'As helpe me god, ye shenden every deel!'
'O mercy, dere nece,' anoon quod he,
'What-so I spak, I mente nought but weel,
By Mars the god, that helmed is of steel;
Now beth nought wrooth, my blood, my nece dere.'
595
'Now wel,' quod she, 'foryeven be it here!'
86. With this he took his leve, and hoom he wente;
And lord, how he was glad and wel bigoon!
Criseyde aroos, no lenger she ne stente,