HKB
maketh him that he 830 May in no perfit selinesse be. And if to lese his Ioye he set a myte, Than semeth it that Ioye is worth ful lyte.
`Wherfore I wol deffyne in this matere, That trewely, for ought I can espye, 835 Ther is no verray wele in this world here. But O, thou wikked serpent, Ialousye, Thou misbeleved and envious folye, Why hastow Troilus me mad untriste, That never yet agilte him, that I wiste?' 840
Quod Pandarus, Thus fallen is this cas.' Why, uncle myn,' quod she, who tolde him this? Why doth my dere herte thus, allas?' Ye woot, ye nece myn,' quod he, `what is;
I hope al shal be wel that is amis, 845
For ye may quenche al this, if that yow leste,
And doth 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.'
To-morwe? Allas, that were a fair!' quod he, 850 Nay, nay, it may not stonden in this wyse;
For, nece myn, thus wryten clerkes wyse,
That peril is with drecching in y-drawe;
Nay, swich abodes been nought worth an hawe.
`Nece, al thing hath tyme, I dar avowe; 855 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 is this candele in the straw y-falle? A! Benedicite! For al among that fare 860 The harm is doon, and fare-wel feldefare!
`And, nece myn, ne take it not a-greef, If that ye suffre him al night in this wo, God help me so, ye hadde him never leef, That dar I seyn, now there is but we two; 865 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 Iupertye.
Hadde I him never leef? By god, I wene Ye hadde never thing so leef,' quod she. 870 Now by my thrift,' quod he, `that shal be sene;
For, sin ye make this ensample of me,
If I al night wolde him in sorwe see
For al the tresour in the toun of Troye,
I bidde god, I never mote have Ioye! 875
`Now loke thanne, if ye, that been his love, Shul putte al night his lyf in Iupartye For thing of nought! Now, by that god above, Nought only this delay comth of folye, But of malyce, if that I shal nought lye. 880 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? Have here, and bereth him this blewe ringe, 885 For ther is no-thing mighte him bettre plese, Save I my-self, ne more his herte apese; And sey my dere herte, that his sorwe Is causeles, that shal be seen to-morwe.'
A ring?' quod he, Ye, hasel-wodes shaken! 890
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;
That fele I now,' quod he, `and that is routhe; 895
O tyme y-lost, 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 Ialous rage, I nolde setten at his sorwe a myte, 900 But feffe him with a fewe wordes whyte Another day, whan that I mighte him finde; But this thing stant al in another kinde.