But tho bigan his herte a lyte unswelle
215
Thorugh teres which that gonnen up to welle;
And pitously he cryde up-on Criseyde,
And to him-self right thus he spak, and seyde:—
32. 'Wher is myn owene lady lief and dere,
Wher is hir whyte brest, wher is it, where?
220
Wher ben hir armes and hir eyen clere,
That yesternight this tyme with me were?