Legacy of Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde 1. Lydgate’s Troy Book (3.4077-4263), from 1412-20 and for Henry, Prince of Wales and future King Henry V 2. “The Tongue” (Findern MS, CUL Ff.1.6), mid-fifteenth century book from gentry household, compiled over time and containing poems by women 3. “Loo he that ys all holly yours Soo free” (Rawlinson MS, C.813), sixteenth-century miscellany containing love lyrics among other things 4. “O very lord o love o god alas” (Devonshire MS, Add. 17492), a sixteenth-century compilation of miscellaneous verse, composed by men and women. Some by Thomas Howard and Margaret Douglas. 5. Disce Mori (Learn to Die) 6. The Chaunce of the Dyse JOHN LYDGATE, TROY BOOK (3.4077-4263) ED. ROBERT EDWARDS Allas, Fortune, gery and unstable And al fordewed han hir blake wede; And redy ay to be chaungable And eke untressid hir her abrod gan sprede, Whan men most triste in thi stormy face, Like to gold wyr, forrent and al totorn, Liche her desire the fully to embrace, Iplukked of, and nat with sheris shorn. Thanne is thi joye aweye to turne and And over this, hir freshe rosen hewe, wrythe, Whilom ymeint with white lilies newe, Upon wrechis thi power for to kithe. With woful wepyng pitously disteyned, Record on Troylus that fro thi whele so lowe And like herbis in April al bereyned By fals envie thou hast overthrowe, Or floures freshe with the dewes swete, Oute of the joye which that he was inne, Right so hir chekis moiste wern and wete From his lady to make him for to twynne With cristal water, up ascendyng highe Whan he best wende for to have be surid. Out of her breste into hir hevenly eye; And of the wo that he hath endured And ay amonge hir lamentacioun, I muste now helpe hym to compleyne, Ofte sithe she fil aswone doun, Whiche at his herte felt so gret a peyne, Dedly pale, fordymmed in hir sight, So inward wo, and so gret distresse, And ofte seide: "Allas, myn owne knyght, More than I have konnynge to expresse; Myn owne Troylus, allas, whi shal we parte? Whan he knew the partynge of Cryseide, Rather late Deth with his spere darte Almoste for wo and for peyne he deyde Thorugh myn hert, and the veynes kerve, And fully wiste she departe shal And with his rage do me for to sterve. By sentence and jugement fynal Rather, allas, than fro my knyght to twynne! Of his fader, yove in parlement. And of this wo, O Deth, that I am inne, For whiche with wo and torment al torent, Whi nyl thou come and helpe make an ende? He was in point to have falle in rage, For how shulde I oute of Troye wende, That no man myght apese nor aswage He abide, and I to Grekis goon, The hidde peynes which in his breste gan Ther to dwelle amonge my cruel foon? dare: Allas, allas, I, woful creature, For lik a man in furie he gan fare Howe shulde I ther in the werre endure - And swiche sorwe day and nyght to make, I, wreche woman, but mysilf allone In compleyninge only for hir sake. Amonge the men of armys everychon!" For whan he sawe that she schulde aweie, Thus gan she cryen al the longe day; He lever had pleinly for to deye This was hir compleint with ful gret affray, Than to lyve behynde in hir absence: Hir pitous noyse, til it drowe to nyght, For hym thought, withouten hir presence That unto hir hir owne trewe knyght, He nas but ded - ther is no more to seine. Ful triste and hevy, cam ageynes eve, And into terys he began to reyne, Yif he myght hir counforte or releve. With whiche his eyen gonne for to bolle, But he in soth hath Cryseide founde And in his breste the sighes up to swolle Al in a swowe, lyggynge on the grounde; And the sobbyng of his sorwes depe, And pitously unto hir he wente That he ne can nat but rore and wepe, With woful chere, and hir in armys hent, So sore love his herte gan constreyne; And toke hir up: and than atwen hem two And she ne felt nat a litel peyne, Began of new swiche a dedly wo But wepte also, and pitously gan crye, That it was routhe and pité for to sene: Desyring ay that she myghte dye For she of cher pale was and grene Rather than parte from hym oute of Troye, And he of colour liche to ashes dede; Hir owne knyght, hir lust, hir lives joye, And fro hir face was goon al the rede That be hir chekis the teris doun distille, And in his chekis devoided was the blod, And fro hir eyen the rounde dropis trille, So wofully atwene hem two it stood. 1 For she ne myght nat a worde speke, That she from hym must goon oute of towne And he was redy with deth to be wreke Al sodeynly and never hym after se. Upon hymsilfe, his nakid swerd beside; Lo, here the fyn of false felicité! And she ful ofte gan to grounde glide Lo, here the ende of worldly brotilnes, Out of his armys, as she fel aswowne; Of fleshly lust! Lo, here th'unstabilnes! And he hymsilf gan in teris drowne. Lo, here the double variacioun She was as stille and dowmb as any ston; Of wordly blisse and transmutacioun - He had a mouthe, but wordis had he non; This day in myrthe and in wo tomorwe - The weri spirit flikerit in hir breste For ay the fyn, allas, of joie is sorwe! And of deth stood under arreste, For now Cryseide with the Kyng Thoas Withoute meinpris sothly as of lyf. For Anthenor shal go forthe, allas, And thus ther was, as it sempte, a strif, Unto Grekis and ever with hem dwelle. Whiche of hem two shulde firste pace; The hoole story Chaucer kan yow telle, For deth portreied in her outher face Yif that ye liste - no man bet alyve - With swiche colour as men go to her grave. Nor the processe halfe so wel discryve. And thus in wo thei gan togidre rave, For he owre Englishe gilte with his sawes, Disconsolat, al the longe nyght, Rude and boistous firste be olde dawes, That in gode feith, yif I shulde aright That was ful fer from al perfeccioun The processe hool of here bother sorwe And but of litel reputacioun, That thei made til the nexte morwe, Til that he cam and thorugh his poetrie Fro point to point it to specefie, Gan oure tonge firste to magnifie It wolde me ful longe occupie And adourne it with his elloquence: Of everythinge to make mencioun, To whom honour, laude, and reverence And tarie me in my translacioun, Thorughoute this londe yove be and songe, Yif I shulde in her wo procede. So that the laurer of oure Englishe tonge But me semeth that it is no nede, Be to hym yove for his excellence, Sith my maister Chaucer heraforn Right as whilom by ful highe sentence, In this mater so wel hath hym born Perpetuelly for a memorial, In his Boke of Troylus and Cryseyde Of Columpna by the cardynal Whiche he made longe or that he deyde, To Petrak Fraunceis was yoven in Ytaille - Rehersinge firste how Troilus was contrarie That the report nevere after faille For to assendyn up on Lovis steire, Nor the honour dirked of his name, And how that he, for al his surquedie, To be registred in the house of fame After becam oon of the companye Amonge other in the higheste sete, Of Lovis folke for al his olde game, My maister Galfride, as for chefe poete Whan Cupide maked hym ful tame That evere was yit in oure langage, And brought him lowe to his subjeccioun The name of whom shal passen in noon age In a temple as he walked up and doun, But ever ylyche withoute eclipsinge shyne. Whan he his ginnes and his hokis leide And for my part, I wil never fyne, Amyd the eyen cerclid of Cryseyde, So as I can, hym to magnifie Whiche on that day he myghte nat asterte: In my writynge pleinly til I dye; For thorugh his brest percid and his herte, And God, I praye, his soule bring in joie. He wente hym home, pale, sike, and wan. And in this wise Troylus first began To be a servaunt, my maister telleth thus, Til he was holpe aftir of Pandarus, Thorugh whos comforte and mediacioun (As in his boke is maked mencioun) With gret labour firste he cam to grace And so contuneth by certeyn yeris space, Til Fortune gan upon hym frowne, 2 NOTES 4208 Lydgate rehearses the events in Book 1 of Troilus and Criseyde, where Troilus falls 4075-4448 Lydgate presents Troilus's story in love with Criseyde. as if it were a de casibus tragedy, an example illustrating the general principle of 4217 Lydgate describes Pandarus's role in Fortune's mutability as in the Fall of the love affair by obliquely echoing Princes, which he translated from Pandarus's own terms: "for the am I Boccaccio's De casibus virorum illustrium, bicomen, / Bitwixen game and ernest, swich rather than the individualized, subjective a meene / As maken wommen unto men to experience that Chaucer emphasizes. comen" (Troilus and Criseyde 3.253-55).