Canterbury Tales and Other Poems by Geoffrey Chaucer (always you kirsty moseley .txt) 📖

causeless ye suffer all this dread!

 

“For thilke* day that I for cherishing that same Or dread of father, or of other wight, Or for estate, delight, or for wedding, Be false to you, my Troilus, my knight, Saturne’s daughter Juno, through her might, As wood as Athamante <78> do me dwell *mad Eternally in Styx the pit of hell!

 

“And this, on ev’ry god celestial

I swear it you, and eke on each goddess, On ev’ry nymph, and deity infernal,

On Satyrs and on Faunes more or less,

That *halfe goddes* be of wilderness; *demigods And Atropos my thread of life to-brest, break utterly If I be false! now trow* me if you lest.* believe **please “And thou Simois, <79> that as an arrow clear Through Troy ay runnest downward to the sea, Bear witness of this word that said is here!

That thilke day that I untrue be

To Troilus, mine owen hearte free,

That thou returne backward to thy well, And I with body and soul sink in hell!”

 

Even yet Troilus was not wholly content, and urged anew his plan of secret flight; but Cressida turned upon him with the charge that he mistrusted her causelessly, and demanded of him that he should be faithful in her absence, else she must die at her return. Troilus promised faithfulness in far simpler and briefer words than Cressida had used.

 

“Grand mercy, good heart mine, y-wis,” quoth she; “And blissful Venus let me never sterve, die Ere I may stand *of pleasance in degree in a position to reward To quite him* that so well can deserve; him well with pleasure*

And while that God my wit will me conserve, I shall so do; so true I have you found, That ay honour to me-ward shall rebound.

 

“For truste well that your estate* royal, *rank Nor vain delight, nor only worthiness

Of you in war or tourney martial,

Nor pomp, array, nobley, nor eke richess, Ne made me to rue* on your distress; *take pity But moral virtue, grounded upon truth, That was the cause I first had on you ruth. pity “Eke gentle heart, and manhood that ye had, And that ye had, — as me thought, — in despite Every thing that *sounded unto* bad, tended unto, accorded with

As rudeness, and peoplish* appetite, *vulgar And that your reason bridled your delight; This made, aboven ev’ry creature,

That I was yours, and shall while I may dure.

 

“And this may length of yeares not fordo, destroy, do away Nor remuable* Fortune deface; *unstable But Jupiter, that of his might may do

The sorrowful to be glad, so give us grace, Ere nightes ten to meeten in this place, So that it may your heart and mine suffice!

And fare now well, for time is that ye rise.”

 

The lovers took a heart-rending adieu; and Troilus, suffering unimaginable anguish, “withoute more, out of the chamber went.”

 

THE FIFTH BOOK.

 

APPROACHE gan the fatal destiny

That Jovis hath in disposition,

And to you angry Parcae,* Sisters three, *The Fates Committeth to do execution;

For which Cressida must out of the town, And Troilus shall dwelle forth in pine, pain Till Lachesis his thread no longer twine. twist The golden-tressed Phoebus, high aloft, Thries* had alle, with his beames clear, thrice The snowes molt, and Zephyrus as oft melted Y-brought again the tender leaves green, Since that the son of Hecuba the queen Troilus <80>*

Began to love her first, for whom his sorrow Was all, that she depart should on the morrow In the morning, Diomede was ready to escort Cressida to the Greek host; and Troilus, seeing him mount his horse, could with difficulty resist an impulse to slay him — but restrained himself, lest his lady should be also slain in the tumult. When Cressida was ready to go,

 

This Troilus, in guise of courtesy,

With hawk on hand, and with a huge rout retinue, crowd Of knightes, rode, and did her company, Passing alle the valley far without;

And farther would have ridden, out of doubt, Full fain,* and woe was him to go so soon, *gladly But turn he must, and it was eke to do’n.

 

And right with that was Antenor y-come Out of the Greekes’ host, and ev’ry wight Was of it glad, and said he was welcome; And Troilus, *all n’ere his hearte light, although his heart He pained him, with all his fulle might, was not light*

Him to withhold from weeping at the least; And Antenor he kiss’d and made feast.

 

And therewithal he must his leave take, And cast his eye upon her piteously,

And near he rode, his cause* for to make *excuse, occasion To take her by the hand all soberly;

And, Lord! so she gan weepe tenderly!

And he full soft and slily gan her say, “Now hold your day, and *do me not to dey.” do not make me die*

 

With that his courser turned he about, With face pale, and unto Diomede

No word he spake, nor none of all his rout; Of which the son of Tydeus <81> tooke heed, As he that couthe* more than the creed <82> *knew In such a craft, and by the rein her hent; took And Troilus to Troye homeward went.

 

This Diomede, that led her by the bridle, When that he saw the folk of Troy away, Thought, “All my labour shall not be *on idle, in vain*

If that I may, for somewhat shall I say; For, at the worst, it may yet short our way; I have heard say eke, times twice twelve, He is a fool that will forget himselve.”

 

But natheless, this thought he well enough, That “Certainly I am aboute naught,

If that I speak of love, or *make it tough; make any violent For, doubteless, if she have in her thought immediate effort*

Him that I guess, he may not be y-brought So soon away; but I shall find a mean, That she not wit as yet shall what I mean.” shall not yet know

 

So he began a general conversation, assured her of not less friendship and honour among the Greeks than she had enjoyed in Troy, and requested of her earnestly to treat him as a brother and accept his service — for, at last he said, “I am and shall be ay, while that my life may dure, your own, aboven ev’ry creature.

 

“Thus said I never e’er now to woman born; For, God mine heart as wisly* gladden so! *surely I loved never woman herebeforn,

As paramours, nor ever shall no mo’;

And for the love of God be not my foe, All* can I not to you, my lady dear, *although Complain aright, for I am yet to lear. teach “And wonder not, mine owen lady bright, Though that I speak of love to you thus blive; soon For I have heard ere this of many a wight That loved thing he ne’er saw in his live; Eke I am not of power for to strive

Against the god of Love, but him obey

I will alway, and mercy I you pray.”

 

Cressida answered his discourses as though she scarcely heard them; yet she thanked him for his trouble and courtesy, and accepted his offered friendship — promising to trust him, as well she might. Then she alighted from her steed, and, with her heart nigh breaking, was welcomed to the embrace of her father.

Meanwhile Troilus, back in Troy, was lamenting with tears the loss of his love, despairing of his or her ability to survive the ten days, and spending the night in wailing, sleepless tossing, and troublous dreams. In the morning he was visited by Pandarus, to whom he gave directions for his funeral; desiring that the powder into which his heart was burned should be kept in a golden urn, and given to Cressida. Pandarus renewed his old counsels and consolations, reminded his friend that ten days were a short time to wait, argued against his faith in evil dreams, and urged him to take advantage of the truce, and beguile the time by a visit to King Sarpedon (a Lycian Prince who had come to aid the Trojans). Sarpedon entertained them splendidly; but no feasting, no pomp, no music of instruments, no singing of fair ladies, could make up for the absence of Cressida to the desolate Troilus, who was for ever poring upon her old letters, and recalling her loved form. Thus he “drove to an end” the fourth day, and would have then returned to Troy, but for the remonstrances of Pandarus, who asked if they had visited Sarpedon only to fetch fire? At last, at the end of a week, they returned to Troy; Troilus hoping to find Cressida again in the city, Pandarus entertaining a scepticism which he concealed from his friend. The morning after their return, Troilus was impatient till he had gone to the palace of Cressida; but when he found her doors all closed, “well nigh for sorrow adown he gan to fall.”

 

Therewith, when he was ware, and gan behold How shut was ev’ry window of the place, As frost him thought his hearte *gan to cold; began to grow cold*

For which, with changed deadly pale face, Withoute word, he forth began to pace; And, as God would, he gan so faste ride, That no wight of his countenance espied.

 

Then said he thus: “O palace desolate!

O house of houses, *whilom beste hight! formerly called best*

O palace empty and disconsolate!

O thou lantern, of which quench’d is the light!

O palace, whilom day, that now art night!

Well oughtest thou to fall, and I to die, Since she is gone that wont was us to guy! guide, rule “O palace, whilom crown of houses all, Illumined with sun of alle bliss!

O ring, from which the ruby is out fall!

O cause of woe, that cause hast been of bliss!

Yet, since I may no bet, fain would I kiss Thy colde doores, durst I for this rout; And farewell shrine, of which the saint is out!”

 

… … … . .

 

From thence forth he rideth up and down, And ev’ry thing came him to remembrance, As he rode by the places of the town,

In which he whilom had all his pleasance; “Lo! yonder saw I mine own lady dance; And in that temple, with her eyen clear, Me caughte first my righte lady dear.

 

“And yonder have I heard full lustily

My deare hearte laugh; and yonder play: Saw I her ones eke full blissfully;

And yonder ones to me gan she say,

‘Now, goode sweete! love me well, I pray;’

And yond so gladly gan she me behold,

That to the death my heart is to her hold. holden, bound “And at that corner, in the yonder house, Heard I mine allerlevest* lady dear, *dearest of all So womanly, with voice melodious,

Singe so well, so goodly and so clear, That in my soule yet me thinks I hear

The blissful sound; and in that yonder place My lady first me took unto her grace.”

 

Then he went to the gates, and gazed along the way by which he had attended Cressida at her departure; then he fancied that all the passers-by pitied him; and thus he drove forth a day or two more, singing a song, of few words, which he had made to lighten his heart:

 

“O star, of which I lost have all the light, With hearte sore well ought I to bewail, That ever dark in torment, night