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rout{45}

      His eyë pierced, and so deep it went,

      Till on Cressíde it smote, and there it stent;{46}

      And suddenly wax’d wonder sore astoned,{47}

      And gan her bet{48} behold in busy wise:

      “Oh, very god!”{49} thought he; “where hast thou woned{50}

      That art so fair and goodly to devise?{51}

      Therewith his heart began to spread and rise;

      And soft he sighed, lest men might him hear,

      And caught again his former playing cheer.{52}

      She was not with the least of her statúre,{53}

      But all her limbës so well answeríng

      Were to womanhood, that creatúre

      Was never lessë mannish in seemíng.

      And eke the purë wise of her movíng{54}

      She showed well, that men might in her guess

      Honour, estate,{55} and womanly nobless.

      Then Troilus right wonder well withal

      Began to like her moving and her cheer,{56}

      Which somedeal dainous{57} was, for she let fall

      Her look a little aside, in such mannére

      Ascauncë{58} “What! may I not stande here?”

      And after that her looking gan she light,{59}

      That never thought him see so good a sight.

      And of her look in him there gan to quicken

      So great desire, and strong affectión,

      That in his heartë’s bottom gan to sticken

      Of her the fix’d and deep impressión;

      And though he erst had pored up and down,{60}

      Then was he glad his hornës in to shrink;

      Unnethës{61} wist he how to look or wink.

      Lo! he that held himselfe so cunning,

      And scorned them that Lovë’s painës drien,{62}

      Was full unware that love had his dwelling

      Within the subtile streamës{63} of her eyen;

      That suddenly he thought he feltë dien,

      Right with her look, the spirit in his heart;

      Blessed be Love, that thus can folk convert!

      She thus, in black, looking to Troilus,

      Over all things he stoodë to behold;

      But his desire, nor wherefore he stood thus,

      He neither cheerë made,{64} nor wordë told;

      But from afar, his manner for to hold,{65}

      On other things sometimes his look he cast,

      And eft{66} on her, while that the service last.{67}

      And after this, not fully all awhaped,{68}

      Out of the temple all easily be went,

      Repenting him that ever he had japed{69}

      Of Lovë’s folk, lest fully the descent

      Of scorn fell on himself; but what he meant,

      Lest it were wist on any manner side,

      His woe he gan dissemble and eke hide.

      Returning to his palace, he begins hypocritically to smile and jest at Love’s servants and their pains; but by and by he has to dismiss his attendants, feigning “other busy needs.” Then, alone in his chamber, he begins to groan and sigh, and call up again Criseyde’s form as he saw her in the temple—“making a mirror of his mind, in which he saw all wholly her figúre.” He thinks no travail or sorrow too high a price for the love of such a goodly woman; and, “full unadvised of his woe coming,”

      Thus took he purpose Lovë’s craft to sue,{70}

      And thought that he would work all privily,

      First for to hide his desire all in mew{71}

      From every wight y-born, all utterlý,

      But he might aught recover’d be thereby;{72}

      Rememb’ring him, that love too wide y-blow{73}

      Yields bitter fruit, although sweet seed be sow.

      And, over all this, muche more he thought

      What thing to speak, and what to holden in;

      And what to arten{74} her to love, he sought;

      And on a song anon right to begin,

      And gan loud on his sorrow for to win;{75}

      For with good hope he gan thus to assent{76}

      Cressída for to love, and not repent.

      The Song of Troilus.{77}

      “If no love is, O God! why feel I so?

      And if love is, what thing and which is he?

      If love be good, from whence cometh my woe?

      If it be wick’, a wonder thinketh me{78}

      Whence ev’ry torment and adversity

      That comes of love may to me savoury think:{79}

      For more I thirst the morë that I drink.

      “And if I at mine owen lustë bren{80}

      From whence cometh my wailing and my plaint?

      If maugré me,{81} whereto{82} plain I then?

      I wot ner{83} why, unweary, that I faint.

      O quickë death! O sweetë harm so quaint!{84}

      How may I see in me such quantity,{85}

      But if that I consent that so it be?

      “And if that I consent, I wrongfullý

      Complain y-wis: thus pushed to and fro,

      All starrëless within a boat am I,

      Middës the sea, betwixtë windës two,

      That in contráry standen evermo’.

      Alas! what wonder is this maladý!—

      For heat of cold, for cold of heat, I die!”

      Devoting himself wholly to the thought of Criseyde—though he yet knew not whether she was woman or goddess—Troilus, in spite of his royal blood, became the very slave of love. He set at naught every other charge, but to gaze on her as often as he could; thinking so to appease his hot fire, which thereby only burned the hotter. He wrought marvellous feats of arms against the Greeks, that she might like him the better for his renown; then love deprived him of sleep, and made his food his foe; till he had to “borrow a title of other sickness,” that men might not know he was consumed with love. Meantime, Criseyde gave no sign that she heeded his devotion, or even knew of it; and he was now consumed with a new fear—lest she loved some other man. Bewailing his sad lot—ensnared, exposed to the scorn of those whose love he had ridiculed, wishing himself arrived at the port of death, and praying ever that his lady might glad him with some kind look—Troilus is surprised in his chamber by his friend Pandarus, the uncle of Criseyde. Pandarus, seeking to divert his sorrow by making him angry, jeeringly asks whether remorse of conscience, or devotion, or fear of the Greeks, has caused all this ado. Troilus pitifully beseeches his friend to leave him to die alone, for die he must,

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