“I am mine owen woman, well at ease,
I thank it God, as after mine estate,
Right young, and stand untied in *lusty leas,* *pleasant leash
Withoute jealousy, or such debate: (of love)*
Shall none husband say to me checkmate;
For either they be full of jealousy,
Or masterful, or love novelty.
“What shall I do? to what fine* live I thus? *end
Shall I not love, in case if that me lest?
What? pardie! I am not religious;<26>
And though that I mine hearte set at rest
And keep alway mine honour and my name,
By all right I may do to me no shame.”
But right as when the sunne shineth bright
In March, that changeth oftentime his face,
And that a cloud is put with wind to flight,
Which overspreads the sun as for a space;
A cloudy thought gan through her hearte pace,* *pass
That overspread her brighte thoughtes all,
So that for fear almost she gan to fall.
The cloudy thought is of the loss of liberty and security, the stormy life, and the malice of wicked tongues, that love entails:
[But] after that her thought began to clear,
And saide, “He that nothing undertakes
Nothing achieveth, be him *loth or dear.”* *unwilling or desirous*
And with another thought her hearte quakes;
Then sleepeth hope, and after dread awakes,
Now hot, now cold; but thus betwixt the tway* *two
She rist* her up, and wente forth to play.** *rose **take recreation
Adown the stair anon right then she went
Into a garden, with her nieces three,
And up and down they made many a went,* *winding, turn <12>
Flexippe and she, Tarke, Antigone,
To playe, that it joy was for to see;
And other of her women, a great rout,* *troop
Her follow’d in the garden all about.
This yard was large, and railed the alleys,
And shadow’d well with blossomy boughes green,
And benched new, and sanded all the ways,
In which she walked arm and arm between;
Till at the last Antigone the sheen* *bright, lovely
Gan on a Trojan lay to singe clear,
That it a heaven was her voice to hear.
Antigone’s song is of virtuous love for a noble object; and it is singularly fitted to deepen the impression made on the mind of Cressida by the brave aspect of Troilus, and by her own cogitations. The singer, having praised the lover and rebuked the revilers of love, proceeds:
“What is the Sunne worse of his *kind right,* *true nature*
Though that a man, for feebleness of eyen,
May not endure to see on it for bright? <27>
Or Love the worse, tho’ wretches on it cryen?
No weal* is worth, that may no sorrow drien;** <28> *happiness **endure
And forthy,* who that hath a head of verre,** *therefore **glass <29>
From cast of stones ware him in the werre. <30>
“But I, with all my heart and all my might,
As I have lov’d, will love unto my last
My deare heart, and all my owen knight,
In which my heart y-growen is so fast,
And his in me, that it shall ever last
*All dread I* first to love him begin, *although I feared*
Now wot I well there is no pain therein.”