he woot it not, how may he seye
825	That he hath verray joye and selinesse,
	That is of ignoraunce ay in derknesse?

	`Now if he woot that joye is transitorie,
	As every joye of worldly thing mot flee,
	Than every tyme he that hath in memorie,
830	The drede of lesing maketh him that he
	May in no perfit selinesse be.
	And if to lese his joye he set a myte,
	Than semeth it that joye is worth ful lyte.

	`Wherfore I wol deffyne in this matere,
835	That trewely, for ought I can espye,
	Ther is no verray wele in this world here.
	But O, thou wikked serpent, jalousye,
	Thou misbeleved and envious folye,
	Why hastow Troilus me mad untriste,
840	That never yet agilte him, that I wiste?'

	Quod Pandarus, `Thus fallen is this cas.'
	`Why, uncle myn,' quod she, `who tolde him this?
	Why dooth my dere herte thus, allas?'
	`Ye woot, ye nece myn,' quod he, `what is;
845	I hope al shal be wel that is amis,
	For ye may quenche al this, if that yow leste,
	And dooth right so, for I holde it the beste.'

	`So shal I do to-morwe, y-wis,' quod she,
	`And God to-forn, so that it shal suffyse.'
850	`To-morwe? Allas, that were a fair!' quod he,
	`Nay, nay, it may not stonden in this wyse;
	For, nece myn, thus wryten clerkes wyse,
	That peril is with drecching in ydrawe;
	Nay, swich abodes been nought worth an hawe.

855	`Nece, al thing hath tyme, I dar avowe;
	For whan a chaumber a-fyr is, or an halle,
	Wel more nede is, it sodeynly rescowe
	Than to dispute, and axe amonges alle
	How this candele in the straw is falle.
860	A! Benedicite! For al among that fare
	The harm is doon, and fare-wel feldefare!

	`And, nece myn, ne take it not agreef,
	If that ye suffre him al night in this wo,
	God help me so, ye hadde him never leef,
865	That dar I seyn, now there is but we two;
	But wel I woot, that ye wol not do so;
	Ye been to wys to do so gret folye,
	To putte his lyf al night in jupertye.

	`Hadde I him never leef? By God, I wene
870	Ye hadde never thing so leef,' quod she.
	`Now by my thrift,' quod he, `that shal be sene;
	For, syn ye make this ensample of me,
	If I al night wolde him in sorwe see
	For al the tresour in the toun of Troye,
875	I bidde God, I never mote have joye!

	`Now loke thanne, if ye, that been his love,
	Shul putte al night his lyf in jupartye
	For thing of nought! Now, by that God above,
	Nought only this delay comth of folye,
880	But of malyce, if that I shal nought lye.
	What, platly, and ye suffre him in distresse,
	Ye neither bountee doon ne gentilesse!'

	Quod tho Criseyde, `Wole ye doon o thing,
	And ye therwith shal stinte al his disese?
885	Have here, and bereth him this blewe ringe,
	For ther is nothing mighte him bettre plese,
	Save I myself, ne more his herte apese;
	And sey my dere herte, that his sorwe
	Is causeles, that shal be seen to-morwe.'

890	`A ring?' quod he, `Ye, hasel-wodes shaken!
	Ye nece myn, that ring moste han a stoon
	That mighte dede men alyve maken;
	And swich a ring trowe I that ye have noon.
	Discrecioun out of your heed is goon;
895	That fele I now,' quod he, `and that is routhe;
	O tyme ylost, wel maystow cursen slouthe!

	`Wot ye not wel that noble and heigh corage
	Ne sorweth not, ne stinteth eek for lyte?
	But if a fool were in a jalous rage,
900	I nolde setten at his sorwe a myte,
	But feffe him with a fewe wordes whyte
	Another day, whan that I mighte him finde;
	But this thing stant al in another kinde.

	`This is so gentil and so tendre of herte,
905	That with his deeth he wol his sorwes wreke;
	For trusteth wel, how sore that him smerte,
	He wol to yow no jalouse wordes speke.
	And for-thy, nece, er that his herte breke,
	So spek yourself to him of this matere;
910	For with o word ye may his herte stere.

	`Now have I told what peril he is inne,
	And his coming unwist is to every wight;
	Ne, pardee, harm may ther be noon, ne synne;
	I wol myself be with yow al this night.
915	Ye knowe eek how it is your owne knight,
	And that, by right, ye moste upon him triste,
	And I al prest to fecche him whan yow liste.'

Next: From Troilus and Criseyde, Book III, lines 918-980: Pandarus leads Troilus into Criseyde's room, praises Troilus' good manners and leaves the room