Til on Criseyde it smoot, and ther it stente.
40. And sodeynly he wex ther-with astoned,
275
And gan hire bet biholde in thrifty wyse:
'O mercy, god!' thoughte he, 'wher hastow woned,
That art so fair and goodly to devyse?'
Ther-with his herte gan to sprede and ryse,
And softe sighed, lest men mighte him here,
280
And caughte a-yein his firste pleyinge chere.