Troilus, like a sensitive hero, swoons: for he is extremely sensitive;
when the town acclaims him, he blushes and looks down; when he thinks
his beloved indifferent he takes to his bed from grief, and remains
there all day; in the presence of Cressida, he loses consciousness.
Pandarus revives him, and is not slow to perceive that he is no longer
wanted:

For ought I can espyen
This light nor I ne serven here of nought.

And he goes, adding, however, one more recommendation:

If ye ben wyse,
Swowneth not now, lest more folk aryse.[516]

What says Cressida?--What may "the sely larke seye" when "the sparhauk"
has caught it? Cressida, however, says something, and, of all the
innumerable forms of avowal, chooses not the least sweet:

Ne hadde I er now, my swete herte dere
Ben yolde, y-wis, I were now not here![517]

Were they happy?

But juggeth, ye that han ben at the feste
Of swich gladnesse.[518]

The gray morn appears in the heavens; the shriek of "the cok, comune
astrologer," is heard; the lovers sing their song of dawn.[519] All the
virtues of Troilus are increased and intensified by happiness; it is
the eternal thesis of poets who are in love with love.

The days and weeks go by: each one of our characters pursues his part.
Pandarus is very proud of his; what could one reproach him with? He does
unto others as he would be done by; he is disinterested; he has moreover
certain principles of honour, that limit themselves, it is true, to
recommending secrecy, which he does not fail to do. Can a reasonable
woman expect more?

Calchas and the Greeks claim Cressida, and the Trojans decide to give
her up. The unhappy young woman faints, but must needs submit. In an
excellent scene of comedy, Chaucer shows her receiving the
congratulations of the good souls of the town: so she is going to see
once more her worthy father, how happy she must be! The good souls
insist very much, and pay interminable visits.[520]

She goes, swearing to return, come what may, within ten days. The
handsome Diomedes escorts her; and the event proves, what experience
alone could teach, and what she was herself far from suspecting, that
she loved Troilus, no doubt, above all men, but likewise, and apart from
him, love. She is used to the poison, and can no longer do without it;
she prefers Troilus, but to return to him is not so easy as she had
thought, and to love or not t