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For which, by proces and by good servyse,

He gat hir love, and in no sodeyn wyse.

And also blisful Venus, wel arayed, 680

Sat in hir seventhe hous of hevene tho,

Disposed wel, and with aspectes payed,

To helpen sely Troilus of his wo.

And, sooth to seyn, she nas not al a fo

To Troilus in his nativitee; 685

God woot that wel the soner spedde he.

Now lat us stinte of Troilus a throwe,

That rydeth forth, and lat us tourne faste

Un-to Criseyde, that heng hir heed ful lowe,

Ther-as she sat allone, and gan to caste 690

Wher-on she wolde apoynte hir at the laste,

If it so were hir eem ne wolde cesse,

For Troilus, up-on hir for to presse.

And, lord! So she gan in hir thought argue

In this matere of which I have yow told, 695

And what to doon best were, and what eschue,

That plyted she ful ofte in many fold.

Now was hir herte warm, now was it cold,

And what she thoughte somwhat shal I wryte,

As to myn auctor listeth for to endyte. 700

She thoughte wel that Troilus persone

She knew by sighte and eek his gentillesse,

And thus she seyde, `Al were it nought to done,

To graunte him love, yet, for his worthinesse,

It were honour, with pley and with gladnesse, 705

In honestee, with swich a lord to dele,

For myn estat, and also for his hele.

`Eek, wel wot I my kinges sone is he;

And sith he hath to see me swich delyt,

If I wolde utterly his sighte flee, 710

Peraunter he mighte have me in dispyt,

Thurgh which I mighte stonde in worse plyt;

Now were I wys, me hate to purchace,

With-outen nede, ther I may stonde in grace?

`In every thing, I woot, ther lyth mesure. 715

For though a man forbede dronkenesse,

He nought for-bet that every creature

Be drinkelees for alwey, as I gesse;

Eek sith I woot for me is his distresse,

I ne oughte not for that thing him despyse, 720

Sith it is so, he meneth in good wyse.

`And eek I knowe, of longe tyme agoon,

His thewes goode, and that he is not nyce.

Ne avauntour, seyth men, certein, he is noon;

To wys is he to do so gret a vyce; 725

Ne als I nel him never so cheryce,

That he may make avaunt, by Iuste cause;

He shal me never binde in swiche a clause.

`Now set a cas, the hardest is, y-wis,

Men mighten deme that he loveth me; 730

What dishonour were it un-to me, this?

May I him lette of that? Why nay, pardee!

I knowe also, and alday here and see,

Men loven wommen al this toun aboute;

Be they the wers? Why, nay, with-outen doute. 735

`I thenk eek how he able is for to have

Of al this noble toun the thriftieste,

To been his love, so she hir honour save;

For out and out he is the worthieste,

Save only Ector, which that is the beste. 740

And yet his lyf al lyth now in my cure,

But swich is love, and eek myn aventure.

`Ne me to love, a wonder is it nought;

For wel wot I my-self, so god me spede,

Al wolde I that noon wiste of this thought, 745

I am oon the fayreste, out of drede,

And goodlieste, who-so taketh hede;

And so men seyn in al the toun of Troye.

What wonder is it though he of me have Ioye?

`I am myn owene woman, wel at ese, 750

I thank it god, as after myn estat;

Right yong, and stonde unteyd in lusty lese,

With-outen Ialousye or swich debat;

Shal noon housbonde seyn to me "Chekmat!"

For either they ben ful of Ialousye, 755

Or maisterful, or loven novelrye.

`What shal I doon? To what fyn live I thus?

Shal I nat loven, in cas if that me leste?

What, par dieux! I am nought religious!

And though that I myn herte sette at reste 760

Upon this knight, that is the worthieste,

And kepe alwey myn honour and my name,

By alle right, it may do me no shame.'

But right as whan the sonne shyneth brighte,

In March, that chaungeth ofte tyme his face, 765

And that a cloud is put with wind to flighte

Which over-sprat the sonne as for a space,

A cloudy thought gan thorugh hir soule pace,

That over-spradde hir brighte thoughtes alle,

So that for fere almost she gan to falle. 770

That thought was this: `Allas! Sin I am free,

Sholde I now love, and putte in Iupartye

My sikernesse, and thrallen