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Eternally, for they shal never twinne.

For though in erthe y-twinned be we tweyne,

Yet in the feld of pitee, out of peyne,

That hight Elysos, shul we been y-fere, 790

As Orpheus and Erudice, his fere.

`Thus, herte myn, for Antenor, allas!

I sone shal be chaunged, as I wene.

But how shul ye don in this sorwful cas,

How shal youre tendre herte this sustene? 795

But herte myn, for-yet this sorwe and tene,

And me also; for, soothly for to seye,

So ye wel fare, I recche not to deye.'

How mighte it ever y-red ben or y-songe,

The pleynte that she made in hir distresse? 800

I noot; but, as for me, my litel tonge,

If I discreven wolde hir hevinesse,

It sholde make hir sorwe seme lesse

Than that it was, and childishly deface

Hir heigh compleynte, and therfore I it pace. 805

Pandare, which that sent from Troilus

Was to Criseyde, as ye han herd devyse,

That for the beste it was accorded thus,

And he ful glad to doon him that servyse,

Un-to Criseyde, in a ful secree wyse, 810

Ther-as she lay in torment and in rage,

Com hir to telle al hoolly his message,

And fond that she hir-selven gan to trete

Ful pitously; for with hir salte teres

Hir brest, hir face, y-bathed was ful wete; 815

The mighty tresses of hir sonnish heres,

Unbroyden, hangen al aboute hir eres;

Which yaf him verray signal of martyre

Of deeth, which that hir herte gan desyre.

Whan she him saw, she gan for sorwe anoon 820

Hir tery face a-twixe hir armes hide,

For which this Pandare is so wo bi-goon,

That in the hous he mighte unnethe abyde,

As he that pitee felte on every syde.

For if Criseyde hadde erst compleyned sore, 825

Tho gan she pleyne a thousand tymes more.

And in hir aspre pleynte than she seyde,

`Pandare first of Ioyes mo than two

Was cause causinge un-to me, Criseyde,

That now transmuwed been in cruel wo. 830

Wher shal I seye to yow "wel come" or no,

That alderfirst me broughte in-to servyse

Of love, allas! That endeth in swich wyse?

`Endeth than love in wo? Ye, or men lyeth!

And alle worldly blisse, as thinketh me. 835

The ende of blisse ay sorwe it occupyeth;

And who-so troweth not that it so be,

Lat him upon me, woful wrecche, y-see,

That my-self hate, and ay my birthe acorse,

Felinge alwey, fro wikke I go to worse. 840

`Who-so me seeth, he seeth sorwe al at ones,

Peyne, torment, pleynte, wo, distresse.

Out of my woful body harm ther noon is,

As anguish, langour, cruel bitternesse,

A-noy, smert, drede, fury, and eek siknesse. 845

I trowe, y-wis, from hevene teres reyne,

For pitee of myn aspre and cruel peyne! '

`And thou, my suster, ful of discomfort,'

Quod Pandarus, `what thenkestow to do?

Why ne hastow to thy-selven som resport, 850

Why woltow thus thy-selve, allas, for-do?

Leef al this werk and tak now hede to

That I shal seyn, and herkne, of good entente,

This, which by me thy Troilus thee sente.'

Torned hir tho Criseyde, a wo makinge 855

So greet that it a deeth was for to see: —

`Allas!' quod she, `what wordes may ye bringe?

What wol my dere herte seyn to me,

Which that I drede never-mo to see?

Wol he have pleynte or teres, er I wende? 860

I have y-nowe, if he ther-after sende!'

She was right swich to seen in hir visage

As is that wight that men on bere binde;

Hir face, lyk of Paradys the image,

Was al y-chaunged in another kinde. 865

The pleye, the laughtre men was wont to finde

On hir, and eek hir Ioyes everychone,

Ben fled, and thus lyth now Criseyde allone.

Aboute hir eyen two a purpre ring

Bi-trent, in sothfast tokninge of hir peyne, 870

That to biholde it was a dedly thing,

For which Pandare mighte not restreyne

The teres from his eyen for to reyne.

But nathelees, as he best mighte, he seyde

From Troilus thise wordes to Criseyde. 875

`Lo, nece, I trowe ye han herd al how

The king, with othere lordes, for the beste,

Hath mad eschaunge of Antenor and yow,

That cause is of this sorwe and this unreste.

But how this cas doth Troilus moleste, 880

That may non erthely mannes tonge seye;

For verray wo his wit is al aweye.

`For which