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He seyde how she was fro this world y-fare!

So after that he longe hadde hir compleyned, 1170

His hondes wrong, and seyde that was to seye,

And with his teres salte hir brest bireyned,

He gan tho teris wypen of ful dreye,

And pitously gan for the soule preye,

And seyde, `O lord, that set art in thy trone, 1175

Rewe eek on me, for I shal folwe hir sone!'

She cold was and with-outen sentement,

For aught he woot, for breeth ne felte he noon;

And this was him a preignant argument

That she was forth out of this world agoon; 1180

And whan he seigh ther was non other woon,

He gan hir limes dresse in swich manere

As men don hem that shul be leyd on bere.

And after this, with sterne and cruel herte,

His swerd a-noon out of his shethe he twighte, 1185

Him-self to sleen, how sore that him smerte,

So that his sowle hir sowle folwen mighte,

Ther-as the doom of Mynos wolde it dighte;

Sin love and cruel Fortune it ne wolde,

That in this world he lenger liven sholde. 1190

Thanne seyde he thus, fulfild of heigh desdayn,

`O cruel Iove, and thou, Fortune adverse,

This al and som, that falsly have ye slayn

Criseyde, and sin ye may do me no werse,

Fy on your might and werkes so diverse! 1195

Thus cowardly ye shul me never winne;

Ther shal no deeth me fro my lady twinne.

`For I this world, sin ye han slayn hir thus,

Wol lete, and folowe hir spirit lowe or hye;

Shal never lover seyn that Troilus 1200

Dar not, for fere, with his lady dye;

For certeyn, I wol bere hir companye.

But sin ye wol not suffre us liven here,

Yet suffreth that our soules ben y-fere.

`And thou, citee, whiche that I leve in wo, 1205

And thou, Pryam, and bretheren al y-fere,

And thou, my moder, farwel! For I go;

And Attropos, make redy thou my bere!

And thou, Criseyde, o swete herte dere,

Receyve now my spirit!' wolde he seye, 1210

With swerd at herte, al redy for to deye

But as god wolde, of swough ther-with she abreyde,

And gan to syke, and `Troilus' she cryde;

And he answerde, `Lady myn Criseyde,

Live ye yet?' and leet his swerd doun glyde. 1215

`Ye, herte myn, that thanked be Cupyde!'

Quod she, and ther-with-al she sore sighte;

And he bigan to glade hir as he mighte;

Took hir in armes two, and kiste hir ofte,

And hir to glade he dide al his entente; 1220

For which hir goost, that flikered ay on-lofte,

In-to hir woful herte ayein it wente.

But at the laste, as that hir eyen glente

A-syde, anoon she gan his swerd aspye,

As it lay bare, and gan for fere crye, 1225

And asked him, why he it hadde out-drawe?

And Troilus anoon the cause hir tolde,

And how himself ther-with he wolde have slawe.

For which Criseyde up-on him gan biholde,

And gan him in hir armes faste folde, 1230

And seyde, `O mercy, god, lo, which a dede!

Allas! How neigh we were bothe dede!

`Thanne if I ne hadde spoken, as grace was,

Ye wolde han slayn your-self anoon?' quod she.

`Ye, douteless;' and she answerde, `Allas! 1235

For, by that ilke lord that made me,

I nolde a forlong wey on-lyve han be,

After your deeth, to han been crouned quene

Of al the lond the sonne on shyneth shene.

`But with this selve swerd, which that here is, 1240

My-selve I wolde han slayn!' — quod she tho;

`But ho, for we han right y-now of this,

And late us ryse and streight to bedde go

And there lat ys speken of oure wo.

For, by the morter which that I see brenne, 1245

Knowe I ful wel that day is not fer henne.'

Whan they were in hir bedde, in armes folde,

Nought was it lyk tho nightes here-biforn;

For pitously ech other gan biholde,

As they that hadden al hir blisse y-lorn, 1250

Biwaylinge ay the day that they were born.

Til at the last this sorwful wight Criseyde

To Troilus these ilke wordes seyde: —

`Lo, herte myn, wel wot ye this,' quod she,

`That if a wight alwey his wo compleyne, 1255

And seketh nought how holpen for to be,

It nis but folye and encrees of peyne;

And sin that here assembled be we tweyne

To finde bote of wo that we ben inne,

It were al tyme sone to biginne. 1260

`I am a