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For sorwe of which myn herte shal to-cleve.

And hider hoom I com whan it was eve;

And here I dwelle out-cast from alle Ioye, 615

And shal, til I may seen hir eft in Troye.'

And of him-self imagened he ofte

To ben defet, and pale, and waxen lesse

Than he was wont, and that men seyden softe,

`What may it be? Who can the sothe gesse 620

Why Troilus hath al this hevinesse?'

And al this nas but his malencolye,

That he hadde of him-self swich fantasye.

Another tyme imaginen he wolde

That every wight that wente by the weye 625

Had of him routhe, and that they seyen sholde,

`I am right sory Troilus wole deye.'

And thus he droof a day yet forth or tweye.

As ye have herd, swich lyf right gan he lede,

As he that stood bitwixen hope and drede. 630

For which him lyked in his songes shewe

Thencheson of his wo, as he best mighte,

And made a song of wordes but a fewe,

Somwhat his woful herte for to lighte.

And whan he was from every mannes sighte, 635

With softe voys he, of his lady dere,

That was absent, gan singe as ye may here.

`O sterre, of which I lost have al the light,

With herte soor wel oughte I to bewayle,

That ever derk in torment, night by night, 640

Toward my deeth with wind in stere I sayle;

For which the tenthe night if that I fayle

The gyding of thy bemes brighte an houre,

My ship and me Caribdis wole devoure.'

This song whan he thus songen hadde, sone 645

He fil ayein in-to his sykes olde;

And every night, as was his wone to done,

He stood the brighte mone to beholde,

And al his sorwe he to the mone tolde;

And seyde, `Y-wis, whan thou art horned newe, 650

I shal be glad, if al the world be trewe!

`I saugh thyn hornes olde eek by the morwe,

Whan hennes rood my righte lady dere,

That cause is of my torment and my sorwe;

For whiche, O brighte Lucina the clere, 655

For love of god, ren faste aboute thy spere!

For whan thyn hornes newe ginne springe,

Than shal she come, that may my blisse bringe!'

The day is more, and lenger every night,

Than they be wont to be, him thoughte tho; 660

And that the sonne wente his course unright

By lenger wey than it was wont to go;

And seyde, `Y-wis, me dredeth ever-mo,

The sonnes sone, Pheton, be on-lyve,

And that his fadres cart amis he dryve.' 665

Upon the walles faste eek wolde he walke,

And on the Grekes ost he wolde see,

And to him-self right thus he wolde talke,

`Lo, yonder is myn owene lady free,

Or elles yonder, ther tho tentes be! 670

And thennes comth this eyr, that is so sote,

That in my soule I fele it doth me bote.

`And hardely this wind, that more and more

Thus stoundemele encreseth in my face,

Is of my ladyes depe sykes sore. 675

I preve it thus, for in non othere place

Of al this toun, save onliche in this space,

Fele I no wind that souneth so lyk peyne;

It seyth, "Allas! Why twinned be we tweyne?"'

This longe tyme he dryveth forth right thus, 680

Til fully passed was the nynthe night;

And ay bi-syde him was this Pandarus,

That bisily dide alle his fulle might

Him to comforte, and make his herte light;

Yevinge him hope alwey, the tenthe morwe 685

That she shal come, and stinten al his sorwe.

Up-on that other syde eek was Criseyde,

With wommen fewe, among the Grekes stronge;

For which ful ofte a day `Allas,' she seyde,

`That I was born! Wel may myn herte longe 690

After my deeth; for now live I to longe!

Allas! And I ne may it not amende;

For now is wors than ever yet I wende.

`My fader nil for no-thing do me grace

To goon ayein, for nought I can him queme; 695

And if so be that I my terme passe,

My Troilus shal in his herte deme

That I am fals, and so it may wel seme.

Thus shal I have unthank on every syde;

That I was born, so weylaway the tyde! 700

`And if that I me putte in Iupartye,

To stele awey by nighte, and it bifalle

That I be caught, I shal be holde a spye;

Or elles, lo, this drede I most of alle,

If in the hondes of som wrecche I falle, 705

I am but lost, al be myn herte trewe;

Now mighty god, thou on my sorwe rewe!'

Ful pale y-waxen was hir brighte