But wel he felte aboute his herte crepe,
1070
For every teer which that Criseyde asterte,
The crampe of deeth, to streyne him by the herte.
154. And in his minde he gan the tyme acurse
That he cam therë, and that he was born;
For now is wikke y-turned in-to worse,
1075
And al that labour he hath doon biforn,
He wende it lost, he thoughte he nas but lorn.