Therewith when this true Lover 'gan behold, 15 How shut was every window of the place, Like frost he thought his heart was icy cold; For which, with changèd, pale, and deadly face, Without word uttered, forth he 'gan to pace; And on his purpose bent so fast to ride, 20 That no wight his continuance espied. [C] Then said he thus,--O Palace desolate! O house of houses, once so richly dight! O Palace empty and disconsolate! Thou lamp of which extinguished is the light; 25 O Palace whilom day that now art night, Thou ought'st to fall and I to die; since she Is gone who held us both in sovereignty. O, of all houses once the crownèd boast! Palace illumined with the sun of bliss; 30 O ring of which the ruby now is lost, O cause of woe, that cause has [2] been of bliss: Yet, since I may no better, would I kiss Thy cold doors; but I dare not for this rout; Farewell, thou shrine of which the Saint is out! 35 Therewith he cast on Pandarus an eye, [3] With changed face, and piteous to behold; And when he might his time aright espy, Aye as he rode, to Pandarus he told Both his new sorrow and his joys of old, 40 So piteously, and with so dead a hue, That every wight might on his sorrow rue. Forth from the spot he rideth up and down, And everything to his rememberance Came as he rode by places of the town 45 Where he had felt such perfect pleasure once. Lo, yonder saw I mine own Lady dance, And in that Temple she with her bright eyes, My Lady dear, first bound me captive-wise. And yonder with joy-smitten heart have I 50 Heard my own Cresid's laugh; and once at play I yonder saw her eke full blissfully; And yonder once she unto me 'gan say-- Now, my sweet Troilus, love me well, I pray! And there so graciously did me behold, 55 That hers unto the death my heart I hold. And at the corner of that self-same house Heard I my most beloved Lady dear, So womanly, with voice melodious Singing so well, so goodly, and so clear, 60 That in my soul methinks I yet do hear The blissful sound; and in that very place My Lady first me took unto her grace. O blissful God of Love! then thus he cried, When I the process have in memory, 65 How thou hast wearied [D] me on every side, Men thence a book might make, a history; What need to seek a conquest over me, Since I am wholly at thy will? what joy Hast thou thy own liege subjects to destroy? 70