"Ful redy was at pryme Dyomede, Criseyde unto the Grekes ost to lede..."
"Ful redy was at pryme Dyomede, Criseyde unto the Grekes ost to lede, For sorwe of which she felte hir herte blede, As she that niste what was best to rede. And trewely, as men in bokes rede, Men wiste never womman han the care, Ne was so looth out of a toun to fare. This Troilus, withouten reed or lore, As man that hath his joyes eek forlore, Was waytinge on his lady evermore As she that was the soothfast crop and more Of al his lust, or joyes heretofore. But Troilus, now farewel al thy joye, For shaltow never seen hir eft in Troye!" (p. 535)