The Canterbury Tales, and Other Poems
To do that thing, as well as hardiness;* *courage
And eke to see him in his gear* him dress, *armour
So fresh, so young, so wieldy* seemed he, *active
It was a heaven on him for to see.* *look
His helmet was to-hewn in twenty places,
That by a tissue* hung his back behind; *riband
His shield to-dashed was with swords and maces,
In which men might many an arrow find,
That thirled* had both horn, and nerve, and rind; <21> *pierced
And ay the people cried, “Here comes our joy,
And, next his brother, <22> holder up of Troy.”
For which he wax’d a little red for shame,
When he so heard the people on him cryen
That to behold it was a noble game,
How soberly he cast adown his eyen:
Cresside anon gan all his cheer espien,
And let it in her heart so softly sink,
That to herself she said, “Who gives me drink?”<23>
For of her owen thought she wax’d all red,
Rememb’ring her right thus: “Lo! this is he
Which that mine uncle swears he might be dead,
But* I on him have mercy and pity:” *unless
And with that thought for pure shame she
Gan in her head to pull, and that full fast,
While he and all the people forth by pass’d.
And gan to cast,* and rollen up and down *ponder
Within her thought his excellent prowess,
And his estate, and also his renown,
His wit, his shape, and eke his gentleness
But most her favour was, for his distress
Was all for her, and thought it were ruth
To slay such one, if that he meant but truth.
. . . . . . . . . .
And, Lord! so gan she in her heart argue
Of this mattere, of which I have you told
And what to do best were, and what t’eschew,
That plaited she full oft in many a fold.<24>
Now was her hearte warm, now was it cold.
And what she thought of, somewhat shall I write,
As to mine author listeth to endite.
She thoughte first, that Troilus’ person
She knew by sight, and eke his gentleness;
And saide thus: *“All were it not to do’n,’* *although it were
To grant him love, yet for the worthiness impossible*
It were honour, with play* and with gladness, *pleasing entertainment
In honesty with such a lord to deal,
For mine estate,* and also for his heal.** *reputation **health
“Eke well I wot* my kinge’s son is he; *know
And, since he hath to see me such delight,
If I would utterly his sighte flee,
Parauntre* he might have me in despite, *peradventure
Through which I mighte stand in worse plight. <25>
Now were I fool, me hate to purchase* *obtain for myself
Withoute need, where I may stand in grace,* *favour
“In ev’rything, I wot, there lies measure;* *a happy medium
For though a man forbidde drunkenness,
He not forbids that ev’ry creature
Be drinkeless for alway, as I guess;
Eke, since I know for me is his distress,
I oughte not for that thing him despise,
Since it is so he meaneth in good wise.
“Now set a case, that hardest is, y-wis,
Men mighte deeme* that he loveth me; *believe
What dishonour were it unto me, this?
May I *him let of* that? Why, nay, pardie! *prevent him from*
I know also, and alway hear and see,
Men love women all this town about;
Be they the worse? Why, nay, withoute doubt!
“Nor me to love a wonder is it not;
For well wot I myself, so God me speed! —
*All would I* that no man wist of this thought — *although I would*
I am one of the fairest, without drede,* *doubt
And goodlieste, who so taketh heed;
And so men say in all the town of Troy;
What wonder is, though he on me have joy?
“I am mine owen woman, well at ease,
I thank it God, as after mine estate,
Right young, and stand untied in *lusty leas,* *pleasant leash
Withoute jealousy, or such debate: (of love)*
Shall none husband say to me checkmate;
For either they be full of jealousy,
Or masterful, or love novelty.
“What shall I do? to what fine* live I thus? *end
Shall I not love, in case if that me lest?
What? pardie! I am not religious;<26>
And though that I mine hearte set at rest
And keep alway mine honour and my name,
By all right I may do to me no shame.”
But right as when the sunne shineth bright
In March, that changeth oftentime his face,
And that a cloud is put with wind to flight,
Which overspreads the sun as for a space;
A cloudy thought gan through her hearte pace,* *pass
That overspread her brighte thoughtes all,
So that for fear almost she gan to fall.
The cloudy thought is of the loss of liberty and security, the
stormy life, and the malice of wicked tongues, that love entails:
[But] after that her thought began to clear,
And saide, “He that nothing undertakes
Nothing achieveth, be him *loth or dear.”* *unwilling or desirous*
And with another thought her hearte quakes;
Then sleepeth hope, and after dread awakes,
Now hot, now cold; but thus betwixt the tway* *two
She rist* her up, and wente forth to play.** *rose **take recreation
Adown the stair anon right then she went
Into a garden, with her nieces three,
And up and down they made many a went,* *winding, turn <12>
Flexippe and she, Tarke, Antigone,
To playe, that it joy was for to see;
And other of her women, a great rout,* *troop
Her follow’d in the garden all about.
This yard was large, and railed the alleys,
And shadow’d well with blossomy boughes green,
And benched new, and sanded all the ways,
In which she walked arm and arm between;
Till at the last Antigone the sheen* *bright, lovely
Gan on a Trojan lay to singe clear,
That it a heaven was her voice to hear.
Antigone’s song is of virtuous love for a noble object; and it is
singularly fitted to deepen the impression made on the mind of
Cressida by the brave aspect of Troilus, and by her own
cogitations. The singer, having praised the lover and rebuked
the revilers of love, proceeds:
“What is the Sunne worse of his *kind right,* *true nature*
Though that a man, for feebleness of eyen,
May not endure to see on it for bright? <27>
Or Love the worse, tho’ wretches on it cryen?
No weal* is worth, that may no sorrow drien;** <28> *happiness **endure
And forthy,* who that hath a head of verre,** *therefore **glass <29>
From cast of stones ware him in the werre. <30>
“But I, with all my heart and all my might,
As I have lov’d, will love unto my last
My deare heart, and all my owen knight,
In which my heart y-growen is so fast,
And his in me, that it shall ever last
*All dread I* first to love him begin, *although I feared*
Now wot I well there is no pain therein.”
Cressida sighs, and asks Antigone whether there is such bliss
among these lovers, as they can fair endite; Antigone replies
confidently in the affirmative; and Cressida answers nothing,
“but every worde which she heard she gan to printen in her
hearte fast.” Night draws on:
The daye’s honour, and the heaven’s eye,
The nighte’s foe, — all this call I the Sun, —
Gan westren* fast, and downward for to wry,** *go west <31> **turn
As he that had his daye’s course y-run;
And white thinges gan to waxe dun
For lack of light, and starres to appear;
Then she and all her folk went home in fere.* *in company
So, when it liked her to go to rest,
And voided* were those that voiden ought, *gone out (of the house)
She saide, that to sleepe well her lest.* *pleased
Her women soon unto her bed her brought;
When all was shut, then lay she still and thought
Of all these things the manner and the wise;
Rehearse it needeth not, for ye be wise.
A nightingale upon a cedar green,
Under the chamber wall where as she lay,
Full loude sang against the moone sheen,
Parauntre,* in his birde’s wise, a lay *perchance
Of love, that made her hearte fresh and gay;
Hereat hark’d* she so long in good intent, *listened
Till at the last the deade sleep her hent.* *seized
And as she slept, anon right then *her mette* *she dreamed*
How that an eagle, feather’d white as bone,
Under her breast his longe clawes set,
And out her heart he rent, and that anon,
And did* his heart into her breast to go’n, *caused
Of which no thing she was *abash’d nor smert;* *amazed nor hurt*
And forth he flew, with hearte left for heart.
Leaving Cressida to sleep, the poet returns to Troilus and his
zealous friend — with whose stratagems to bring the two lovers
together the remainder of the Second Book is occupied.
Pandarus counsels Troilus to write a letter to his mistress,
telling her how he “fares amiss,” and “beseeching her of ruth;”
he will bear the letter to his niece; and, if Troilus will ride past
Cressida’s house, he will find his mistress and his friend sitting
at a window. Saluting Pandarus, and not tarrying, his passage
will give occasion for some talk of him, which may make his
ears glow. With respect to the letter, Pandarus gives some
shrewd hints:
“Touching thy letter, thou art wise enough,
I wot thou *n’ilt it dignely endite* *wilt not write it haughtily*
Or make it with these argumentes tough,
Nor scrivener-like, nor craftily it write;
Beblot it with thy tears also a lite;* *little
And if thou write a goodly word all soft,
Though it be good, rehearse it not too oft.
“For though the beste harper *pon live* *alive
Would on the best y-sounded jolly harp
That ever was, with all his fingers five
Touch ay one string, or *ay one warble harp,* *always play one tune*
Were his nailes pointed ne’er so sharp,
He shoulde maken ev’ry wight to dull* *to grow bored
To hear his glee, and of his strokes full.
“Nor jompre* eke no discordant thing y-fere,** *jumble **together
As thus, to use termes of physic;
In love’s termes hold of thy mattere
The form alway, and *do that it be like;* *make it consistent*
For if a painter woulde paint a pike
With ass’s feet, and head it as an ape,<32>
It *’cordeth not,* so were it but a jape.” *is not harmonious*
Troilus writes the letter, and next morning Pandarus bears it to
Cressida. She refuses to receive “scrip or bill that toucheth such
mattere;” but he thrusts it into her bosom, challenging her to
throw it away. She retains it, takes the first opportunity of
escaping to her chamber to read it, finds it wholly good, and,
under her uncle’s dictation, endites a reply telling her lover that
she will not make herself bound in love; “but as his sister, him
to please, she would aye fain [be glad] to do his heart an ease.”
Pandarus, under pretext of inquiring who is the owner of the
house opposite, has gone to the window; Cressida takes her
letter to him there, and tells him that she never did a thing with
more pain than write the words to which he had constrained
her. As they sit side by side, on a stone of jasper, on a cushion
of beaten gold, Troilus rides by, in all his goodliness. Cressida
waxes “as red as rose,” as she sees him salute humbly, “with
dreadful cheer, and oft his hues mue [change];” she likes “all
y-fere, his person, his array, his look, his cheer, his goodly
manner, and his gentleness;” so that, however she may have
been before, “to goode hope now hath she caught a thorn, she
shall not pull it out this nexte week.” Pandarus, striking the iron