"So as I shal nat so ben hid in mew,
That day by day, mine owne herte dere,
Sens well ye wote that it is now a trew,
Ye shal ful wel al mine estate here:
And er that truce is done, I shal ben here,
Than have ye bothe Antenor iwonue,
And me also, bethe glad now if ye conne.

"And thinke right thus, Creseide is now agon,
But what, she shal come hastely ayen,
And whan alas? by God, lo right anon
Er daies ten, this dare I safely saine,
And than at erste, shal we be so faine,
So as we shal togithers ever dwell,

That all this world ne might our blisse tell.

"I see that oft time, there as we ben now
That for the best, our counsaile for to hide,
Ye speke nat with me, nor I with you
In fourtenight, ne see you go ne ride:
May ye nat ten daies than abide,
For mine honour, in such aventure?
Iwis ye mowe, or eles lite endure.

"Ye know eke how that all my kin is here,
But if that onely it my father be,
And eke mine other thinges al ifere,
And namely my dere herte ye,
Whom that I nolde leaven for to see,
For all this world, as wide as it hath space,
Or eles see I never Joves face.

"Why trowe ye my father in this wise
Coveiteth so to see me, but for drede,
Lest in this toune that folkes me dispise,
Bicause of him, for his vnhappy dede?
What wote my father what life that I lede,
For if he wist in Troie how well I fare,
Us neded for my wending nat to care.

"Ye see, that every day eke more and more,
Men treate of peace, and it supposed is,
That men the quene Heleine shall restore,
And Grekes vs restore that is mis:
Though there ne were comfort none but this,
That men purposen peace on every side,
Ye may the better at ease of herte abide.

"For if that it be peace, mine herte dere,
The nature of the peace mote nedes drive,
That men must entrecomune ifere,
And to and fro eke ride and gone as blive,
Al day as thicke as been flien from an hive,
And every wight haue liberty to bleve,
Where as him list, the bet withouten leve.

"And tho so be that peace there may bene none,
Yet hither, though ther never peace ne were,
I must come, for whider should I gone,
Or how mischaunce should I dwell there
Among tho men of armes ever in fere,
For which, as wisely God my soule rede,
I can nat seule wherof ye should drede.

"Have here another way, if it so be
That all this thing ne may you not suffice,
My father, as he knowen well parde,
Is olde, and eke full of covetise,
And I right now have founden al the gise,
Withouten nette, wherwith I shal him hent,

And herkeneth now, if that ye woll assent.

"Lo Troilus, men saine, that ful hard it is
The wolfe ful, and the wedder hole to have,
This is to saine, that men full oft iwis,
Mote spenden parte, the remnant for to save:
For aie with gold, men may the herte grave,
Of him that set is vpon covetise,

And how I meane, I shal it you devise.

"The moveable, which that I have in this toun,
Unto my father shall I take, and say,
That right for trust, and for salvatioun,
It sent is from a frende of his or tway,
The whiche frendes fervently him pray,
To sende after more and that in hie,
While that this toun stant thus in jeopardie.

"And that shall be of gold an huge quantite,
Thus shal I sain, but lest folke it aspide,
This may be sent by no wight but by me:
I shal eke shewen him, if peace betide,
What frendes that I have on every side,
Toward the court, to don the wrathe pace,
Of Priamus, and do him stonde in grace.

"So what for o thing and for other, swete,
I shall him so enchaunten with my sawes,
That right in Heven his soule is, shal he mete,
For all Apollo, or his clerkes lawes,

Or calculing, availeth not three hawes:
Desire of gold shall so his soule blend,
That as me list, I shall well make an end.
"And if he would aught by his sorte it preve,
If that I lie, in certaine I shall fond

To disturben him, and plucke him by the sleve,
Making his sorte and bearen bim on hond,
He hath nat well the goddes vnderstond,
For goddes speke in amphibologies,
And for o sothe, they tellen twenty lies.
"Eke drede fond first goddes, I suppose,
Thus shall I saine, and that his coward herte,
Made him amis the goddes text to glose,
Whan he for ferde out of Delphos stert:
And but I make him sone to convert,
And done my rede, within a day or twey,
I wol to you oblige me to dey."

And truely, as written wel I find,
That al this thing was said of good entent,
And that her herte trewe was and kind
Towardes him, and spake right as she ment,
And that she starfe for wo nigh whan she went,
And was in purpose ever to be trewe,
Thus writen they that of her werkes knew.

This Troilus, with herte and eeres sprad,
Herde all this thing devised to and fro,
And verily it seemed that he had
The selve witte, but yet to let her go
His herte misyave him evermo,
But finally he gan his herte wrest,
To trusten her, and toke it for the best.

For which the great fury of his penaunce,
Was queint with hope, and therewith hem betwene
Began for joye the amorous daunce,
And as the birdes, whan the Sunne shene,
Deliten in hir songe, in leves greene,
Right so the wordes, that they spake ifere,
Deliten hem, and made hir hertes chere.

But nathelesse, the wending of Creseide,
For all this world may nat out of his mind,'
For which full oft he pitously her preide,
That of her heste he might her trewe find :
And said her, "Certes if ye be kind,
And but ye come at daie set, in Troie,
Ne shal I never have heale, honor, ne joie.

"For al so sothe as Sunne vprist to morow,
And God so wisely thou me woful wretch
To reste bring, out of this cruel sorow,
I wol my selven slee, if that ye dretch:
But of my death though little be to retch,
Yet er that ye me causen so to smart,
Dwel rather here, my owne swete herte.

"For truely mine owne lady dere,
The sleightes yet, that I have herd you stere,
Ful shapely ben to fallen all ifere,

For thus men saitb, that one thinketh the bere,
But al another thinketh the ledere,
Your sire is wise, and said is out of drede,
Men may the wise out renne, and not out rede.

"It is full harde to halten vnespied
Before a crepil, for he can the craft,
Your father is in sleight as Argus eied,
For al be it that his movable is him biraft,
His olde sleight is yet so with him laft,
Ye shal nat blende him for your womanhede
Ne faine aright, and that is all my drede.

"I not if peace shal everino betide,
But peace or no, for ernest ne for game,
I wote sith Galcas on the Grekes side
Hath ones ben, and lost so foule his name,
Ne dare no more come here ayen for shame,
For which that we, for ought I can espie,
To trusten on, nis but a fantasie.

"Ye shal eke seen your father shall you glose,
To ben a wife, and as he can well prech,
He shal some Greke so preise and wel alose,
That ravishen he shal you with his spech:
Or do you done by force, as he shall tech,
And Troilus on whom ye nil have routh,
Shall causelesse so sterven in his trouth.

"And over al this your father shall dispise
Us al, and saine this cite is but lorne,
And that thassege never shall arise,
For why? the Grekes have it al sworne,
Till we ben slaine, and doune our walles torue,
And thus he shall you with his wordes fere,
That aie drede I, that ye wol bleven there.
"Ye shall eke sene so many a lusty knight,
Among the Grekes ful of worthinesse,
And ech of hem, with herte, wit and might
To pleasen you, done al his businesse,
That ye shull dullen of the rudenesse
Of sely Troians, but if routhe
Remorde you, or vertue of your trouthe.

"And this to me so grevouse is to thinke,
That fro my brest it wol my soule rende,
Ne dredelesse, in me there may nat sinke
O good opinion, if that ye wende,

For why? your fathers sleight woll vs shende,
And if ye gone, as I have tolde you yore,
So thinke I nam but deed, withouten more,

"For which with humble, true and pitous herte
A thousand times mercy I you pray,
So reweth on mine aspre paines smart,
And doth somwhat, as that I shall you say:
And let vs steale away betwixt vs tway,
And thinke that foly is, whan a man may chese
For accident, his substaunce for to lese.

"I meane thus, that sens we mowe or day
Wel steale away, and ben togither so,
What wit were it to putten in assay,
(In case ye shoulden to your father go)
If that ye mighten come ayen or no:
Thus meane I, that were a great follie
To put that sikernesse in jeopardie.

"And vulgarly to speken of substaunce,
Of treasour may we both with vs lede,
Ynough to live in honour and pleasaunce,
Til vnto time that we shall ben dede,
And thus we may eschewen all this drede,
For every other waie ye can record,
Mine herte iwis may therewith nat acord.

"And hardely ne dredeth no poverte,
For I have kin and frendes cles where,
That though we comen in our bare sherte,
Us should never lacke golde ne geere,
But ben honoured while we dwelten there,
And go we anone, for as in mine entent,
This is the best, if that ye woll assent."

Creseide with a sigh, right in this wise
Answerde," Iwis, my dere herte trew,
We may well steale away, as ye devise,
And finden such vnthrifty waies new :
But afterward full sore it woll vs rew,
And helpe me God so at my most nede,
As causelesse ye suffren al this drede.

"For thilke day that I for cherishing,
Or drede of father, or for any other wight,
Or for estate, delite, or for wedding,
Be false to you, my Troilus, my knight,
Saturnus doughter Juno, through her might,
As wood as Achamante do me dwell
Eternally with Stix in the pit of Hell,

"And this on every god celestiall
I swere it you and eke on eche goddesse,
On every nimphe, and deite infernall,
On satiry and fauny more and lesse,
That halve goddes ben of wildernesse,
And Attropos my threde of life to brest,
If I be false, now trowe me if you lest.

"And thou Simois, that, as an arowe, clere
Through Troy rennest, aie dounward to the see,
Be witnesse of this word, that saied is here,
That thilke day that I vntrewe be
To Troilus, mine owne herte fre,
That thou return backwarde to thy well,
And I with body and soule sinke to Hell.

"But that ye speake away thus for to go,
And letten all your frendes, God forbede,
For any woman that ye shoulden so,
And namely, sens Troy hath now such nede
Of helpe, and eke of o thing taketh hede,
If this were wist, my life lay in ballaunce,
And your honor, God shild vs fro mischaunce.

"And if so be that peace hereafter be take,
As all day happeth after angre game,
Why lord the sorow and wo ye wolden make,
That ye ne durst come ayen for shame,
And ere that ye ieoparden so your name,
Beth nat too hasty in this hotte fare,
For hasty man ne wanteth never care.

"What trowe ye the people eke all about
Would of it say? it is full light to arede,
They woulden say, and swere it out of dout,
That love ne drave you nat to done this dede
But lust voluptuous, and coward drede,
Thus were all lost iwis, mine herte dere
Your honour, whiche that now shineth clere.

"And also thinketh on mine honeste,
That floureth yet, how foul I should it shend,
And with what filth it spotted shulde be,
If in this forme I should with you wend,
Ne though I lived unto the worldes end,
My name should I never ayenward win,
Thus were I lost, and that were routh and sin.

"And forthy, slee with reason all this hete,
Men sain, the suffraunt overcommeth parde,
Eke whoso woll have lefe, he lefe mote lete,
Thus maketh vertue of necessite

By patience, and thinke that lord is he
Of fortune aye, that naught woll of her retch,
And she ne daunteth no wight but a wretch.

"And trusteth this, that certes, herte swete,
Or Phebus suster, Lucina the shene,
The Lion passe out of this Arite,

I woll been here, withouten any wene,
I meane, as helpe me Juno, Heavens quene,
The tenth day, but if that death me assaile,
I woll you seene, withouten any faile."

"And now so this be sooth?" (quod Troilus)
"I shall well suffer unto the tenth day,
Sens that I see that nede it mote ben thus,
But for the love of God, if be it may,
So let us stealen prively away:
For ever in one, as for to live in rest,
Mine herte saieth that it woll be the best."

"O mercy God, what life is this?" (quod she)

Alas, ye slea me thus for very tene,

I see well now that ye mistrusten me,
For by your wordes it is well isene :
Now for the love of Scinthia the shene,
Mistrust me nat thus causelesse for routh,
Sens to be true I have you plight my trouth.
"And thinketh well, that sometime it is wit
To spend a time, a time for to win,
Ne parde lomme am I nat fro you yet,
Though that we ben a day or two atwin:
Drive out tho fantasies you within,

And trusteth me, and leaveth eke your sprow
Or here my trouth, I wol nat live til morow.

"For if ye wist how sore it doth me smart,
Ye would cesse of this, for God thou wost
The pure spirit weepeth in mine herte
To seen you weepen, which that I love most,
And that I mote gone unto the Greekes host,
Ye, nere it that I wist a remedy

To com ayen, right here I wolde dy.

"But certes I am not so nice a wight,
That I ne can imaginen a way

To come ayen that day that I have hight,
For who may holden a thing that woll away,
My father naught, for all his queint play,
And by my thrift, my wending out of Troy
Another day shall tourne us all to joy.

"Forthy, with all mine berte I you beseke,
If that you list done aught for my prayere,
And for the love which that I love you eke,
That ere I departe fro you here,

That of so good a comfort and a chere
I may you seen, that ye may bring at rest
My herte, whiche is at point to brest.

"And over all this I pray you," (quod she tho)
"My owne hertes soothfast suffisaunce,
Sith I am thine all hole withouten mo,
That while that I am absent, no pleasaunce
Of other, do me fro your remembraunce:
For I am ever agast, for why? men rede,
That love is thing aye full of busie drede.
"For in this world there liveth lady none,
If that ye were vntrue, as God defend,
That so betrayed were, or wo begon,
As I, that all trouthe in you entend:
And doubtlesse, if that iche other wend,
I nere but dead, and ere ye cause find,
For Goddes love, so beth ye nat unkind."

To this answered Troilus and seide,
"Now God to whom there nis no cause iwrie,
Me glad, as wis I never unto Creseide,
Sith thilke day I saw her first with eye,
Was false, ne never shall till that I die,
At short wordes, well ye may me leue,

I can no more, it shall be found at preue."

"Graunt mercy, good herte mine, iwis" (quod'she)
"And blisful Uenus let me never sterve,
Er I may stonde of pleasaunce in degre,
To quite him well, that so well can deserve:
And while that God my wit will me conserve
I shall so done, so true I have you found,
That aie honour to meward shall rebound.

"For trusteth well, that your estate royall,
Ne vain delite, nor onely worthinesse
Of you in werre or turnay marciall,
Ne pompe, array, nobley, or eke richesse:
Ne made me to rue on your distresse,
But moral vertue, grounded upon trouth,
That was the cause I first had on you routh.

"Eke gentle herte, and manhood that ye bad,
And that ye had (as me thought) in dispite
Every thing that sowned in to bad,
As rudenesse, and peoplish appetite
And that your reason bridled your delite,
This made aboven every creature.

That I was yours, and shall while I may dure.

"And this may length of yeres nat fordoe,
Ne remuablest fortune deface,
But Iupiter, that of his might may doe
The sorowful to be glad, so yeve vs grace,
Er nightes tenne to meteu in this place,
So that it may your herte and mine suffise,
And fareth now well, for time is that ye rise,"

And after that they long yplained had,
And oft ikist, and straite in armes fold,
The day gau rise, and Troilus him clad,
And rufully his lady gan behold:
As he that felt deathes cares cold,
And to her grace he gan him recommaund,
Where he was wo, this hold I no demaund.

For mannes bedde imaginen ne can,
Ne entendement consider, ne tongue tell
The cruell paines of this sorowfull man,
That passen every torment doune in Hell:
For whan he sawe that she ne might dwell,
Which that his soule out of his herte rent,
Withouten more, out of the chamber he went,

INCIPIT LIBER QUINTUS,

APROCHEN gan the fatall destine,
That Joves hath in disposicioun,
And to you angry Parcas sustren thre,
Committeth to done execucioun,

For which Creseide must out of the toun,
And Troilus shall dwell forth in pine,
Till Lachesis his threde no lenger twine.

The golden tressed Phebus high on loft,
Thrise had all with his beames clere
The snowes molte, and Zephirus as oft
Ibrought ayen the tender leaves grene:
Sens that the sonne of Eccuba the quene
Began to love her first, for whom his sorrow
Was all, that she departe should a morow.

Full redy was at prime Diomede,
Creseide vnto the Grekes hoste to lede,
For sorow of which, she felt her herte blede,
As she that niste what was best to rede:
And truely, as men in bokes rede,

Men wiste never woman have the care,
Ne was so lothe out of a toune to fare.

This Troilus withouten rede or lore,
As man that hath his joies eke forlore,
Was waiting on his lady evermore,
As she that was soth fast croppe and more,
Of all his lust or joyes here tofore:
But Troilus, now farwell all thy joie,
For shalt thou never seen her eft in Troie.

Soth is, that while he bode in this manere,
He gan his wo full manly for to hide,
That well vnneth it seen was in his chere,
But at the yate there she should out ride,
With certain folke he hoved her to abide,
So wo bigon, all would he not him plain,
That on his horse vnneth he sate for pain.

For ire he quoke, so gan his herte gnaw,
Whan Diomede on borse gan bim dight,
And sayd vnto himselfe this ilke saw,
"Alas," (quod he) "thus foule a wretchednesse
Why suffre I it? Why nill I it redresse ?
Were it nat bet at ones for to die,

Than evermore in langour thus to crie?

Why nill I make at ones rich and poore,
To have inough to done er that she go?
Why nill I bring all Troie vpon a roore?
Why nill I slaen this Diomede also?
Why nill I rather with a man or two,
Steale her away? Why woll I this endure?
Why nill I helpen to mine owne cure?"

But why he nolde done so fell a deede,
That shall I sain, and why him list it spare,
He had in herte alway a maner drede,
Lest that Creseide, iu rumour of this fare,
Should have ben slain, lo this was al his care,
And eles certain, as I sayed yore,
He had it done withouten wordes more.

Creseide whan she redy was to ride,
Full sorowfully she sighed, and sayd "Alas,"
But forth she mote, for aught that may betide,
And forth she rideth full sorowfully apaas:
There is no other remedy in this caas:
What wonder is, though that her sore smart
Whan she forgoeth her owne swete herte ?

This Troilus in gise of curtesie,
With hauke on hond, and with an huge rout
Of knightes, rode and did her companie,
Passing all the valey ferre without,

And ferther would have ridden out of doubt,
Full faine, and wo was him to gone so sone,
But tourne he must, and it was eke to done.

And right with that was Antenor icome,
Out of the Grekes hoste, and every wight
Was of him glad, and sayd he was welcome,
And Troilus, al nere his herte light,
He pained him, with all his full might
Him to with hold of weping at least,
And Antenor he kist, and made feast,

And therewithal he must his leave take,
And cast his iye upon her pitously,
And nere he rode, his cause for to make,
To take her by the honde al soberly:
And Lorde so she gan wepen tenderly,
And he full soft and slighly gan her seie,
"Now hold your day, and doe me not to deje,"

With that his courser tourned he about,
With face pale, and vnto Diomede
No worde he spake, ne none of all his rout,
Of which the sonne of Tideus toke hede,
As he that kouthe more than the crede,
In soche a craft, and by the rain her hent,
And Troilus to Troie homewardes went.

This Diomede, that lad her by the bridell,
Whan that he saw the folke of Troy away,
Thought, "All my labor shall not been on idell,
If that I may, for somewhat shall I say:
For at the worst, it short maie our way,
I have heard say eke, times twise twelve,
He is a foole that woll foryete him selve."

But nathelesse, this thought he well inough
That "certainly I am about naught,
If that I speake of love, or make it to tought,
For doubtlesse, if she have in her thought,
Him that I gesse, he may not been ibrought
So sone away, but I shall find a meane,
That she nat yet wete shall what I meane.!?

For truely he swore her as a knight,

That ther nas thing, with which he might her plese
That he nolde done his pain, and al his might
To done it, for to done her herte an ease:
And prayed her she would her sorrow appease,
And sayd," Iwis we Greckes can have joy
To honouren you, as well as folke of Troy."

He said eke thus, "I wot you thinketh strange,
No wonder is, for it is to you new,
Thacquaintance of these Trojans to change
For folke of Grece, that ye never knew:
But would never God, but if as true,
A Greeke ye should emong us all find,
As any Trojan is, and eke as kind.

"And bicause I swore you right now,
To ben your frende, and helply to my might,
And for that more acquaintaunce eke of you
Have I had, than an other straunger wight;"
So fro this forth, I pray you day and night,
Commaundeth me, how sore that me smart,
To done all that may like unto your herte.
"And that ye me wold, as your brother treat,
And taketh not my frendship in dispite,
And though your sorowes been for thinges gret,
Not I nat why, but out of more respite,
Mine herte hath for to amend it great delite,
And if I may your harmes nat redresse,
I am right sory for your heavinesse.

"For though ye Trojans with us Greekes wroth
Have many a day been, alway yet parde,
O god of love, in sothe we serven bothe:
And for the love of God my lady free,
Whom so ye hate, as beth not wroth with me,
For truely there can no wight you serve,
That half so loth your wrathe would deserve.

"And nere it that we been so nere the tent
Of Calcas, which that seen us bothe may,
I would of this you tell all mine entent,
But this ensealed till an other day:
Yeve me your honde, I am and shall be aie,
God helpe me so, while that my life may dure,
Your owne, aboven every creature.

"Thus said I never er now to woman borne,
For God mine herte as wisely glad so,
I loved never woman here beforne,
As paramours, ne never shall no mo:
And for the love of God be not my fo,
All can I not to you, my lady dere,
Complain a right, for I am yet to lere.

"And wondreth nought, mine owne lady bright,
Though that I speake of love to you thus blive,
For I have heard or this of many a wight,
Hath loved thing he never saw his live:
Eke I am not of power for to strive
Ayenst the god of love, but him obay

woll alway, and mercy I you pray.

"There beeth so worthy knightes in this place,
And ye so faire, that everiche of hem all
Woll pain him to stonden in your grace,
But might to me so faire a grace fall
That ye me for your servaunt would call,
So lowly, ne so truely you serve,
Nill none of hem, as I shall till I sterve."

Creseide unto that purpose lite answerde,
As she that was with sorow oppressed so,
That in effect she naught his tales herde,
But here and there, now here a word or two:
Her thought her sorowfull herte brest a two,
For whan she gan her father ferre espie,
Well nigh doune of her hors she gan to sie.

But nathelesse she thonketh Diomede,
Of all his travaile and his good chere,
And that him list his frendship to her bede,
And she accepteth it in good manere,
And woll do fain that is him lefe and dere,
And trusten him she would, and well she might,
As saied she, and from her hors she alight.

Her father bath her in his armes nome,
And twenty times he kist his doughter swete,
And saied: "O dere doughter mine, welcome,"
She said eke, she was fain with him to mete:
And stode forth muet, milde, and mansuette,
But here I leave her with her father dwell,
And forth I woll of Troilus you tell.

To Troy is come this wofull Troilus,
In sorowe aboyen all sorowes smert,
With felon loke, and face dispitous,
Tho sodainly doune from his hors he stert,
And through his paleis with swolne herte,
To chamber he went, of nothing toke he hede
Ne none to him dare speke o worde for drede.

And there his sorowes that he spared bad,
He yave an issue large, and death he cride,
And in his throwes, frenetike and mad
He curseth Juno, Apollo, and eke Cupide,
He curseth Bachus, Ceres, and Cipride,
His birth, himselfe, his fate, and eke nature,
And save his ladie, every creature.

To bed he goth, and weileth there and turneth,
In furie, as doeth he Ixion in Hell,

And in this wise he nigh till day sojourneth,
But tho began his herte alite ynswell,
Through teares, which that gonnen vp to wel,
And pitiously he cried upon Creseide,
And to him self right thus he spake and seide.

"Where is mine owne lady lefe and dere?
Where is her white brest, where is it, where?
Where been her armes, and her iyen clere
That yesterday this time with me were?
Now may I wepe alone many a teare,
And graspe about I may, but in this place
Save a pilew, I find naught to embrace.

"How shal I doen? whan shal she come againe ? I not alas, why let I her to go?

As would God I had as tho be slain :

O herte mine Creseide, O swete fo,

O lady mine, that I love and no mo,

To whom for ever more mine herte I vowe,

See how I die, ye nill me not rescowe.