Chaucer
Troilus and Criseyde
BkI
BkII
BkIII
BkIV
BkV
Book
V
1
And there approached that
fatal destiny
Which lies in the
disposal of Jove's frown
And to you angry Furies,
sisters three,
Is, for its execution,
handed down;
Because of which Criseyde
must leave the town
And Troilus live on in
pain and dread
Till Lachesis no longer
spin his thread.
2
Now golden‑headed
Phoebus, high aloft,
Had three times melted in
his sunny sheen
The winter snows, and
Zephyrus as oft
Had brought the leaves
again in tender green
Since Troilus, son of
Hecuba the Queen,
First fell in love with
her, for whom his sorrow
Was all for this: she was
to leave that morrow.
3
At prime of day the
sturdy Diomede
Stood ready at the gates;
he was to lead
Criseyde to join the
Greeks, but she indeed
Was at a loss, she felt
her spirit bleed.
And, truly, not in all
the books we read
Can there be found a
woman so cast down
Nor ever one so loth to
leave a town.
4
And Troilus with neither
plan of war,
Nor counsel, lost to joy
for ever more,
Now waited desolate at
his lady's door,
She that had been the
root and flower before
Of all his happiness and
joys of yore.
Now, Troilus, farewell to
all your joy,
For you will never see
her back in Troy !
5
It's true that while he
waited in this trance
He laboured, in a manly
way, to hide
His grief; it barely
changed his countenance;
But at the gate whence
she was due to ride
With certain folk, he
hovered on the side;
He was so woebegone,
(although of course
He did not speak), he
scarce could sit his horse.
6
He shook with rage, his
heart began to gnaw
Within, when Diomede
prepared to mount;
He muttered to himself at
what he saw
`O baseness, shame, to
suffer this affront!
Why not redress or bring
it to account?
Were it not better die in
the endeavour
Than to endure this
misery for ever?
7
`Why don't I fall on
them, give rich and poor
Something to do before I
let her go?
Why don't I bring all
Troy into a roar?
Why don't I kill this
Diomede, and show
Some courage? Why not,
with a man or so,
Steal her away? What more
must I endure?
Why don't I help myself
to my own cure?'
8
But why he would not do
so fell a deed
I have to tell you, why
he chose and willed
It not to be; he feared
that it would breed
A battle, and Criseyde
might well be killed;
And that is why his wish
was unfulfilled,
Otherwise certainly, as
you have heard,
It had been done without
another word
9
At last Criseyde was
ready for the ride
Sighing `Alas!' with
sorrow in her face;
But go she must, whatever
might betide;
There is no remedy in
such a case.
She rode out at a
melancholy pace;
What wonder if she felt a
bitter smart
Forgoing Troilus, her own
dear heart !
10
And he, by way of showing
courtesy,
With hawk on hand, and
with a splendid rout
Of knights, rode forth
and kept her company.
They passed the distant
valley far without
And would have ridden
further yet, no doubt,
Most gladly; it was grief
to turn so soon,
But turn he had to, that
unhappy noon.
11
Just at that moment
Antenor appeared
Out of the Grecian host,
and every knight
Was glad and gave him
welcome as he neared;
And Troilus, though very
far from light
Of heart, obliged
himself, as best he might,
At least to hold his
tears; his eyes were dim
As he kissed Antenor and
welcomed him.
12
And here at last he had
to take his leave;
He cast his eyes upon her
piteously
And, riding closer, took
her by the sleeve
To plead his cause, and
touched her soberly;
Ah, Lord! She started
weeping tenderly.
Softly and slyly he
contrived to say
`Now do not kill me,
darling, keep your day.'
13
With that he turned his
courser round about;
His face was very pale.
To Diomede
He spoke not, nor to any
of his rout;
This Greek, the son of
Tideus, took good heed;
Here was a craft in which
he knew his Creed,
And more than that; he
took her leading‑rein,
And Troilus to Troy rode
home again.
14
This Diomede who led her
by the bridle,
Now that the Trojans
could no longer stay,
Thought `Well, this is no
moment to be idle;
I have the work, so I
should get the pay;
I'll talk to her; it will
beguile the way.
As I was taught a dozen
times at school
"He who forgets to help
himself's a fool."'
15
Nevertheless he
understood enough
To think ` It will for
certain come to naught
If I should speak of
love, or make it tough,
For doubtless, if she
treasures in her thought
Him I suspect, she cannot
well be brought
To let him go so soon;
I'll try to find
A means, and yet not let
her know my mind.'
16
This Diomede, who knew
his way about,
Chose the right moment
when to fall in speech
With her of this and
that, and ask right out
Why she was in distress,
and to beseech
Her to command him ‑ were
it in his reach
To put her at her ease;
if she but knew it,
She only had to ask and
he would do it.
17
For truly, and he swore
it as a knight,
There was not anything to
give her pleasure
He would not do with all
his heart and might,
If it could ease her
heart in any measure;
He begged her to allay
and not to treasure
Her grief, and said `We
Grecians will take joy
In honouring you, as much
as folk in Troy.'
18
He also said `I know you
find it strange –
No wonder either, it is
new to you –
To drop these Trojan
friendships in exchange
For ours of Greece,
people you never knew.
But God forbid there
should not be a few
Among the Grecian hosts
that you will find
As true as any Trojan,
and as kind.
19
`And as, a moment since,
I made a vow
To be your friend,
helpfully if I might,
Since I have more
acquaintance with you now
Than other strangers, I
will claim a right;
From this time on,
command me, day or night;
And though it should be
painful, I will do
Whatever may delight your
heart and you.
20
`And I would have you
treat me as your brother
And do not hold my
friendship in disdain;
And though you grieve for
some great thing or other
- I know not what ‑ I
know my heart would fain
Relieve you, had we
leisure, of your pain;
If it be more than I can
well redress,
I am right sorry for your
heaviness.
21
`You Trojans and we
Greeks have long been lot
To love each other, and
many a day will be;
Yet there's one god of
love we worship both;
So, for the love of God,
my lady free,
Hate whom you will, but
have no hate for me;
No one could serve you,
trust me this is true,
That would be half so
loth to anger you.
22
`And were it not that we
are near the tent
Of Calkas (who can see
us, by the way)
I would go on to tell you
all I meant;
This must be sealed up
for another day.
Give me your hand; I am
and shall be aye,
God helping me, while
life shall last, alone
Above all other men, your
very own.
23
`And that's a thing I
never said before
To any woman born; and I
can vow
I never yet have had a
paramour
And never loved a woman,
up till now;
So do not be my enemy !
Allow
For lack of eloquence in
me, and spurn
Me not for it, for I have
much to learn.
24
`Though it may seem a
wonder, lady bright,
To hear me speak of love
so quickly, yet
I have heard tell that
many at first sight
Have loved, who up till
then had never met;
Nor do I have in me the
power to set
Myself against the god,
whom I obey,
And ever will; have
mercy, then, I say.
25
`Such admirable knights
are in this place
And you so beautiful ‑
that one and all
Will strain in rivalry to
stand in grace
With you; but should such
happiness befall
Me as to be the one that
you will call
Your servant, there's not
one of them so true
As I shall be, till
death, in serving you.'
26
Criseyde made slight
rejoinder, though she heard,
Oppressed with grief and
wondering what to do,
But in effect she hardly
caught a word,
A sentence here and
there, a phrase or two.
She thought her sorrowing
heart would burst right through
Her breast; and when she
saw her father there
She sank upon her saddle
in despair.
27
Nevertheless, to Diomede
she proffered
Her thanks for all his
pains, and his display
Of welcome, and the
friendship he had offered,
Which she accepted in a
civil way;
She would be glad to do
what he would say
And she would trust him,
as indeed she might,
Or so she said, beginning
to alight.
28
Her father took her in
his arms and cried,
As twenty times he kissed
her on the cheek,
`Welcome, my own dear
daughter !' She replied
That she was glad to see
him, ceased to speak
And stood before him,
mute and mild and meek.
And here I leave her with
her father thus,
And I turn back to tell
of Troilus.
29
To Troy this woeful
Troilus returned
In sorrow, above all
other sorrows' force,
With felon look, a face
where fury burned.
Abruptly he dismounted
from his horse
And through his palace
took his angry course,
Heedless of everything,
to seek his room,
And no one dared break in
upon his gloom.
30
There to the griefs till
then within him pent
He gave large issue;
`Death !' he cried at first,
Then, in the frantic
throes he underwent,
Cursed Jove, Apollo,
Cupid, said his worst
Of Ceres, Bacchus, Cypris,
and he cursed
His birth, himself, his
fortune and his nature
And, save his lady, every
earthly creature.
31
To bed he went and
wallowed, turned and lay
In fury, as Igion does in
Hell,
And so continued until
nearly day;
His heart began a little
to unswell
Relieved by tears that
issued from their well;
And piteously he called
upon Criseyde,
Crying aloud, and this is
what he cried
32
`Where is my own, my lady
loved and dear?
And where is her white
breast? Where is it? Where?
Where are her arms? And
where her eyes so clear,
That this time
yesternight were with me here?
Now I may weep alone,
full many a tear !
And wildly grasp about,
but in her place
I only find a pillow to
embrace.
33
`How shall I do? When
will she come again?
Alas, I know not! Why did
I let her go?
Ah I would to God that I
had then been slain !
My sweetest heart,
Criseyde, my darling foe,
My lady, only love and
only woe,
To whom I give my heart
for ever !
See, See, I am dying,
will you not rescue me?
34
`Who gazes on you now, my
guiding star?
Who in your presence
sits? Or who stands near?
Who now can comfort you
in your heart's war?
Since I am gone, to whom
do you give ear?
Who speaks for me, for me
in absence here?
No one, alas ! I grieve
and that is why;
I know you fare as evilly
as I
35
`How am I to endure for
ten whole days,
When, the first night, I
suffer so much pain?
How will she do, sad
creature? In what ways,
Seeing her tenderness,
will she sustain
Her grief for me? O, ere
you come again,
Piteous and pale and
green your face will be
With longing hither to
return, to me.'
36
And when he fell in
fitful slumberings,
After a little he began
to groan,
For dreams would visit
him of dreadful things
That well might be:
dreaming he was alone
In some appalling place
and making moan,
Or dreaming he was
prisoner to bands
Of enemies; his life was
in their hands.
37
His body thereupon would
give a start
And with that start be
found himself awake
With such a tremor felt
about his heart
The terror of it made his
body quake;
And there were sudden
noises he would make
And he imagined he had
fallen deep
From a great height; and
then he had to weep,
38
And spend such pity on
his misery;
Wonder it was to hear his
fantasies;
Then, in a moment, he
would mightily
Console himself ‑ a
madness, a disease,
He said it was, to have
such fears as these;
Again his bitter sorrows
overbore him,
And any man would have
felt sorry for him.
39
Who could have told, or
fully have unfurled
His torment, his lament,
his flow of brine?
No one alive or dead in
all the world!
I leave you, gentle
reader, to divine
That grief like his, for
such a wit as mine,
Is far too great, and I
should work in vain;
To think about it cuts me
to the brain.
40
In heaven still the stars
were to be seen,
Although the moon was
paling, quickly too,
As the horizon whitened
with a sheen
Far to the east, as it.
is wont to do
When Phoebus with his
rosy car is due;
He was preparing for his
journey thus
When Troilus sent word
for Pandarus.
41
This Pandarus, who all
the previous day
Had been unable, even for
an hour,
To see him, though he'd
sworn to get away
- For he was with King
Priam in the Tower,
And so it simply wasn't
in his power
To make a move ‑ now,
with the morning, went
To Troilus, who, as I
say, had sent.
42
He found it easy in his
heart to guess
That Troilus had lain
awake in woe
And needed now to talk of
his distress;
He did not need a book to
tell him so.
And to his chamber he
made haste to go
The shortest way, greeted
and gravely eyed him,
And then sat down upon
the bed beside him.
43
`My Pandarus,' said
Troilus, `the sorrow
I undergo I cannot long
endure.
I feel I shall not live
until tomorrow,
So I would lay my plans,
to make all sure,
And fix my funeral and
sepulchre.
As for my property and
all the rest,
Dispose of it for me as
you think best.
44
`But for the fire and for
the burial flame
In which my body shall
be burned and freed,
And for the feasting and
the funeral
To grace my wake, I beg
of you, take
See that all's well; and
offer Mars my steed,
My sword and helmet;
also, brother dear,
My shield to Pallas, she
that shines so clear.
45
`The powdery ash to which
my heart will burn
I beg of you to gather
and preserve
In such a vessel as they
call an urn,
A golden one; give it to
her I serve,
For love of whom I die; I
did not swerve.
So give it her; do me
this courtesy
And beg her keep it in my
memory.
46
`I know it from my
malady, and by
My present dreams and
some from long ago,
That I am certainly about
to die.
Besides, the owl they
call Escaphilo
These two nights past has
shrieked for me, and so
I pray for Mercury, if he
please, to fetch
This soul of mine and
guide a sorrowful wretch I'
47
Pandarus answered
`Listen, Troilus;
Dear friend, as I have
often said before,
It is mere madness in
you, sorrowing thus
Without a reason; I can
say no more.
He that to all advice
will close the door
Is one for whom I know no
remedy;
Leave him to stew in his
own fantasy.
48
`But, Troilus, I beg you;
tell me, do,
Whether you think that
ever anyone
Loved with so passionate
a love as you?
God knows they have, and
many so have done;
Many have had~to let a
fortnight run
Without their ladies, and
have made no fuss;
What need is there? It's
quite ridiculous.
49
`For, day by day, as you
yourself can see,
A man may part from lover
or from wife,
When they are sundered by
necessity,
Aye, though he loves her
better than his life;
But all the same he will
not be at strife
Within himself; for, as
you know, dear brother,
Friends cannot always be
with one another.
50
`What do they do who see
their lovers wedded
Because of powerful
friends, as happens oft,
And in their spouses' bed
behold them bedded?
God knows they take it
wisely ‑ fair and soft,
Because good hope will
keep their hearts aloft;
And if they can endure a
time of grief,
As time has hurt them,
time will bring relief.
51
`That is the way to take
it; let it slide !
Try to enjoy yourself,
have no concern;
Ten days are not so long
for you to bide;
For since she gave her
promise to return,
o one will make her break
it; she will learn
Some way of coming back,
so fear no ill;
I'll lay my life upon it
that she will.
52
`As for those dreams of
yours and all such folly,
To Hell with them I
Imagination teems
With stuff like that;
it's from your melancholy
That troubles you in
sleep, or so it seems.
A straw for the
significance of dreams !
I wouldn't give a bean
for them, not I !
No one can tell you what
they signify.
53
`The temple priests
incline to tell you this,
That dreams are sent as
Heaven's revelations;
They also tell you, and
with emphasis,
They're diabolical
hallucinations;
The doctors say that
glandular liquations
Engender them, by fast ‑
or gluttony;
How can the truth be
contradictory?
54
`Others will say they
come from an obsession;
Some fixed idea a fellow
has, a theme;
And this will cause a
vision‑like impression.
Others report from books
that it would seem
A thing quite natural for
men to dream
At certain times of year,
according to
The moon; believe no
dream. It will not do.
55
`All very well, these
dreams, for poor old wives,
Who trust in birds and
auguries and howls
That send them all in
terror of their lives !
- Ravens foreboding death
and screeching owls –
Belief in them is false
and it befouls;
O that a creature with a
noble mind
Like man, should trust in
garbage of the kind !
56
`Let me beseech you,
then, with all my heart,
Forgive yourself for all
that's gone astray.
Let's talk no more; get
up and make a start.
Let's think how we may
drive the time away
And how our lives will
freshen on the day
When she comes back ‑ and
soon it will be too ! -
For that's the best, God
help us, we can do.
57
`Rise up, recall the
lusty life in Troy
That we have led ! And so
we shall contrive
To fleet the time until
our time for joy
Shall bring us back again
our bliss alive;
The languors of a day or
two ‑ twice five –
We shall forget about, or
somehow stifle,
So that the whole affair
shall seem a trifle.
58
`I've seen a lot of
gentlefolk about,
And we are meanwhile in a
state of truce.
Let's have some fun and
join the lusty rout
At Sárpedoun's, a mile
away; get loose,
And cheat the time by
putting it to use !
Drive it along to meet
that blissful morrow
When you will see her,
cause of all your sorrow !
59
`Rise up, I say, dear
brother Troilus;
It does no honour to you,
don't you see,
To weep and linger in
your bedroom thus.
One thing is absolutely
sure, trust me,
If you lie here a day or
two, or three,
People will say it is a
coward's trick,
You daren't rise up and
fight, you're feigning sick.'
60
And Troilus replied `O
brother dear,
As anyone that ever
suffered pain
Will know, it is no
wonder to appear
In sorrow, or to weep, or
to complain,
For one who feels the
smart in every vein;
Though I complain and
weep, I have the right,
Since I have lost my
cause of all delight.
61
`Forced by necessity to
make a start,
I will get up, as soon as
ever I may,
And God, to whom I
sacrifice my heart,
Send us in haste the
tenth, the happy day !
There never was a bird so
glad of May
As I shall be when she
returns to Troy,
The cause of all my
torment, and my joy.
62
`But what do you advise,'
said Troilus,
`Where we can best amuse
ourselves in town?'
`Well, my advice, by
God,' said Pandarus,
`Is to ride out and see
King Sddrpedoun.'
This for a while they
argued up and down,
Till, in the end, Troilus
gave consent
And rose; and off to
Sirpedoun they went.
63
He was a man whose life
had been a fable
Of honour, liberality and
worth;
And all that could be
offered on a table
And that was dainty,
though it cost the earth,
He gave them day by day;
there was no dearth,
So people said, the
greatest and the least;
The like was never seen
at any feast
64
Nor could you hope to
find an instrument
Delicious by the use of
wind or string
In all the world, however
far you went,
That tongue can tell of
or that heart can bring
To mind, but blended at
their banqueting;
And never was a company
so fair
To look on as the ladies
dancing there.
65
Of what avail was this to
Troilus
In his despondency? It
went for nought.
For all the while his
heart, so dolorous,
Sought for Criseyde;
insistently it sought.
Ever and only she was all
his thought,
Now this, now that, in
his imagination;
What banqueting could
bring him consolation?
66
Since, of these ladies at
the feast, the gem
Was lacking for him, with
Criseyde away,
It was a grief for him to
look at them,
Or listen to the
instruments in play;
She being absent in whose
hand there lay
The key of his heart, it
was his fantasy
That no one had a right
to melody.
67
There was no hour of the
day or night,
When there was nobody to
overhear,
But that he said `My
darling, my delight,
How has it been with you
since you were here?
How I would welcome you
again, my dear !'
Fortune had caught him in
her maze, alas !
And fitted him a helmet
made of glass.
68
The letters she had
written him moreover,
In former days, that now
were gone for good,
A hundred times a day he
read them over,
Refiguring her lovely
womanhood
Within his heart, and
every word and mood
Out of the past, and thus
he battled on
Till the fourth day; then
said he must be gone.
69
`Is it a firm intention,
this of yours,
Pandar, for us to linger,
you and I,
Till Shpedoun has turned
us out of doors?
Were it not better now to
say good‑bye?
For heaven's sake this
evening let us try
To take our leave of him
and disappear
For home, for honestly I
won't stay here.'
70
Said Pandarus : `What did
we come here for?
To borrow a light and
then run home again?
I don't know where we
could have found a more
Delightful host, gladder
to entertain
Than Sárpedoun; and isn't
it quite plain
He likes us? Don't you
see that if we fled
So suddenly, it would be
most ill‑bred?
71
`We told him we were
paying him a visit
For a whole week; so
suddenly to change
And take our leave is
hardly proper, is it?
After four days ! He'd
think it very strange.
Let's stick by what we've
chosen to arrange.
And since you've promised
him that you would stay,
Stand by your word; we
then can ride away.'
72
Thus Pandar, with much
trouble and persuasion,
Forced him to stay awhile
and show his face;
But when the week‑end
came, they took occasion
To bid the King farewell
and leave the place;
Said Troilus: `Now Heaven
send me grace
That I may find, upon my
homecoming,
Criseyde returned !' And
he began to sing.
73
`Nuts I' muttered Pandar
softly to himself,
Who, in his heart of
hearts, was thinking thus:
`All this hot stuff will
cool upon a shelf
Ere Calkas sends Criseyde
to Troilus !'
But still he swore `She
will come back to us,
What your heart says is
right,' he japed away,
`She will come back as
soon as ever she may !'
74
When they had reached the
palace of his friend
There they dismounted in
the evening light
And to his chamber took
their way, to spend
The time in talking on
into the night;
And all their talk was of
Criseyde the Bright.
And, later, when it
pleased them, having fed,
They rose from supper and
they went to bed.
75
When morning came and day
began to clear,
This Troilus stirred and
awoke, and cried
To Pandarus `Dear
brother, do you hear?
For heaven's sake let us
get up and ride;
Let us go see the palace
of Criseyde;
For since we are not yet
to have the feast,
There is the palace to be
seen at least.'
76
To lull suspicions in his
followers,
He made pretence that he
had work to do
In town, and to the house
that still was hers
They started off ‑how sad
he alone knew;
It seemed to him his
heart would break in two;
And when he found the
doors were sparred across
He almost fell to earth,
so great the loss.
77
And taking in all that
his eyes now told
- For barred was every
window in the place –
He felt as if a frost had
fallen cold
Upon his heart; the
colour of his face
Changed to a deadly
pallor; quickening pace,
Without a word, he rode
ahead so fast
That no one saw his
countenance as he passed.
78
Then said he thus: `O
palace desolate,
O house of houses that
was once so bright,
O palace, empty and
disconsolate,
O lantern quenched, from
which they stole the light,
Palace that once was day
and now is night,
Ought not you to fall,
and I to die,
Since she is gone that we
were guided by?
79
`O palace, crown of
houses, now forsaken,
But once illumined by the
sun of bliss,
O ring from which the
ruby has been taken,
Cause of a joy that now
has come to this,
Since I may do no better,
I would kiss
Your cold, cold doorway,
but for all this rout
Of people; farewell
shrine, whose saint is out!'
80
He turned and cast his
eyes on Pandar then;
His face was changed and
pitiful to see;
As he rode on with him he
spoke again,
As far as he had
opportunity
Of his old joys and his
new misery,
So sadly, with a face so
dead and grim
That anybody would have
pitied him.
81
So he went onward, riding
up and down,
And memories poured in at
every glance,
Passing the very places
in the town
That once had had such
power to entrance:
`Look, it was there I saw
my lady dance !
And in that temple with
her shining eyes
She took me first, my
darling, by surprise.
82
`And yonder, once, I
heard her lovely laughter,
I heard her laughter and
I saw her play,
And it was blissful;
then, a little after,
Just there, she once came
up to me to say
"O love me, sweetheart,
love me well today."
And it was there she
gazed at me so sweetly
That until death my heart
was hers completely.
83
`And at that corner, in
the house you see,
I heard my loveliest of
ladies sing,
So womanly, and how
melodiously !
How well, how clear, with
what a pleasing ring !
Still in my soul I hear
it echoing,
That blissful sound; and
there's the very place
In which she first
received me into grace !'
84
And then he thought: `Ah,
Cupid, blessed Lord,
When I recall the past,
the purgatory
I have endured, how
fiercely thou hast warred
Against me, it would make
a book, a story.
What need was there to
add unto thy glory
By this poor victory on
me and mine,
What joy in slaying what
is wholly thine?
85
`Well hast thou wreaked
upon me, Lord, thine ire,
Thou mighty god, so
fearful to annoy !
Have mercy, Lord, thou
knowest I desire
Thy favour more than any
other joy,
And will profess Thy
faith, in whose employ
I mean to live and die,
and ask no boon
Save that Thou send me
back Criseyde, and soon !
86
`Constrain her heart with
longing to return,
As, to behold her, thou
constrainest me !
Then it will surely be
her whole concern,
And she'll not tarry !
Ah, Cupid, do not be
As cruel to our blood and
monarchy
As Juno to the blood of
Thebes, for whom,
And for her rage, the
Thebans met their doom !'
87
And after this he visited
the gate
Through which, at such a
lively pace,
Criseyde Had ridden out,
and he began to wait
In restless hope; and up
and down he plied
His horse, and said
`Alas, I saw her ride
Away from here; O God, in
Heaven's joy,
Let me but see her riding
into Troy !
88
`To think I guided her to
yonder hill,
Alas I And it was there I
took my leave.
I saw her ride away, I
see her still;
The sorrow of it is
enough to cleave
My heart I And hither I
came home at eve,
And here must linger on,
cast out from joy,
And shall, until I see
her back in Troy.'
89
Often enough he thought
himself undone,
Defeated, pale, shrunken
to something less
Than what he was,
imagined everyone
Was saying `What has
happened? Who can guess
Why Troilus is in such
deep distress?'
All this was nothing but
his melancholy;
A fantasy about himself,
a folly.
90
Another time he would
imagine – weighing
What people whispered as
they cast an eye
Upon him ‑ they were
pitying him, saying
`I am right sorry Troilus
will die.'
And in these thoughts a
day or two went by
As you have heard; such
was the life he led,
Like one who halted
between hope and dread.
91
It gave him pleasure in
his songs to show
The reason of his grief,
as best he might;
He m |