This sorwful man can now noon other reed,
But ofte tyme hir colde mouth he kiste;
[Wher him was wo], god and him-self it wiste!
167. He rist him up, and long streight he hir leyde;
For signe of lyf, for ought he can or may,
1165
Can he noon finde in no-thing on Criseyde,
For which his song ful ofte is 'weylaway!'
But whan he saugh that specheles she lay,
With sorwful voys, and herte of blisse al bare,