"Cryseyda gan al his chere aspyen, And leet so softe it in hir herte sinke, That to hirself she seyde: Who yaf me drinke?"
by: Edward Coley Burne-Jones (Artist)
from: The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer: A Facsimile of the William Morris Kelmscott Chaucer (P. 482) - 1958
Additional Information:
"This Troilus sat on his baye stede, Al armed, save his heed, ful richely, And wounded was his hors, and gan to blede, On whiche he rood a pas, ful softely; But swich a knightly sighte, trewely, As was on him, was nought, withouten faile, To loke on Mars, that god is of batayle." (p. 488-489) "Cryseyda gan al his chere aspyen, And leet so softe it in hir herte sinke, That to hirself she seyde: Who yaf me drinke?" (p. 489)
"This Troilus sat on his baye stede, Al armed, save his heed, ful richely, And wounded was his hors, and gan to blede, On whiche he rood a pas, ful softely; But swich a knightly sighte, trewely, As was on him, was nought, withouten faile, To loke on Mars, that god is of batayle." (p. 488-489) "Cryseyda gan al his chere aspyen, And leet so softe it in hir herte sinke, That to hirself she seyde: Who yaf me drinke?" (p. 489)
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