From Geoffrey Chaucer's "Troilus and Criseyde", Book V, lines 1310-1428

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From Troilus and Criseyde, Book V, lines 1205-1309:
Troilus suspects Criseyde's unfaithfullness, but Pandarus urges him not to draw hasty conclusions

Geoffrey Chaucer (1342 - 1400):
Troilus and Criseyde
Book V, lines 1310-1428: Troilus writes Criseyde a letter and Criseyde writes Troilus a letter in return

1310	Acorded been to this conclusioun,
	And that anoon, these ilke lordes two;
	And hastely sit Troilus adoun,
	And rolleth in his herte to and fro,
	How he may best discryven hir his wo.
1315	And to Criseyde, his owene lady dere,
	He wroot right thus, and seyde as ye may here.

`Right fresshe flour, whos I have been and shal,

Withouten part of elleswhere servyse,

With herte, body, lyf, lust, thought, and al;

1320 I, woful wight, in everich humble wyse

That tonge telle or herte may devyse,

As ofte as matere occupyeth place,

Me recomaunde unto your noble grace.

`Lyketh it yow to witen, swete herte,

1325 As ye wel knowe how longe tyme agoon

That ye me lefte in aspre peynes smerte,

Whan that ye wente, of which yet bote noon

Have I non had, but ever wers bigoon

Fro day to day am I, and so mot dwelle,

1330 While it yow list, of wele and wo my welle.

`For which to yow, with dredful herte trewe,

I wryte, as he that sorwe dryfth to write,

My wo, that every houre encreseth newe,

Compleyninge as I dar or can endite.

1335 And that defaced is, that may ye wyte

The teres, which that fro myn eyen reyne,

That wolde speke, if that they coude, and pleyne.

`Yow first biseche I, that your eyen clere

To look on this defouled ye not holde;

1340 And over al this, that ye, my lady dere,

Wol vouche-sauf this lettre to biholde.

And by the cause eek of my cares colde,

That sleeth my wit, if ought amis me asterte,

Foryeve it me, myn owene swete herte.

1345 `If any servant dorste or oughte of right

Upon his lady pitously compleyne,

Than wene I, that ich oughte be that wight,

Considered this, that ye these monthes tweyne

Han taried, ther ye seyden, sooth to seyne,

1350 But dayes ten ye nolde in ost sojourne,

But in two monthes yet ye not retourne.

`But for as muche as me mot nedes lyke

Al that yow list, I dar not pleyne more,

But humbely with sorwful sykes syke;

1355 Yow wryte ich myn unresty sorwes sore,

Fro day to day desyring ever-more

To knowen fully, if your wil it were,

How ye han ferd and doon, whyl ye be there.

`The whos welfare and hele eek God encresse

1360 In honour swich, that upward in degree

It growe alwey, so that it never cesse;

Right as your herte ay can, my lady free,

Devyse, I prey to God so mote it be.

And graunte it that ye sone upon me rewe

1365 As wisly as in al I am yow trewe.

`And if yow lyketh knowen of the fare

Of me, whos wo ther may no wight discryve,

I can no more but, cheste of every care,

At wrytinge of this lettre I was on-lyve,

1370 Al redy out my woful gost to dryve;

Which I delaye, and holde him yet in honde,

Upon the sight of matere of your sonde.

`Myn eyen two, in veyn with which I see,

Of sorweful teeris salte arn waxen welles;

1375 My song, in pleynte of myn adversitee;

My good, in harm; myn ese eek waxen helle is.

My joye, in wo; I can sey yow nought elles,

But turned is, for which my lyf I warie,

Everich joye or ese in his contrarie.

1380 `Which with your cominge hoom ayein to Troye

Ye may redresse, and, more a thousand sythe

Than ever ich hadde, encressen in me joye.

For was ther never herte yet so blythe

To han his lyf, as I shal been as swythe

1385 As I yow see; and, though no maner routhe

Commeve yow, yet thinketh on your trouthe.

`And if so be my gilt hath deeth deserved,

Or if yow list no more up-on me see,

In guerdon yet of that I have you served,

1390 Biseche I yow, myn hertes lady free,

That here-upon ye wolden wryte me,

For love of God, my righte loode-sterre,

Ther deeth may make an ende of al my werre.

`If other cause aught doth yow for to dwelle,

1395 That with your lettre ye me recomforte;

For though to me your absence is an helle,

With pacience I wol my wo comporte,

And with your lettre of hope I wol desporte.

Now wryteth, swete, and lat me thus not pleyne;

1400 With hope, or deeth, delivereth me fro peyne.

`Ywis, myn owene dere herte trewe,

I woot that, whan ye next upon me see,

So lost have I myn hele and eek myn hewe,

Criseyde shal nought conne knowe me!

1405 Ywis, myn hertes day, my lady free,

So thursteth ay myn herte to biholde

Your beautee, that my lyf unnethe I holde.

`I sey no more, al have I for to seye

To you wel more than I telle may;

1410 But whether that ye do me live or deye,

Yet pray I God, so yeve yow right good day.

And fareth wel, goodly fayre fresshe may,

As ye that lyf or deeth me may comaunde;

And to your trouthe ay I me recomaunde

1415 `With hele swich that, but ye yeven me

The same hele, I shal noon hele have.

In you lyth, whan yow liste that it so be,

The day in which me clothen shal my grave.

In yow my lyf, in yow might for to save

1420 Me from disese of alle peynes smerte;

And fare now wel, myn owene swete herte!

Le vostre T.'

This lettre forth was sent unto Criseyde,

Of which hir answere in effect was this;

Ful pitously she wroot ayein, and seyde,

1425 That also sone as that she might, ywis,

She wolde come, and mende al that was mis.

And fynally she wroot and seyde him thanne,

She wolde come, ye, but she niste whenne.

Next:
From Troilus and Criseyde, Book V, lines 1429-1519:
Troilus' sister explains his dream and tells him that Diomedes is in and he is out

	`Right fresshe flour, whos I have been and shal,
	Withouten part of elleswhere servyse,
	With herte, body, lyf, lust, thought, and al;
1320	I, woful wight, in everich humble wyse
	That tonge telle or herte may devyse,
	As ofte as matere occupyeth place,
	Me recomaunde unto your noble grace.

	`Lyketh it yow to witen, swete herte,
1325	As ye wel knowe how longe tyme agoon
	That ye me lefte in aspre peynes smerte,
	Whan that ye wente, of which yet bote noon
	Have I non had, but ever wers bigoon
	Fro day to day am I, and so mot dwelle,
1330	While it yow list, of wele and wo my welle.

	`For which to yow, with dredful herte trewe,
	I wryte, as he that sorwe dryfth to write,
	My wo, that every houre encreseth newe,
	Compleyninge as I dar or can endite.
1335	And that defaced is, that may ye wyte
	The teres, which that fro myn eyen reyne,
	That wolde speke, if that they coude, and pleyne.

	`Yow first biseche I, that your eyen clere
	To look on this defouled ye not holde;
1340	And over al this, that ye, my lady dere,
	Wol vouche-sauf this lettre to biholde.
	And by the cause eek of my cares colde,
	That sleeth my wit, if ought amis me asterte,
	Foryeve it me, myn owene swete herte.

1345	`If any servant dorste or oughte of right
	Upon his lady pitously compleyne,
	Than wene I, that ich oughte be that wight,
	Considered this, that ye these monthes tweyne
	Han taried, ther ye seyden, sooth to seyne,
1350	But dayes ten ye nolde in ost sojourne,
	But in two monthes yet ye not retourne.

	`But for as muche as me mot nedes lyke
	Al that yow list, I dar not pleyne more,
	But humbely with sorwful sykes syke;
1355	Yow wryte ich myn unresty sorwes sore,
	Fro day to day desyring ever-more
	To knowen fully, if your wil it were,
	How ye han ferd and doon, whyl ye be there.

	`The whos welfare and hele eek God encresse
1360	In honour swich, that upward in degree
	It growe alwey, so that it never cesse;
	Right as your herte ay can, my lady free,
	Devyse, I prey to God so mote it be.
	And graunte it that ye sone upon me rewe
1365	As wisly as in al I am yow trewe.

	`And if yow lyketh knowen of the fare
	Of me, whos wo ther may no wight discryve,
	I can no more but, cheste of every care,
	At wrytinge of this lettre I was on-lyve,
1370	Al redy out my woful gost to dryve;
	Which I delaye, and holde him yet in honde,
	Upon the sight of matere of your sonde.

	`Myn eyen two, in veyn with which I see,
	Of sorweful teeris salte arn waxen welles;
1375	My song, in pleynte of myn adversitee;
	My good, in harm; myn ese eek waxen helle is.
	My joye, in wo; I can sey yow nought elles,
	But turned is, for which my lyf I warie,
	Everich joye or ese in his contrarie.

1380	`Which with your cominge hoom ayein to Troye
	Ye may redresse, and, more a thousand sythe
	Than ever ich hadde, encressen in me joye.
	For was ther never herte yet so blythe
	To han his lyf, as I shal been as swythe
1385	As I yow see; and, though no maner routhe
	Commeve yow, yet thinketh on your trouthe.

	`And if so be my gilt hath deeth deserved,
	Or if yow list no more up-on me see,
	In guerdon yet of that I have you served,
1390	Biseche I yow, myn hertes lady free,
	That here-upon ye wolden wryte me,
	For love of God, my righte loode-sterre,
	Ther deeth may make an ende of al my werre.

	`If other cause aught doth yow for to dwelle,
1395	That with your lettre ye me recomforte;
	For though to me your absence is an helle,
	With pacience I wol my wo comporte,
	And with your lettre of hope I wol desporte.
	Now wryteth, swete, and lat me thus not pleyne;
1400	With hope, or deeth, delivereth me fro peyne.

	`Ywis, myn owene dere herte trewe,
	I woot that, whan ye next upon me see,
	So lost have I myn hele and eek myn hewe,
	Criseyde shal nought conne knowe me!
1405	Ywis, myn hertes day, my lady free,
	So thursteth ay myn herte to biholde
	Your beautee, that my lyf unnethe I holde.

	`I sey no more, al have I for to seye
	To you wel more than I telle may;
1410	But whether that ye do me live or deye,
	Yet pray I God, so yeve yow right good day.
	And fareth wel, goodly fayre fresshe may,
	As ye that lyf or deeth me may comaunde;
	And to your trouthe ay I me recomaunde

1415	`With hele swich that, but ye yeven me
	The same hele, I shal noon hele have.
	In you lyth, whan yow liste that it so be,
	The day in which me clothen shal my grave.
	In yow my lyf, in yow might for to save
1420	Me from disese of alle peynes smerte;
	And fare now wel, myn owene swete herte!
	Le vostre T.'

	This lettre forth was sent unto Criseyde,
	Of which hir answere in effect was this;
	Ful pitously she wroot ayein, and seyde,
1425	That also sone as that she might, ywis,
	She wolde come, and mende al that was mis.
	And fynally she wroot and seyde him thanne,
	She wolde come, ye, but she niste whenne.