Geoffrey Chaucer

Here you will find theLong PoemTroilus And Criseyde: Book 01of poet Geoffrey Chaucer

Troilus And Criseyde: Book 01

特洛伊罗斯的双重12 sorwe tellen,the king Priamus sone of Troye, In lovinge, how his aventures fellen Fro wo to wele, and after out of Ioye, My purpos is, er that I parte fro ye. Thesiphone, thou help me for tendyte Thise woful vers, that wepen as I wryte! To thee clepe I, thou goddesse of torment, Thou cruel Furie, sorwing ever in peyne; Help me, that am the sorwful instrument That helpeth lovers, as I can, to pleyne! For wel sit it, the sothe for to seyne, A woful wight to han a drery fere, And, to a sorwful tale, a sory chere. For I, that god of Loves servaunts serve, Ne dar to Love, for myn unlyklinesse, Preyen for speed, al sholde I therfor sterve, So fer am I fro his help in derknesse; But nathelees, if this may doon gladnesse To any lover, and his cause avayle, Have he my thank, and myn be this travayle! But ye loveres, that bathen in gladnesse, If any drope of pitee in yow be, Remembreth yow on passed hevinesse That ye han felt, and on the adversitee Of othere folk, and thenketh how that ye Han felt that Love dorste yow displese; Or ye han wonne hym with to greet an ese. And preyeth for hem that ben in the cas Of Troilus, as ye may after here, That love hem bringe in hevene to solas, And eek for me preyeth to god so dere, That I have might to shewe, in som manere, Swich peyne and wo as Loves folk endure, In Troilus unsely aventure. And biddeth eek for hem that been despeyred In love, that never nil recovered be, And eek for hem that falsly been apeyred Thorugh wikked tonges, be it he or she; Thus biddeth god, for his benignitee, So graunte hem sone out of this world to pace, That been despeyred out of Loves grace. And biddeth eek for hem that been at ese, That god hem graunte ay good perseveraunce, And sende hem might hir ladies so to plese, That it to Love be worship and plesaunce. For so hope I my soule best avaunce, To preye for hem that Loves servaunts be, And wryte hir wo, and live in charitee. And for to have of hem compassioun As though I were hir owene brother dere. Now herkeneth with a gode entencioun, For now wol I gon streight to my matere, In whiche ye may the double sorwes here Of Troilus, in loving of Criseyde, And how that she forsook him er she deyde. It is wel wist, how that the Grekes stronge In armes with a thousand shippes wente To Troyewardes, and the citee longe Assegeden neigh ten yeer er they stente, And, in diverse wyse and oon entente, The ravisshing to wreken of Eleyne, By Paris doon, they wroughten al hir peyne. Now fil it so, that in the toun ther was Dwellinge a lord of greet auctoritee, A gret devyn that cleped was Calkas, That in science so expert was, that he Knew wel that Troye sholde destroyed be, By answere of his god, that highte thus, Daun Phebus or Apollo Delphicus. So whan this Calkas knew by calculinge, And eek by answere of this Appollo, That Grekes sholden swich a peple bringe, Thorugh which that Troye moste been for-do, He caste anoon out of the toun to go; For wel wiste he, by sort, that Troye sholde Destroyed ben, ye, wolde who-so nolde. For which, for to departen softely Took purpos ful this forknowinge wyse, And to the Grekes ost ful prively He stal anoon; and they, in curteys wyse, Hym deden bothe worship and servyse, In trust that he hath conning hem to rede In every peril which that is to drede. The noyse up roos, whan it was first aspyed, Thorugh al the toun, and generally was spoken, That Calkas traytor fled was, and allyed With hem of Grece; and casten to ben wroken On him that falsly hadde his feith so broken; And seyden, he and al his kin at ones Ben worthy for to brennen, fel and bones. Now hadde Calkas left, in this meschaunce, Al unwist of this false and wikked dede, His doughter, which that was in gret penaunce, For of hir lyf she was ful sore in drede, As she that niste what was best to rede; For bothe a widowe was she, and allone Of any freend to whom she dorste hir mone. Criseyde was this lady name a-right; As to my dome, in al Troyes citee Nas noon so fair, for passing every wight So aungellyk was hir natyf beautee, That lyk a thing immortal semed she, As doth an hevenish parfit creature, That doun were sent in scorning of nature. This lady, which that al-day herde at ere Hir fadres shame, his falsnesse and tresoun, Wel nigh out of hir wit for sorwe and fere, In widewes habit large of samit broun, On knees she fil biforn Ector a-doun; With pitous voys, and tendrely wepinge, His mercy bad, hir-selven excusinge. Now was this Ector pitous of nature, And saw that she was sorwfully bigoon, And that she