Le vostre T."
This lettre forth was sent unto Criseyde,
Of which hire answere in effect was this:
Ful pitously she wroot ayeyn, and seyde,
That also sone as that she myghte, ywys,
She wolde come, and mende al that was mys.
And fynaly she wroot and seyde hym thenne,
She wolde come, ye, but she nyste whenne.
But in hire lettre made she swich festes
That wonder was, and swerth she loveth hym best,
Of which he fond but botmeles bihestes.
But Troilus, thow maist now, est or west,
Pipe in an ivy lef, if that the lest!
Thus goth the world. God shilde us fro meschaunce,
And every wight that meneth trouthe avaunce!
Encressen gan the wo fro day to nyght
Of Troilus, for tarying of Criseyde;
And lessen gan his hope and ek his myght,
For which al down he in his bed hym leyde.
He ne eet, ne dronk, ne slep, ne word seyde,
Ymagynyng ay that she was unkynde,
For which wel neigh he wex out of his mynde.
This drem, of which I told have ek byforn,
May nevere outen of his remembraunce.
He thought ay wel he hadde his lady lorn,
And that Joves of his purveyaunce
Hym shewed hadde in slep the signifiaunce
Of hire untrouthe and his disaventure,
And that the boor was shewed hym in figure.
For which he for Sibille his suster sente,
That called was Cassandre ek al aboute,
And al his drem he tolde hire er he stente,
And hire bisoughte assoilen hym the doute
Of the stronge boor with tuskes stoute;
And fynaly, withinne a litel stounde,
Cassandre hym gan right thus his drem expounde:
She gan first smyle, and seyde, "O brother deere,
If thow a soth of this desirest knowe,
Thow most a fewe of olde stories heere,
To purpos how that Fortune overthrowe
Hath lordes olde, thorugh which, withinne a throwe,
Thow wel this boor shalt knowe, and of what kynde
He comen is, as men in bokes fynde.
"Diane, which that wroth was and in ire
For Grekis nolde don hire sacrifice,
Ne encens upon hire auter sette afire,
She, for that Grekis gonne hire so despise,
Wrak hire in a wonder cruel wise;
For with a boor as gret as ox in stalle
She made up frete hire corn and vynes alle.
"To sle this boor was al the contre raysed,
Amonges which ther com, this boor to se,
A mayde, oon of this world the beste ypreysed;
And Meleagre, lord of that contree,
He loved so this fresshe mayden free
That with his manhod, er he wolde stente,
This boor he slough, and hire the hed he sente;
"Of which, as olde bokes tellen us,
Ther ros a contek and a gret envye;
And of this lord descended Tideus
By ligne, or ellis olde bookes lye.
But how this Meleagre gan to dye
Thorugh his moder, wol I yow naught telle,
For al to longe it were for to dwelle."
She tolde ek how Tideus, er she stente,
Unto the stronge citee of Thebes,
To cleymen kyngdom of the citee, wente,
For his felawe, daun Polymytes,
Of which the brother, daun Ethiocles,
Ful wrongfully of Thebes held the strengthe;
This tolde she by proces, al by lengthe.
She tolde ek how Hemonydes asterte,
Whan Tideus slough fifty knyghtes stoute.
She tolde ek alle the prophecyes by herte,
And how that seven kynges with hire route
Bysegeden the citee al aboute;
And of the holy serpent, and the welle,
And of the furies, al she gan hym telle;
Of Archymoris brennynge and the pleyes,
And how Amphiorax fil thorugh the grounde,
How Tideus was sleyn, lord of Argeyes,
And how Ypomedoun in litel stounde
Was dreynt, and ded Parthonope of wownde;
And also how Capaneus the proude
With thonder-dynt was slayn, that cride loude.
She gan ek telle hym how that eyther brother,
Ethiocles and Polymyte also,
At a scarmuche ech of hem slough other,
And of Argyves wepynge and hire wo;
And how the town was brent, she tolde ek tho;
And so descendeth down from gestes olde
To Diomede, and thus she spak and tolde:
"This ilke boor bitokneth Diomede,
Tideus sone, that down descended is
Fro Meleagre, that made the boor to blede;
And thy lady, wherso she be, ywis,
This Diomede hire herte hath, and she his.
Wep if thow wolt, or lef, for out of doute,
This Diomede is inne, and thow art oute."
"Thow seyst nat soth," quod he, "thow sorceresse,
With al thy false goost of prophecye!
Thow wenest ben a gret devyneresse!
Now sestow nat this fool of fantasie
Peyneth hire on ladys for to lye?
Awey!" quod he. "Ther Joves yeve the sorwe!
Thow shalt be fals, peraunter, yet tomorwe!
"As wel thow myghtest lien on Alceste,
That was of creatures, but men lye,
That evere weren, kyndest and the beste!
For whan hire housbonde was in jupertye
To dye hymself but if she wolde dye,
She ches for hym to dye and gon to helle,
And starf anon, as us the bokes telle."
Cassandre goth, and he with cruel herte
Foryat his wo, for angre of hire speche;
And from his bed al sodeynly he sterte,
As though al hool hym hadde ymad a leche.
And day by day he gan enquere and seche
A sooth of this with al his fulle cure;
And thus he drieth forth his aventure.
Fortune, which that permutacioun
Of thynges hath, as it is hire comitted
Thorugh purveyaunce and disposicioun
Of heighe Jove, as regnes shal be flitted
Fro folk in folk, or when they shal he smytted,
Gan pulle awey the fetheres brighte of Troie
Fro day to day, til they ben bare of joie.
Among al this, the fyn of the parodie
Of Ector gan aprochen wonder blyve.
The fate wolde his soule sholde unbodye,
And shapen hadde a mene it out to dryve,
Ayeyns which fate hym helpeth nat to stryve;
But on a day to fighten gan he wende,
At which—allas!—he caughte his lyves ende.
For which me thynketh every manere wight
That haunteth armes oughte to biwaille
The deth of hym that was so noble a knyght;
For as he drough a kyng by th'aventaille,
Unwar of this, Achilles thorugh the maille
And thorugh the body gan hym for to ryve;
And thus this worthi knyght was brought of lyve.
For whom, as olde bokes tellen us,
Was mad swich wo that tonge it may nat telle,
And namely, the sorwe of Troilus,
That next hym was of worthynesse welle;
And in this wo gan Troilus to dwelle
That, what for sorwe, and love, and for unreste,
Ful ofte a day he bad his herte breste.
But natheles, though he gan hym dispaire,
And dradde ay that his lady was untrewe,
Yet ay on hire his herte gan repaire.
And as thise lovers don, he soughte ay newe
To gete ayeyn Criseyde, brighte of hewe;
And in his herte he wente hire excusynge,
That Calkas caused al hire tariynge.
And ofte tyme he was in purpos grete
Hymselven lik a pilgrym to desgise
To seen hire; but he may nat contrefete
To ben unknowen of folk that weren wise,
Ne fynde excuse aright that may suffise
If he among the Grekis knowen were;
For which he wep ful ofte and many a tere.
To hire he wroot yet ofte tyme al newe
Ful pitously—he lefte it nought for slouthe—
Bisechyng hire that sithen he was trewe,
That she wol come ayeyn and holde hire trouthe.
For which Criseyde upon a day, for routhe—
I take it so—touchyng al this matere,
Wrot hym ayeyn, and seyde as ye may here:
