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O ye Herines, Nightes doughtren three, That endelees compleynen ever in pyne, Megera, Alete, and eek Thesiphone; Thou cruel Mars eek, fader to Quiryne, This ilke ferthe book me helpeth fyne, So that the los of lyf and love y-fere Of Troilus be fully shewed here. Not I how longe or short it was bitwene This purpos and that day they fighte mente; But on a day wel armed, bright and shene, Ector, and many a worthy wight out wente, With spere in hond and bigge bowes bente; And in the herd, with-oute lenger lette, Hir fomen in the feld anoon hem mette.The longe day, with speres sharpe y-grounde, With arwes, dartes, swerdes, maces felle, They fighte and bringen hors and man to grounde, And with hir axes out the braynes quelle.Thus al my good I loste and to yow wente, Wening in this you, lordes, for to plese. I vouche-sauf, as wisly have I Ioye, For you to lese al that I have in Troye,'Save of a doughter, that I lafte, allas! By-cause he nolde payen hem hir hyre, The toun of Troye shal ben set on-fyre.'Telling his tale alwey, this olde greye, Humble in speche, and in his lokinge eke, The salte teres from his eyen tweye Ful faste ronnen doun by eyther cheke.So longe he gan of socour hem by-seke That, for to hele him of his sorwes sore, They yave him Antenor, with-oute more. And of this thing ful sone his nedes leyde On hem that sholden for the tretis go, And hem for Antenor ful ofte preyde To bringen hoom king Toas and Criseyde; And whan Pryam his save-garde sente, Thembassadours to Troye streyght they wente.

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Thembassadours ben answered for fynal, Theschaunge of prisoners and al this nede Hem lyketh wel, and forth in they procede.

But in the laste shour, sooth for to telle, The folk of Troye hem-selven so misledden, That with the worse at night homward they fledden.

At whiche day was taken Antenor, Maugre Polydamas or Monesteo, Santippe, Sarpedon, Polynestor, Polyte, or eek the Troian daun Ripheo, And othere lasse folk, as Phebuseo.

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...wothon par meri muskan teri hain,jism me mere jaan teri hain, Dil to samjhta hain sirf pyar ki bhasha, Tu meri aakhiri abhilasha. Jab se tera main ho gya hoon,tere khawabo me kho gya hoon, Kyon khafa ho mujhse bata do zara sa,tu meri aakhiri abhilasha.. But al to litel, weylaway the whyle, Lasteth swich Ioye, y-thonked be Fortune!

This folk desiren now deliveraunce Of Antenor, that broughte hem to mischaunce!

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