Classic Poem

But as she sat allone and thoughte thus,
Ascry aros at scarmuch al withoute,
And men cride in the strete: " See, Troilus
Hath right now put to flight the Grekes route!"
With that gan al hir meyne for to shoute:
" A, go we see! cast up the yates wide!
For through this strete he mot to paleis ride:

" For other way is fro the yate non
Of Dardanus, there open is the chaine."
With that com he and al his folk anon
An esy pas riding, in routes twaine,
Right as his happy day was, sooth to sayne,
For which, men sayn, may nought destourbed be
That shal betiden of necessitee.

This Troilus sat on his baye steede,
Al armed, save his hed, ful richely;
And wounded was his hors and gan to bleede,
On which he rod a pas ful softely.
But swich a knightly sighte, trewely,
As was on him, was nought, withouten faile,
To looke on Mars, that god is of bataile:

So like a man of armes and a knight
He was to seen, fulfilled of heigh prowesse;
For bothe he hadde a body and a might
To don that thing, as wel as hardinesse;
And eek to seen him in his gere him dresse,
So fresh, so yong, so weldy seemed he,
It was an heven upon him for to see!

His helm to-hewen was in twenty places,
That by a tissew heng his bak behinde;
His sheeld to-dashed was with swerdes and maces,
In which men mighte many an arwe finde
That thirled hadde horn and nerf and rinde.
And ay the peple cride: " Here comth our joye,
And, next his brother, holder up of Troye!"

For which he wex a litel red for shame,
When he the peple upon him herde cryen,
That to beholde it was a noble game,
How sobrelich he caste down his eyen.
Criseÿèda gan al his chere aspyen,
And let it so softe in hir herte sinke
That to hirself she sayde: " Who yaf me drinke?"