Love-sick Troilus soliloquizes thus:
He said: “O fool, now art thou in the snare
That whilom japedest at lovés pain,
Now art thou hent, now gnaw thin owné chain.”
The metaphor of Troy’s bright feathers reminds me of a very beautiful simile borrowed from the life of the plants:
And as in winter leavés been bereft,
Each after other, till the tree be bare,
So that there nis but bark and branches left,
Lieth Troilus, bereft of each welfare,
Ybounden in the blacke bark of care.