euery houreIn eche of yow / a party of beauteAnd therfor or that age / yow deuoureSo loue / for old ther wyl no wyght of theLate this prouer / a lore vnto yow beTo late I ware / quod
Troylus that herd thus / hys lady prayeOf lordshyp hym was nother / quyck ne dedeNe myght one word / for shame to hyr seyeAnd though men shuld haue smyte of his hedBut lord so he was / sodaynly
to kepe the tongAnd ner it that / I wold as now abredgeDyffusion of speche / I cowde almostA thousand old storyes the aledgeOf wymmen thurgh fals / and foolis bostProuerbis canst thy self / ynow and wostAgeyn that vyce
tel / half the Ioye or feestWhyche that the sowle / of Troylus tho feltHeryng theffect / of Pandarus behestHys old woo / that made hys hert sweltGan tho for Ioye / to wasten and to meltAnd al the thoughtis
stiryng / ony whereAnd lete theym sleepe / that a bed wereBut Pandarus / that wele cowde eche a deleThe old daunce / and euery poynt therinWhan that he saw / that al thynge was weleHe thought he wold /
word he drewe hym to the fyreAnd toke a lyght / & feyned hys contenaunceAs for to looke vpon an old romaunceCriseyde that was / Troylus lady ryghtAnd clere stood / on a grounde of sikernesseAl though she hyr seruaunt
Tho Troylus wyth bus / of that supprysedPut all in goddis hond / as he that mentNothyng but wel / and sodaynly auysedHe hyr in armes / fast to hym hentAnd Pandarus / wyth ful goode ententLayde hym to
When Calcas knewe the treatys shold holdIn concystory among grekes soneHe gan in thryng forth with lordes oldAnd set hym there as he was wonte to doneAnd with theyr chaungyng he had hem a boneFor loue of god to
But who was glad ynow but Calcas thoAnd of al thyng ful sone is leydeOn hem that shold for the treatyce goneTo bryng hem kyng Thoas & CreseydeAnd hem for Anthenor ful ofte preydeAnd when Pryamus his sauf gard
And eke as wryte Zanzys that was ful wiseThe newe oute chasyth ofte the oldAnd vpon newe caas lyeth newe aduyseThynk eke thy lyf to saue thou art holdSuche fyre by processe shal be key coldFor syth it nys
Go quod Creseyde & vncle trewelyI shal do al my myght me to restreyneFrom wepyng in his syght / & besylyHym for to glade I shal do my peyneAnd in my hert seke euery veyneYf to his sore there
another wey yf it so beThat al this thyng ne may not yow suffyseMy fader as ye knowen wel pardeIs old / & eld is ful of couetyseAnd I ryght now haue found al the gyseWithoute net / wherwith I
can the craftYoure fader is in sloyghtes / as argus is eyedFor al be that his meoble be hym becaftHis old sleyghrs yet ben with hym laftYe shal not blynde hym for youre womandeNe feyne a ryght / & that
happyth / after angyr gameWhat lord the sorowe & woo ye wold makeThat ye ne durst come ageyne for shameAnd er that ye ieopart / soo youre nameBe not to hasty in this old fareFor hasty man wantyth neuer care
that theffect goth by the moneBut leue no dreme syth it is not to doneWele worth of dremes al these old wyuesAnd trewely angury of these fowlesFor fere / wherof men wene to lese theyr lyuesAs rauenes qualme / &
/ al this nas but a maseFortune his houe / entendyd bet to glaseThe letters eke / that she of old tymeHad hym sent / he wold anone redeAnd ofte betwyxt / none & prymeRefyguryng hyr sha / & hyr
And ther with al hys meyne for to blendeA cause he fond in Towne for to gooAnd to Creseyde hous they gan to wendeBut lord this cely Troylus was wooHe thought his sorowful hert barst a twooFor when he
For whiche she may yet hold hyr hesteAnd on the morowe vnto the yate he wentAnd vp & doune / by west / & eke by EesteVpoon the wallys made he many a wentBut al for nought / his
dremes redeParauenter there thou dremest of this booreIt may so be / that it may sygnefyeHyr ader eke / whiche old is & hooreAgeyne the sonne lyeth in poynt to dyeAnd she for sorowe gynneth wepe & cryeAnd there he
gan fyrst smyle / & sayd broder dereIf thow a sothe of this desyrest to knoweThow must a fewe of old storyes hereTo purpoos how that fortune ouerthroweHath lordes hye / whiche within a throweThis bore shalt yu know wel