And eek ther-to, he shal come here so selde,
What fors were it though al the toun behelde?
And wrye yow in that mantel ever-mo;
And, god so wis be my savacioun, 381
As I have seyd, your beste is to do so.
But alwey, goode nece, to stinte his wo,
So lat your daunger sucred ben a lyte,
That of his deeth ye be nought for to wyte.’ 385
Thoughte, ‘I shal fele what he meneth, y-wis.’
‘Now, eem,’ quod she, ‘what wolde ye devyse,
What is your reed I sholde doon of this?’
‘That is wel seyd,’ quod he, ‘certayn, best is 390
That ye him love ayein for his lovinge,
As love for love is skilful guerdoninge.
In eche of yow a party of beautee;
And therfore, er that age thee devoure, 395
Go love, for, olde, ther wol no wight of thee.
Lat this proverbe a lore un-to yow be;
To late y-war, quod Beautee, whan it paste;”
And elde daunteth daunger at the laste.
Whan that him thinketh a womman bereth hir hyë,
“So longe mote ye live, and alle proude,
Til crowes feet be growe under your yë,
And sende yow thanne a mirour in to pryë 404
In whiche ye may see your face a-morwe!”
Nece, I bid wisshe yow no more sorwe.’
And she bigan to breste a-wepe anoon.
And seyde, ‘allas, for wo! why nere I deed?
For of this world the feith is al agoon! 410
Allas! what sholden straunge to me doon,
When he, that for my beste freend I wende,
Ret me to love, and sholde it me defende?
That if that I, thurgh my disaventure, 415
Had loved other him or Achilles,
Ector, or any mannes creature,
Ye nolde han had no mercy ne mesure
On me, but alwey had me in repreve;
This false world, allas! who may it leve?
Is this your reed, is this my blisful cas?
Is this the verray mede of your beheste?
Is al this peynted proces seyd, allas! 424
Right for this fyn? O lady myn, Pallas!
Thou in this dredful cas for me purveye;
For so astonied am I that I deye!’
‘A! may it be no bet?’ quod Pandarus;
‘By god, I shal no- more come here this wyke, 430
And god to-forn, that am mistrusted thus;
I see ful wel that ye sette lyte of us,
Or of our deeth! Allas! I woful wrecche!
Mighte he yet live, of me is nought to recche.
O Furies three of helle, on yow I crye!
So lat me never out of this hous departe,
If that I mente harm or vilanye!
But sith I see my lord mot nedes dye,
And I with him, here I me shryve, and seye 440
That wikkedly ye doon us bothe deye.
By Neptunus, that god is of the see,
Fro this forth shal I never eten breed
Til I myn owene herte blood may see; 445
For certayn, I wole deye as sone as he’—
And up he sterte, and on his wey he raughte,
Til she agayn him by the lappe caughte.
So as she was the ferfulleste wight 450
That mighte be, and herde eek with hir ere,
And saw the sorwful ernest of the knight,
And in his preyere eek saw noon unright,
And for the harm that mighte eek fallen more,
She gan to rewe, and dradde hir wonder sore; 455
Alday for love, and in swich maner cas,
As men ben cruel in hem-self and wikke;
And if this man slee here him-self, allas!
In my presence, it wol be no solas. 460
What men wolde of hit deme I can nat seye;
It nedeth me ful sleyly for to pleye.’
‘A! lord! what me is tid a sory chaunce!
For myn estat now lyth in jupartye, 465
And eek myn emes lyf lyth in balaunce;
But nathelees, with goddes governaunce,
I shal so doon, myn honour shal I kepe,
And eek his lyf;’ and stinte for to wepe.
Yet have I lever maken him good chere
In honour, than
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