Troilus And Cresida
FROM
CUAUCER
NEXT
morning
Troilus
began
to
clear
His
eyes
from
sleep,
at
the
first
break
of
day,
And
unto
Pandarus,
his
own
Brother
dear,
For
love
of
God,
full
piteously
did
say,
We
must
the
Palace
see
of
Cresida;
For
since
we
yet
may
have
no
other
feast,
Let
us
behold
her
Palace
at
the
least!
And
therewithal
to
cover
his
intent
A
cause
he
found
into
the
Town
to
go,
And
they
right
forth
to
Cresid's
Palace
went;
But,
Lord,
this
simple
Troilus
was
woe,
Him
thought
his
sorrowful
heart
would
break
in
two;
For
when
he
saw
her
doors
fast
bolted
all,
Well
nigh
for
sorrow
down
he
'gan
to
fall.
Therewith
when
this
true
Lover
'gan
behold,
How
shut
was
every
window
of
the
place,
Like
frost
he
thought
his
heart
was
icy
cold;
For
which,
with
changed,
pale,
and
deadly
face,
Without
word
uttered,
forth
he
'gan
to
pace;
And
on
his
purpose
bent
so
fast
to
ride,
That
no
wight
his
continuance
espied.
Then
said
he
thus,--O
Palace
desolate!
O
house
of
houses,
once
so
richly
dight!
O
Palace
empty
and
disconsolate!
Thou
lamp
of
which
extinguished
is
the
light;
O
Palace
whilom
day
that
now
art
night,
Thou
ought'st
to
fall
and
I
to
die;
since
she
Is
gone
who
held
us
both
in
sovereignty.
O,
of
all
houses
once
the
crowned
boast!
Palace
illumined
with
the
sun
of
bliss;
O
ring
of
which
the
ruby
now
is
lost,
O
cause
of
woe,
that
cause
has
been
of
bliss:
Yet,
since
I
may
no
better,
would
I
kiss
Thy
cold
doors;
but
I
dare
not
for
this
rout;
Farewell,
thou
shrine
of
which
the
Saint
is
out.
Therewith
he
cast
on
Pandarus
an
eye,
With
changed
face,
and
piteous
to
behold;
And
when
he
might
his
time
aright
espy,
Aye
as
he
rode,
to
Pandarus
he
told
Both
his
new
sorrow
and
his
joys
of
old,
So
piteously,
and
with
so
dead
a
hue,
That
every
wight
might
on
his
sorrow
rue.
Forth
from
the
spot
he
rideth
up
and
down,
And
everything
to
his
rememberance
Came
as
he
rode
by
places
of
the
town
Where
he
had
felt
such
perfect
pleasure
once.
Lo,
yonder
saw
I
mine
own
Lady
dance,
And
in
that
Temple
she
with
her
bright
eyes,
My
Lady
dear,
first
bound
me
captive-wise.
And
yonder
with
joy-smitten
heart
have
I
Heard
my
own
Cresid's
laugh;
and
once
at
play
I
yonder
saw
her
eke
full
blissfully;
And
yonder
once
she
unto
me
'gan
say--
Now,
my
sweet
Troilus,
love
me
well,
I
pray!
And
there
so
graciously
did
me
behold,
That
hers
unto
the
death
my
heart
I
hold.
And
at
the
corner
of
that
self-same
house
Heard
I
my
most
beloved
Lady
dear,
So
womanly,
with
voice
melodious
Singing
so
well,
so
goodly,
and
so
clear,
That
in
my
soul
methinks
I
yet
do
hear
The
blissful
sound;
and
in
that
very
place
My
Lady
first
me
took
unto
her
grace.
O
blissful
God
of
Love!
then
thus
he
cried,
When
I
the
process
have
in
memory,
How
thou
hast
wearied
me
on
every
side,
Men
thence
a
book
might
make,
a
history;
What
need
to
seek
a
conquest
over
me,
Since
I
am
wholly
at
thy
will?
what
joy
Hast
thou
thy
own
liege
subjects
to
destroy?
Dread
Lord!
so
fearful
when
provoked,
thine
ire
Well
hast
thou
wreaked
on
me
by
pain
and
grief.
Now
mercy,
Lord!
thou
know'st
well
I
desire
Thy
grace
above
all
pleasures
first
and
chief;
And
live
and
die
I
will
in
thy
belief;
For
which
I
ask
for
guerdon
but
one
boon,
That
Cresida
again
thou
send
me
soon.
Constrain
her
heart
as
quickly
to
return,
As
thou
dost
mine
with
longing
her
to
see,
Then
know
I
well
that
she
would
not
sojourn.
Now,
blissful
Lord,
so
cruel
do
not
be
Unto
the
blood
of
Troy,
I
pray
of
thee,
As
Juno
was
unto
the
Theban
blood,
From
whence
to
Thebes
came
griefs
in
multitude.
And
after
this
he
to
the
gate
did
go,
Whence
Cresid
rode,
as
if
in
haste
she
was;
And
up
and
down
there
went,
and
to
and
fro,
And
to
himself
full
oft
he
said,
alas!
From
hence
my
hope,
and
solace
forth
did
pass.
O
would
the
blissful
God
now
for
his
joy,
I
might
her
see
again
coming
to
Troy!
And
up
to
yonder
hill
was
I
her
guide;
Alas,
and
there
I
took
of
her
my
leave;
Yonder
I
saw
her
to
her
Father
ride,
For
very
grief
of
which
my
heart
shall
cleave;--
And
hither
home
I
came
when
it
was
eve;
And
here
I
dwell
an
outcast
from
all
joy,
And
shall,
unless
I
see
her
soon
in
Troy.
And
of
himself
did
he
imagine
oft,
That
he
was
blighted,
pale,
and
waxen
less
Than
he
was
wont;
and
that
in
whispers
soft
Men
said,
what
may
it
be,
can
no
one
guess
Why
Troilus
hath
all
this
heaviness?
All
which
he
of
himself
conceited
wholly
Out
of
his
weakness
and
his
melancholy.
Another
time
he
took
into
his
head,
That
every
wight,
who
in
the
way
passed
by,
Had
of
him
ruth,
and
fancied
that
they
said,
I
am
right
sorry
Troilus
will
die:
And
thus
a
day
or
two
drove
wearily;
As
ye
have
heard;
such
life
'gan
he
to
lead
As
one
that
standeth
betwixt
hope
and
dread.
For
which
it
pleased
him
in
his
songs
to
show
The
occasion
of
his
woe,
as
best
he
might;
And
made
a
fitting
song,
of
words
but
few,
Somewhat
his
woeful
heart
to
make
more
light;
And
when
he
was
removed
from
all
men's
sight,
With
a
soft
night
voice,
he
of
his
Lady
dear,
That
absent
was,
'gan
sing
as
ye
may
hear.
O
star,
of
which
I
lost
have
all
the
light,
With
a
sore
heart
well
ought
I
to
bewail,
That
ever
dark
in
torment,
night
by
night,
Toward
my
death
with
wind
I
steer
and
sail;
For
which
upon
the
tenth
night
if
thou
fail
With
thy
bright
beams
to
guide
me
but
one
hour,
My
ship
and
me
Charybdis
will
devour.
As
soon
as
he
this
song
had
thus
sung
through,
He
fell
again
into
his
sorrows
old;
And
every
night,
as
was
his
wont
to
do,
Troilus
stood
the
bright
moon
to
behold;
And
all
his
trouble
to
the
moon
he
told,
And
said;
I
wis,
when
thou
art
horn'd
anew,
I
shall
be
glad
if
all
the
world
be
true.
Thy
horns
were
old
as
now
upon
that
morrow,
When
hence
did
journey
my
bright
Lady
dear,
That
cause
is
of
my
torment
and
my
sorrow;
For
which,
oh,
gentle
Luna,
bright
and
clear;
For
love
of
God,
run
fast
above
thy
sphere;
For
when
thy
horns
begin
once
more
to
spring,
Then
shall
she
come,
that
with
her
bliss
may
bring.
The
day
is
more,
and
longer
every
night
Than
they
were
wont
to
be---for
he
thought
so;
And
that
the
sun
did
take
his
course
not
right,
By
longer
way
than
he
was
wont
to
go;
And
said,
I
am
in
constant
dread
I
trow,
That
Phaeton
his
son
is
yet
alive,
His
too
fond
father's
car
amiss
to
drive.
Upon
the
walls
fast
also
would
he
walk,
To
the
end
that
he
the
Grecian
host
might
see;
And
ever
thus
he
to
himself
would
talk:--
Lo!
yonder
is
my
own
bright
Lady
free;
Or
yonder
is
it
that
the
tents
must
be;
And
thence
does
come
this
air
which
is
so
sweet,
That
in
my
soul
I
feel
the
joy
of
it.
And
certainly
this
wind,
that
more
and
more
By
moments
thus
increaseth
in
my
face,
Is
of
my
Lady's
sighs
heavy
and
sore;
I
prove
it
thus;
for
in
no
other
space
Of
all
this
town,
save
only
in
this
place,
Feel
I
a
wind,
that
soundeth
so
like
pain;
It
saith,
Alas,
why
severed
are
we
twain?
A
weary
while
in
pain
he
tosseth
thus,
Till
fully
past
and
gone
was
the
ninth
night;
And
ever
at
his
side
stood
Pandarus,
Who
busily
made
use
of
all
his
might
To
comfort
him,
and
make
his
heart
more
light;
Giving
him
always
hope,
that
she
the
morrow
Of
the
tenth
day
will
come,
and
end
his
sorrow.
William Wordsworth
The English poet William Wordsworth is considered to be one of the most important literary figures in modern history, as well as one of the leading purveyors of the Romantic Movement. He was born in 1770, in Cumbria, and was one of four children. Over the course of his life, he continued to return to the Lake District, and eventually passed away in Cumbria, in 1850. The influence of William Wordsworth should not be underestimated, as he not only helped to kick-start the Romantic Age, he also formed half of one of the most famous literary partnerships in history. The friendship that he shared with fellow poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge is now the stuff of legend, as is the subsequent fallout after the friendship fell apart.