The Canterbury Tales [375]
write; I dare not, where I am, well letters make; Nor never yet ne could I well endite; Eke *great effect men write in place lite;* *men write great matter Th' intent is all, and not the letter's space; in little space* And fare now well, God have you in his grace! "La Vostre C."
Though he found this letter "all strange," and thought it like "a kalendes of change," <88> Troilus could not believe his lady so cruel as to forsake him; but he was put out of all doubt, one day that, as he stood in suspicion and melancholy, he saw a "coat- armour" borne along the street, in token of victory, before Deiphobus his brother. Deiphobus had won it from Diomede in battle that day; and Troilus, examining it out of curiosity, found within the collar a brooch which he had given to Cressida on the morning she left Troy, and which she had pledged her faith to keep for ever in remembrance of his sorrow and of him. At this fatal discovery of his lady's untruth,
Great was the sorrow and plaint of Troilus; But forth her course Fortune ay gan to hold; Cressida lov'd the son of Tydeus, And Troilus must weep in cares cold. Such is the world, whoso it can behold! In each estate is little hearte's rest; God lend* us each to take it for the best! *grant
In many a cruel battle Troilus wrought havoc among the Greeks, and often he exchanged blows and bitter words with Diomede, whom he always specially sought; but it was not their lot that either should fall by the other's hand. The poet's purpose, however, he tells us, is to relate, not the warlike deeds of Troilus, which Dares has fully told, but his love-fortunes:
Beseeching ev'ry lady bright of hue, And ev'ry gentle woman, *what she be,* *whatsoever she be* Albeit that Cressida was untrue, That for that guilt ye be not wroth with me; Ye may her guilt in other bookes see; And gladder I would writen, if you lest, Of Penelope's truth, and good Alceste.
Nor say I not this only all for men, But most for women that betrayed be Through false folk (God give them sorrow, Amen!) That with their greate wit and subtilty Betraye you; and this commoveth me To speak; and in effect you all I pray, Beware of men, and hearken what I say.
Go, little book, go, little tragedy! There God my maker, yet ere that I die, So send me might to make some comedy! But, little book, *no making thou envy,* *be envious of no poetry* <89> But subject be unto all poesy; And kiss the steps, where as thou seest space, Of Virgil, Ovid, Homer, Lucan, Stace.
And, for there is so great diversity In English, and in writing of our tongue, So pray I God, that none miswrite thee, Nor thee mismetre for default of tongue! And read whereso thou be, or elles sung, That thou be understanden, God I 'seech!* *beseech But yet to purpose of my *rather speech.* *earlier subject* <90>
The wrath, as I began you for to say, Of Troilus the Greekes boughte dear; For thousandes his handes *made dey,* *made to die* As he that was withouten any peer, Save in his time Hector, as I can hear; But, well-away! save only Godde's will, Dispiteously him slew the fierce Achill'.
And when that he was slain in this mannere, His lighte ghost* full blissfully is went *spirit Up to the hollowness of the seventh sphere <91> In converse leaving ev'ry element; And there he saw, with full advisement,* *observation, understanding Th' erratic starres heark'ning harmony, With soundes full of heav'nly melody.
And down from thennes fast he gan advise* *consider, look on This little spot of earth, that with the sea Embraced is; and fully gan despise This wretched world, and held all vanity, *To respect of the plein felicity* *in comparison with That is in heav'n above; and, at the last, the full felicity* Where he was slain his looking down he cast.
And in himself he laugh'd right at the woe Of them that wepte for his death so fast; And damned* all our works,
Though he found this letter "all strange," and thought it like "a kalendes of change," <88> Troilus could not believe his lady so cruel as to forsake him; but he was put out of all doubt, one day that, as he stood in suspicion and melancholy, he saw a "coat- armour" borne along the street, in token of victory, before Deiphobus his brother. Deiphobus had won it from Diomede in battle that day; and Troilus, examining it out of curiosity, found within the collar a brooch which he had given to Cressida on the morning she left Troy, and which she had pledged her faith to keep for ever in remembrance of his sorrow and of him. At this fatal discovery of his lady's untruth,
Great was the sorrow and plaint of Troilus; But forth her course Fortune ay gan to hold; Cressida lov'd the son of Tydeus, And Troilus must weep in cares cold. Such is the world, whoso it can behold! In each estate is little hearte's rest; God lend* us each to take it for the best! *grant
In many a cruel battle Troilus wrought havoc among the Greeks, and often he exchanged blows and bitter words with Diomede, whom he always specially sought; but it was not their lot that either should fall by the other's hand. The poet's purpose, however, he tells us, is to relate, not the warlike deeds of Troilus, which Dares has fully told, but his love-fortunes:
Beseeching ev'ry lady bright of hue, And ev'ry gentle woman, *what she be,* *whatsoever she be* Albeit that Cressida was untrue, That for that guilt ye be not wroth with me; Ye may her guilt in other bookes see; And gladder I would writen, if you lest, Of Penelope's truth, and good Alceste.
Nor say I not this only all for men, But most for women that betrayed be Through false folk (God give them sorrow, Amen!) That with their greate wit and subtilty Betraye you; and this commoveth me To speak; and in effect you all I pray, Beware of men, and hearken what I say.
Go, little book, go, little tragedy! There God my maker, yet ere that I die, So send me might to make some comedy! But, little book, *no making thou envy,* *be envious of no poetry* <89> But subject be unto all poesy; And kiss the steps, where as thou seest space, Of Virgil, Ovid, Homer, Lucan, Stace.
And, for there is so great diversity In English, and in writing of our tongue, So pray I God, that none miswrite thee, Nor thee mismetre for default of tongue! And read whereso thou be, or elles sung, That thou be understanden, God I 'seech!* *beseech But yet to purpose of my *rather speech.* *earlier subject* <90>
The wrath, as I began you for to say, Of Troilus the Greekes boughte dear; For thousandes his handes *made dey,* *made to die* As he that was withouten any peer, Save in his time Hector, as I can hear; But, well-away! save only Godde's will, Dispiteously him slew the fierce Achill'.
And when that he was slain in this mannere, His lighte ghost* full blissfully is went *spirit Up to the hollowness of the seventh sphere <91> In converse leaving ev'ry element; And there he saw, with full advisement,* *observation, understanding Th' erratic starres heark'ning harmony, With soundes full of heav'nly melody.
And down from thennes fast he gan advise* *consider, look on This little spot of earth, that with the sea Embraced is; and fully gan despise This wretched world, and held all vanity, *To respect of the plein felicity* *in comparison with That is in heav'n above; and, at the last, the full felicity* Where he was slain his looking down he cast.
And in himself he laugh'd right at the woe Of them that wepte for his death so fast; And damned* all our works,