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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book IV, lines 1527-1652:
Criseyde comforts Troilus
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Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book IV, lines 1653-1701: The day of their separation comes near

To this answerde Troilus and seyde,
`Now god, to whom ther nis no cause ywrye,
1655Me glade, as wis I never unto Criseyde,
Syn thilke day I saugh hir first with ye,
Was fals, ne never shal til that I dye.
At shorte wordes, wel ye may me leve;
I can no more, it shal be founde at preve.'

1660`Graunt mercy, goode myn, ywis,' quod she,
`And blisful Venus lat me never sterve
Er I may stonde of plesaunce in degree
To quyte him wel, that so wel can deserve;
And whyl that God my wit wol me conserve,
1665I shal so doon, so trewe I have yow founde,
That ay honour to me-ward shal rebounde.

`For trusteth wel, that your estat royal
Ne veyn delit, nor only worthinesse
Of yow in werre, or torney marcial,
1670Ne pompe, array, nobley, or eek richesse,
Ne made me to rewe on your distresse;
But moral vertue, grounded upon trouthe,
That was the cause I first hadde on yow routhe!

`Eek gentil herte and manhod that ye hadde,
1675And that ye hadde, as me thoughte, in despyt
Every thing that souned into badde,
As rudenesse and poeplish appetyt;
And that your reson brydled your delit,
This made, aboven every creature,
1680That I was your, and shal, whyl I may dure.

`And this may lengthe of yeres not for-do,
Ne remuable fortune deface;
But Jupiter, that of his might may do
The sorwful to be glad, so yeve us grace,
1685Er nightes ten, to meten in this place,
So that it may your herte and myn suffyse;
And fareth now wel, for tyme is that ye ryse.'

And after that they longe ypleyned hadde,
And ofte ykist, and streite in armes folde,
1690The day gan ryse, and Troilus him cladde,
And rewfulliche his lady gan biholde,
As he that felte dethes cares colde,
And to hir grace he gan him recomaunde;
Wher him was wo, this holde I no demaunde.

1695For mannes heed imaginen ne can,
Ne entendement considere, ne tonge telle
The cruel peynes of this sorwful man,
That passen every torment doun in helle.
For whan he saugh that she ne mighte dwelle,
1700Which that his soule out of his herte rente,
Withouten more, out of the chaumbre he wente.

Explicit Liber Quartus.

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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book V, lines 1-91:
The exchange of Criseyde and Antenor