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