And after this he to the gate did go 85
  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, 90
  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;—­95
  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 100
  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. 105

  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; 110
  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 [4] but few, 115
  Somewhat his woeful heart to make more light;
  And when he was removed from all men’s sight,
  With a soft night voice, [5] he of his Lady dear,
  That absent was, ’gan sing as ye may hear.

  O star, of which I lost have all the light, 120
  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; [E]
  For which upon the tenth night if thou fail
  With thy bright beams to guide me but one hour, 125
  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; 130
  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, 135
  That cause is of my torment and my sorrow;
  For which, oh, gentle Luna, bright and clear,
  For love of God, run fast above [F] thy sphere;
  For when thy horns begin once more to spring,
  Then shall she come, that with her bliss may bring. 140