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He hir in armes faste to him hente.

And Pandarus, with a ful good entente,

Leyde him to slepe, and seyde, `If ye ben wyse,

Swowneth not now, lest more folk aryse.' 1190

What mighte or may the sely larke seye,

Whan that the sperhauk hath it in his foot?

I can no more, but of thise ilke tweye,

To whom this tale sucre be or soot,

Though that I tarie a yeer, som-tyme I moot, 1195

After myn auctor, tellen hir gladnesse,

As wel as I have told hir hevinesse.

Criseyde, which that felte hir thus y-take,

As writen clerkes in hir bokes olde,

Right as an aspes leef she gan to quake, 1200

Whan she him felte hir in his armes folde.

But Troilus, al hool of cares colde,

Gan thanken tho the blisful goddes sevene;

Thus sondry peynes bringen folk in hevene.

This Troilus in armes gan hir streyne, 1205

And seyde, `O swete, as ever mote I goon,

Now be ye caught, now is ther but we tweyne;

Now yeldeth yow, for other boot is noon.'

To that Criseyde answerde thus anoon,

`Ne hadde I er now, my swete herte dere, 1210

Ben yolde, y-wis, I were now not here!'

O! Sooth is seyd, that heled for to be

As of a fevre or othere greet syknesse,

Men moste drinke, as men may often see,

Ful bittre drink; and for to han gladnesse, 1215

Men drinken often peyne and greet distresse;

I mene it here, as for this aventure,

That thourgh a peyne hath founden al his cure.

And now swetnesse semeth more sweet,

That bitternesse assayed was biforn; 1220

For out of wo in blisse now they flete;

Non swich they felten, sith they were born;

Now is this bet, than bothe two be lorn!

For love of god, take every womman hede

To werken thus, if it comth to the nede. 1225

Criseyde, al quit from every drede and tene,

As she that iuste cause hadde him to triste,

Made him swich feste, it Ioye was to sene,

Whan she his trouthe and clene entente wiste.

And as aboute a tree, with many a twiste, 1230

Bitrent and wryth the sote wode-binde,

Gan eche of hem in armes other winde.

And as the newe abaysshed nightingale,

That stinteth first whan she biginneth to singe,

Whan that she hereth any herde tale, 1235

Or in the hegges any wight steringe,

And after siker dooth hir voys out-ringe;

Right so Criseyde, whan hir drede stente,

Opned hir herte and tolde him hir entente.

And right as he that seeth his deeth y-shapen, 1240

And deye moot, in ought that he may gesse,

And sodeynly rescous doth him escapen,

And from his deeth is brought in sikernesse,

For al this world, in swich present gladnesse

Was Troilus, and hath his lady swete; 1245

With worse hap god lat us never mete!

Hir armes smale, hir streyghte bak and softe,

Hir sydes longe, fleshly, smothe, and whyte

He gan to stroke, and good thrift bad ful ofte

Hir snowish throte, hir brestes rounde and lyte; 1250

Thus in this hevene he gan him to delyte,

And ther-with-al a thousand tyme hir kiste;

That, what to done, for Ioye unnethe he wiste.

Than seyde he thus, `O, Love, O, Charitee,

Thy moder eek, Citherea the swete, 1255

After thy-self next heried be she,

Venus mene I, the wel-willy planete;

And next that, Imeneus, I thee grete;

For never man was to yow goddes holde

As I, which ye han brought fro cares colde. 1260

`Benigne Love, thou holy bond of thinges,

Who-so wol grace, and list thee nought honouren,

Lo, his desyr wol flee with-outen winges.

For, noldestow of bountee hem socouren

That serven best and most alwey labouren, 1265

Yet were al lost, that dar I wel seyn, certes,

But-if thy grace passed our desertes.

`And for thou me, that coude leest deserve

Of hem that nombred been un-to thy grace,

Hast holpen, ther I lykly was to sterve, 1270

And me bistowed in so heygh a place

That thilke boundes may no blisse pace,

I can no more, but laude and reverence

Be to thy bounte and thyn excellence!'

And therwith-al Criseyde anoon he kiste, 1275

Of which, certeyn, she felte no disese,

And thus seyde he, `Now wolde god I wiste,

Myn herte swete, how I yow mighte plese!

What man,' quod he, `was ever thus at