Troilus and Criseyde by Geoffrey Chaucer
page 24 of 316 (07%)
page 24 of 316 (07%)
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Him-selven most, him alder-lest avayleth,
With disespeir so sorwfully me offendeth, 605 That streyght un-to the deeth myn herte sayleth. Ther-to desyr so brenningly me assaylleth, That to ben slayn it were a gretter Ioye To me than king of Grece been and Troye! `Suffiseth this, my fulle freend Pandare, 610 That I have seyd, for now wostow my wo; And for the love of god, my colde care So hyd it wel, I telle it never to mo; For harmes mighte folwen, mo than two, If it were wist; but be thou in gladnesse, 615 And lat me sterve, unknowe, of my distresse.' `How hastow thus unkindely and longe Hid this fro me, thou fool?' quod Pandarus; `Paraunter thou might after swich oon longe, That myn avys anoon may helpen us.' 620 `This were a wonder thing,' quod Troylus, `Thou coudest never in love thy-selven wisse; How devel maystow bringen me to blisse?' `Ye, Troilus, now herke,' quod Pandare, `Though I be nyce; it happeth ofte so, 625 That oon that exces doth ful yvele fare, By good counseyl can kepe his freend ther-fro. I have my-self eek seyn a blind man go Ther-as he fel that coude loke wyde; A fool may eek a wys man ofte gyde. 630 |
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