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Hir limes lene, as she that al the day

Stood whan she dorste, and loked on the place 710

Ther she was born, and ther she dwelt hadde ay.

And al the night wepinge, allas! she lay.

And thus despeired, out of alle cure,

She ladde hir lyf, this woful creature.

Ful ofte a day she sighte eek for destresse, 715

And in hir-self she wente ay portrayinge

Of Troilus the grete worthinesse,

And alle his goodly wordes recordinge

Sin first that day hir love bigan to springe.

And thus she sette hir woful herte a-fyre 720

Through remembraunce of that she gan desyre.

In al this world ther nis so cruel herte

That hir hadde herd compleynen in hir sorwe,

That nolde han wopen for hir peynes smerte,

So tendrely she weep, bothe eve and morwe. 725

Hir nedede no teres for to borwe.

And this was yet the worste of al hir peyne,

Ther was no wight to whom she dorste hir pleyne.

Ful rewfully she loked up-on Troye,

Biheld the toures heighe and eek the halles; 730

`Allas!' quod she, `The plesaunce and the Ioye

The whiche that now al torned in-to galle is,

Have I had ofte with-inne yonder walles!

O Troilus, what dostow now,' she seyde;

`Lord! Whether yet thou thenke up-on Criseyde? 735

`Allas! I ne hadde trowed on your lore,

And went with yow, as ye me radde er this!

Thanne hadde I now not syked half so sore.

Who mighte han seyd, that I had doon a-mis

To stele awey with swich on as he is? 740

But al to late cometh the letuarie,

Whan men the cors un-to the grave carie.

`To late is now to speke of this matere;

Prudence, allas! Oon of thyn eyen three

Me lakked alwey, er that I come here; 745

On tyme y-passed, wel remembred me;

And present tyme eek coude I wel y-see.

But futur tyme, er I was in the snare,

Coude I not seen; that causeth now my care.

`But natheles, bityde what bityde, 750

I shal to-morwe at night, by est or weste,

Out of this ost stele on som maner syde,

And go with Troilus wher-as him leste.

This purpos wol I holde, and this is beste.

No fors of wikked tonges Ianglerye, 755

For ever on love han wrecches had envye.

`For who-so wole of every word take hede,

Or rewlen him by every wightes wit,

Ne shal he never thryven, out of drede.

For that that som men blamen ever yit, 760

Lo, other maner folk commenden it.

And as for me, for al swich variaunce,

Felicitee clepe I my suffisaunce.

`For which, with-outen any wordes mo,

To Troye I wol, as for conclusioun.' 765

But god it wot, er fully monthes two,

She was ful fer fro that entencioun.

For bothe Troilus and Troye toun

Shal knotteles through-out hir herte slyde;

For she wol take a purpos for tabyde. 770

This Diomede, of whom yow telle I gan,

Goth now, with-inne him-self ay arguinge

With al the sleighte and al that ever he can,

How he may best, with shortest taryinge,

In-to his net Criseydes herte bringe. 775

To this entente he coude never fyne;

To fisshen hir, he leyde out hook and lyne.

But natheles, wel in his herte he thoughte,

That she nas nat with-oute a love in Troye,

For never, sithen he hir thennes broughte, 780

Ne coude he seen her laughe or make Ioye.

He nist how best hir herte for tacoye.

`But for to assaye,' he seyde, `it nought ne greveth;

For he that nought nassayeth, nought nacheveth.'

Yet seide he to him-self upon a night, 785

`Now am I not a fool, that woot wel how

Hir wo for love is of another wight,

And here-up-on to goon assaye hir now?

I may wel wite, it nil not been my prow.

For wyse folk in bokes it expresse, 790

"Men shal not wowe a wight in hevinesse."

`But who-so mighte winnen swich a flour

From him, for whom she morneth night and day,

He mighte seyn, he were a conquerour.'

And right anoon, as he that bold was ay, 795

Thoughte in his herte, `Happe how happe may,

Al sholde I deye, I wole hir herte seche;

I shal no more lesen but my speche.'

This Diomede, as bokes us declare,

Was in his nedes prest and corageous; 800

With sterne voys and mighty limes square,

Hardy, testif, strong, and chevalrous

Of dedes, lyk his fader Tideus.

And som men seyn, he was