Geoffrey Chaucer

tudo que é bom tem que acabar!…”

DIC – y-wis: your wish (abreviado de “as you wish”, “as is your wish I will do it”…) (or “I wish”??); OU and wish; OU AINDA I/you know (raiz wissen).

triste: trust

sith, sin: since

yvel: evil

oon: one

heed: head

rede: read

agoon: ago

sone: son or soon

sonne: sun

seyn: say

wot: know

list: deseja, de desejar, raiz em Lust, do Alemão

coveityse: covetousness

anoon: anew

syk: sigh

seche: seek

thurgh: through

asper: harsh, rough

ayein: again

Iupertye: jeopardy

yeve: give

swich: sweet

meynee: mind

han: have

cas: case

stent: to stand

blissed: blessed

Ther: when

Thilke: that

ilke: the previous

Troilus, filho de Príamo, Rei de Tróia.

But nathelees, if this may doon gladnesse

To any lover, and his cause avayle,

Have he my thank, and myn be this travayle!”

And for to have of hem compassioun

As though I were hir owene brother dere.

Now herkeneth with a godeentencioun,

For now wol I gonstreight to my matere,

In whiche ye may the double sorwes here

Of Troilus, in loving of Criseyde,

And how that she forsook him er she deyde.”

And in order to have of them compassion

As though I were her own dear brother.

Now harken with a good intent,

For now will I go straight to my matter,

In which you may the double sorrows hear

Of Troilus, in loving of Criseyde,

And how she forsook him before she died.”


Now fil it so, that in the tounther was

Dwellinge a lord of greet auctoritee,

A gret devyn that cleped was Calkas,

That in science so expert was, that he

Knew wel that Troye sholde destroyed be,

By answere of his god, that highte thus,

Daun Phebus or Apollo Delphicus [fogo].”

Me devoram o Tédio e su’Apavorante Mania

Voraz como deve sempre esse Demônio da Tazmânia

Now hadde Calkas left, in this meschaunce,

Al unwist of this false and wikked dede,

His doughter, which that was in gret penaunce,

For of hir lyf she was ful sore in drede,

As she that niste what was best to rede;

For bothe a widowe was she, and allone

Of any freend to whom she dorste hir mone.”

Now had Calkas left, in this mischance,

All unaffected by this false and wicked deed,

His daughter, which that was in great penance,

For of her life she was full sore in dread,

As she who knows not what direction it was better go;

For both a widow was she, and alone

Of any friend to whom she could do her mourn.”

Griselda, filha de Caucas, o Foragido Traidor.

Nas noon so fair, for passing every wight

So aungellyk was hir natyf beautee,

That lyk a thing immortal semed she,

As doth an hevenish parfit creature,

That doun were sent in scorning of nature.”

There was none so fair, for passing every being

So angelic was her native beauty,

That like a thing immortal seemed she,

As does a heavenly perfect creature,

That down was sent in scorn of nature.”

This lady, which that al-day herde at ere

Hir fadres shame, his falsnesse and tresoun,

Wel nigh out of hir wit for sorwe and fere,

In widewes habit large of samit broun,

On knees she fil biforn Ector a-doun;

With pitous voys, and tendrely wepinge,

His mercy bad, hir-selven excusinge.”

This lady, which that all-day heard about

Her father’s shame, his falseness and treason,

Well-nigh out of her wit for sorrow and fear,

In widows habit large of samit[?] brown,

On knees she fell down before Hector;

With piteous voice, and tenderly weepings,

His mercy she bided, excusing herself.”

Fight fear we fear

Ioie, o arcano Jove, rima com Troye (Tróia) e Ioye (alegria).

But whither that she children had or none,

I read it not; therefore I let it be gone.”

For it were a long digressioun

Fro my matere, and yow to longe dwelle.

But the Troyane gestes, as they felle,

In Omer, or in Dares, or in Dyte,

Who-so that can, may rede hem as they wryte.”


And so befell, when came was the time

Of April, when clothed is the meed

With new green, of lusty Ver [spring] the pryme[prime?],

And sweet smelling flowers white and red,

In sundry ways showed, as I read,

The folk of Troy her observances old,

Palladiones fest for to [foreto?] hold.”

but nathelees

Right as our firste lettre is now an A,

In beautee first so stood she, makelees;

Hir godly looking gladede al the prees.”

but nonetheless

So as our first letter is now an A,

In beauty first so stood she, meekly;

Her godly looking satisfied all tastes.”

For ever it was, and ever it shal bifalle,

That Love is he that alle thing may binde;

For may no man for-do the lawe of kinde.”

And they that han ben aldermost in wo,

With love han ben conforted most and esed”

With-inne the temple he wente him forth pleyinge,

This Troilus, of every wight aboute,

On this lady and now on that lokinge,

Wher-so she were of toune, or of with-oute:

And up-on cas bifel, that thorugh a route

His eye perced, and so depe it wente,

Til on Criseyde it smoot, and ther it stente.”

Lo, he that leet him-selven so konninge,

And scorned hem that loves peynes dryen,

Was ful unwar that love hadde his dwellinge

With-inne the subtile stremes of hir yen;

That sodeynly him thoughte he felte dyen,

Right with hir look, the spirit in his herte;

Blissed be love, that thus can folk converte!”

And of his song nought only the sentence,

As writ myn autour called Lollius,

But pleynly, save our tonges difference,

I dar wel sayn, in al that Troilus

Seyde in his song, lo! every word right thus

As I shal seyn; and who-so list it here,

Lo! next this vers, he may it finden here.

Cantus Troili.

<If no love is, O god, what fele I so?

And if love is, what thing and whiche is he!

If love be good, from whennes comth my wo?

If it be wikke, a wonder thinketh me,

Whenne every torment and adversitee

That cometh of him, may to me savory thinke;

For ay thurst I, the more that I it drinke.


Allas! what is this wonder maladye?

For hete of cold, for cold of hete, I deye.>

sixty times a day he lost his hue.”

But for non hate he to the Grekes hadde,

Ne also for the rescous of the toun,

Ne made him thus in armes for to madde,

But only, lo, for this conclusioun,

To lyken hir the bet for his renoun;

Fro day to day in armes so he spedde,

That alle the Grekes as the deeth him dredde.”

Troilus, o Macho Alfa Arrependido:

Lo, ther gooth he,

That is the man of so gret sapience,

That held us lovers leest in reverence!

Now, thonked be god, he may goon in the daunce

Of hem that Love list febly for to avaunce!”

Thy lady is, as frost in winter mone [moon],

And thou fordoon, as snow in fyr is sone.”

God wolde I were aryved in the port

Of deth, to which my sorwe wil me lede!

A, lord, to me it were a gret comfort;

Than were I quit of languisshing in drede.

For by myn hidde sorwe y-blowe on brede”

Al was for nought, she herde nought his pleynte”

Wol thee disese, and I mot nedes deye;

Ther-for go wey, ther is no more to seye.”

Pândaro, o amigo de angústias compartilhadas:

Ne do thou never swiche a crueltee

To hyde fro thy freend so greet a care;

Wostow nought wel that it am I, Pandare?”

Woeful, Allas, that’s bizarre!

I have, and shal, for trewe or fals report,

In wrong and right y-loved thee al my lyve;

Hyd not thy wo fro me, but telle it blyve.”

to ben slayn it were a gretter Ioye

To me than king of Grece been and Troye!”

but be thou in gladness,

And let me starve, unknown, of my distress.”

A fool may eek a wys man ofte gyde.”

Ne no man may be inly glad, I trowe,

That never was in sorwe or som distresse”

There is no man that may be inwardly glad, I trouve,

That never was in sorrow or some distress”

Phebus, that first fond art of medicyne,

Quod she, <and coude in every wightes care

Remede and reed, by herbes he knew fyne,

Yet to him-self his conning was ful bare;

For love hadde him so bounden in a snare,

Al for the doughter of the kinge Admete,

That al his craft ne coude his sorwe bete.>”

And yet, paraunter, can I rede thee,

And not my-self; repreve me no more.”

preve of trouthe” prouve of truth

Men say, <Too wretched is consolation

To have another fellow in his pain>”

Yet Troilus, for al this, no word seyde,

But longe he ley as stille as he ded were;

And after this with sykinge he abreyde,

And to Pandarus voys he lente his ere,

And up his eyen caste he, that in fere

Was Pandarus, lest that in frenesye

He sholde falle, or elles sone dye”

Seja otimista, ô romântico sangrento!:

How wostow so that thou art gracelees?

Swich yvel is nat alwey botelees.

Why, put not impossible thus thy cure,

Sin thing to come is ofte in aventure.

I graunte wel that thou endurest wo

As sharp as doth he, Ticius, in helle,

Whos stomak foules tyren ever-mo

That highte volturis, as bokes telle.”

But lyest as he that list of no-thing recche.

What womman coude love swich a wrecche?”

But listened he as he that listens nothing.

What woman could love such a wretch?”

The wretch is dead, the devil has his bones!”

Allas! What is me best to do?”

Fortunato Rodado:

For wel finde I that Fortune is my fo,

Ne alle the men that ryden conne or go

May of hir cruel wheel the harm withstonde”

To Cerberus in helle ay be I bounde,

Were it for my suster, al thy sorwe,

By my wil, she sholde al be thyn to-morwe.”

To Cerberus in hell may I be bound,

Were it for my sister, all thy sorrow,

By my will, she should be all thine tomorrow.”

Ainda que para Cérbero eu esteja destinado,

Se teu pesar fosse por minha irmã causado,

No que dependesse de mim, amanhã ela tua seria.”

Now beet thy brest, and sey to god of love,

<Thy grace, lord! For now I me repente

If I mis spak, for now my-self I love:

Thus sey with al thyn herte in good entente.>”

And also bliss is next the fine of sorrow.”

Cavaleiro pré-resignado:

Be lusty, free, persevere in thy service,

And all is well, if thou workest in this wise.”

Wo was that Greek that with him mette that day.”

O lady myn, that called art Cleo,

Thou be my speed fro this forth, and my muse,

To ryme wel this book, til I have do;

Me nedeth here noon other art to use.

For-why to every lovere I me excuse,

That of no sentement I this endyte,

But out of Latin in my tonge it wryte.

Wherfore I nil have neither thank ne blame

Of al this werk, but prey yow mekely,

Disblameth me if any word be lame,

For as myn auctor seyde, so seye I.

Eek though I speke of love unfelingly,

No wondre is, for it no-thing of newe is;

A blind man can nat Iuggen wel in hewis.”

In May, that moder is of monthes glade,

That fresshe floures, blewe, and whyte, and rede,”

In May, that mother is of months glad,

That fresh flowers, blue, and white, and red,”

<(…)To harken of your book you praise thus;

For God’s love, what said it? tell it us.

Is it love? Oh, some good you teach me!>

<Uncle,>, quoted she, <your mistress isn’t here!>

With that they went laughing, and though she said,

<This romance is of Thebes, that we read;

And we had heard how that king Laius died

Through Edippus his son, and all that deed;

And hear we steady at these letters read,

How the bishop, as the book can tell,

Amphiorax, fell through the ground to hell.>”

It set me well better in a cave

To bide, and read on holy saints lives;

Let maidens go to dance, and young wives.”

is than the siege away?

I am of the Greeks, so fear that I die.”


That is to mean, [H]Ector and Troilus,

That certainly, though that I should die,

They are as void of vices, dare I say,

As any men that lived under the sun,”

There was no cry but <Troilus is there!>

Now here, now there, he hunted them so fast,

There was but Greeks blood; and Troilus,

Now them he hurt, and them all down he cast.”

For, niece, by the goddess Minerve,

And Juppiter, that makes the thunder ring,

And by the blissful Venus that I serve,

You’ve been the woman in this world living,

Without paramours [amantes], to my witting,

That I best love, and least am to grieve,

And that you wishing well yourself, I leave.”

This false world, allas! Who may it love?”

Right for this fine [or fin, end?]? Oh, Lady mine, Pallas!

Thou in this dreadful case for me purvey [supply, help, succour];

For so astonished am I that I die!”

Allas, Pallas, All as before, as soon as Thou shall not fall!

Might he yet live, of me is nought to reach.”

That may my goost departe awey fro thee,

Thou be my sheld, for thy benignitee.”

That may my ghost depart away from thee,

Thou be my shield, for thy benignity.”

This was a sodeyn love; how mighte it be

That she so lightly lovede Troilus

Right for the firste sighte; ye, pardee?”

Now was hir herte warm, now was it cold,

And what she thoughte somwhat shal I wryte,

As to myn auctor listeth for to endyte.”

Men mighten deme that he loveth me;

What dishonour were it un-to me, this?

May I him lette of that? Why nay, pardee!

I knowe also, and alday here and see,

Men loven wommen al this toun aboute;

Be they the wers? Why, nay, with-outen doute.”

I am my own woman, well at ease,

I thank it God, as after mine estate;

Right, young, and astounded untied in lusty lies,

Without jealousy or such debate;

Shall no husband say to me <Checkmate!>”

What, par dieux! I am nought religious!

And though that I mine heart set as rest

Upon this knight, that is the worthiest,

And keep away mine honor and my name,

Be all right, it may do me no shame.”

A cloudy thought gan thorugh hir soule pace,

That over-spradde hir brighte thoughtes alle,

So that for fere almost she gan to falle.”

Thereto we wretched women nothing can,

When ours is woe, but weep and sit and think;

Our wretch is this, our own woe to drink.”


A pedra não é má,

Mas quebra o aquário,

ó Cabeça-de-Afresco!

Peixe dentro d’Água salada,

És tu, vítreo e ferrenho;

E de Deus a essência

estás tão perto quanto do aço

O Vitral partido em pedaços.

* * *

What is so worse

[if] a man, for faiblesse of eye,

May not endure to see it, [so] bright?

Is Love anything worse

if the wretched cry on [about] it?

Nenhum bem é digno que não traga males.”

So goodly was, and gat him so in grace,

That ech him lovede that loked on his face.

For he bicom the frendlyeste wight,

The gentileste, and eek the moste free,

The thriftieste and oon the beste knight,

That in his tyme was, or mighte be.

Dede were his Iapes and his crueltee,

His heighe port and his manere estraunge,

And ech of tho gan for a vertu chaunge.”

A nightingale, upon a cedre grene,

Under the chambre-wal ther as she lay,

Ful loude sang ayein the mone shene,

Paraunter, in his briddes wyse, a lay

Of love, that made hir herte fresh and gay.

That herkned she so longe in good entente,

Til at the laste the dede sleep hir hente.”

Freend, shal I now wepe or singe?”

And in hir bosom the lettre doun he thraste”

<For trewely I nil no lettre wryte.>

<No? than wol I,> quod he, <so ye endyte.>”

And Troilus he found alone at bed,

That lay as do these lovers, in a trance,

Betwixt hope and dark despair.”

Right so encrees hope, of what it be,

Therwith ful ofte encreseth eek desyr”

though she bende, yet she stant on rote;

What in effect is this un-to my bote?”

What wolt thow seyn, if I for Eleyne sente

To speke of this? I trowe it be the beste;

For she may leden Paris as hir leste.”

But flee we now prolixitee best is,

For love of god, and lat us faste go

Right to the effect, with-oute tales mo,

Why al this folk assembled in this place;

And lat us of hir saluinges pace.

But flee we now prolixity best is,

For love of god, and let us fast go

Right to the effect, without tales more,

Why all this folk assembled in this place;

And let us of her savings pace.

Up-on hir fo, that highte Poliphete,

So heynous, that men mighte on it spete.”

Answerde of this ech worse of hem than other,

And Poliphete they gonnen thus to warien”

Slay not this man, that had for you this pain!

Não comova este homem, que sofreu por ti dor tamanha!”

And though ye wolde han after merye dayes,

Than dar ye nought, and why? For she, and she

Spak swich a word; thus loked he, and he;

Lest tyme I loste, I dar not with yow dele

Com of therfore, and bringeth him to hele.

And though ye would have after merry days,

Than dare ye nought, and why? For she, and she

Speak such a word; thus looks he, and he;

Lest time I lose, I dare not with you deal

Come of therefore, and bring him to heal.

she was wys, and lovede him never-the-lasse,

Al nere he malapert, or made it tough,

Or was to bold, to singe a fool a masse.

But whan his shame gan somwhat to passe,

His resons, as I may my rymes holde,

I yow wole telle, as techen bokes olde.

she was wise, and loved him nevertheless,

All near he malapertly did, or made it tough,

Or was too bold, to sing a fool a mass.

But when his shame gained somewhat to pass,

His reasons, as I may my rhymes hold,

I will tell ya, as taught books old.

But nevertheless, this warn I you,

A king’s son although you be,

You shall no more have sovereignty

Of me in love, than right in that case is;

And never I’ll forbear, if you’ve done a mis’,

To abhor you; and while alike you serve me,

Cherish you I’ll, right as you deserve.”

When every wight was voided but they two,

And all the doors were fast and shot,

To tell in short, without words more,

This Pandarus, without any late,

Up arose, and on his bed’s side he sat,

And gained to speak in a sober wise”

Welawey! The day that I was born!”

Well away. Longe de mim tal dia!

Inda bem que já passou

esta maldi(c)ção!

And, if I lie, Achilles with his spear

My heart cleave, although were my life eternal,”

In wretchedness, in filth, and in vermin,

Captive to cruel king Agamemnon”

And that thou hast so muche y-doon for me,

That I ne may it never-more deserve,

This knowe I wel, al mighte I now for thee

A thousand tymes on a morwen sterve.

I can no more, but that I wol thee serve

Right as thy sclave, whider-so thou wende,

For ever-more, un-to my lyves ende!”

And that thou hast so much thou’st done for me,

That I may it nevermore deserve,

This know I well, all might I now for thee

A 1,000 times on a morrow starve.

I can no more, but that I will thee serve

Right as thy slave, wherever thou went,

Forever, until my life’s end!”

I have my faire suster Polixene,

Cassandre, Eleyne, or any of the frape;

Be she never so faire or wel y-shape,

Tell me, which thou wilt of everichone”

I have my fair sister Polixene,

Cassandra, Helene, or any of the crop [?];

Be she never so fair or well your shape,

Tell me, which thou will of everyone”

Eu tenho minha bela irmã Políxena,

Cassandra, Helena, ou qualquer uma da safra;

Se nenhuma delas for do seu feitio ou da sua graça;

Diga-me, qual dentre todas quer você”

This was his life; with all his full might,

By day he was in Mars’ high service,

This is to say, in arms as a knight;

And for the most part, the long night

He laid, and thought how that he might serve

His lady better, her thanks deserving.”

But never would I swear, although that he laid soft,

That in his thoughts he wasn’t somewhat diseased,

Neither that he did not turn on his pillows oft’,

Nor that ‘cause of this his guilt would’ve been ceased;

But in such cases men is not always pleased,

Nothing more could I tell of him;

At least nothing that I could conceive.”

But O, Fortune, executrice of wierdes,

O influences of thise hevenes hye!

Soth is, that, under god, ye ben our hierdes,

Though to us bestes been the causes wrye.”

<Now, niece mine, you should well understand>,

Quoted Pandarus, <so as you women deem all,

That for to hold in love a man in hand,

And he her ‘life and ‘dear heart’ call,

And make him half above a call,

I mean, as love another in this while,

She does herself a shame, and him a guile.>”

Now if he knows that joy is transitory,

As every joy of worldly thing most flee,

Than every time he that had in memory,

The dread of losing made him that he

May in no perfect silliness be.”

Quando o maniqueísmo tolo infecta a riqueza de matizes pagãos…

I hope all shall be well that is amiss,

For you may quench all this”

But well I know, that you will not do so;

You are too wise to do so great folly,

To put his life all-night in jeopardy.”

Discretion out of your head is gone;

That feel I now, and that is rough [harsh];

O time you’ve lost, well may you curse sloth!”

But O, Thou Jove, O author of nature,

Is this an honour to thy deity,

That folk unguilty suffered here injury,

And who that guilty is, all quiet goes he?”

All my woe is this, that folk now use

To say right thus, <Ye, jealousy is love!>

Ah, meu pesar é esse, que a gente agora sói

Dizer bem assim, <P’s-é, ciúmes são amor!>”

of a full misty morrow

Follows full often a merry summer’s day;

And after winter followed green May.”



Men moste drinke, as men may often see,

Ful bittre drink; and for to han gladnesse”

Her arms small, her straight back and soft,

Her sides long, fleshly, smooth, and white


Her snowish throat, her breasts round and light;

Thus in this heaven she gained him to delight,

And therewithal a thousand times her kissed”

Away, thou foul danger and thou fear,

And let them in this heaven bliss dwell,

That is so high, that all o’ it can’t I tell!”

Sabe deus, a Verdade dói demais, se demora a conseguir,

Como pudeste tu sem corda ou corrente me aprisionar?”

But when

Lucifer, the day’s messenger,

Gained for to rise, and out her beams threw;

And eastwards rose…”

O night, allas! Why won’t you over us hove,

As long as when Alcmena lays by Jove?” (*)

(*) “Durante três dias consecutivos, Apolo, a pedido do pai, não percorreu o céu com o carro do sol, e durante essa longa noite, o deus dos deuses amou ardentemente Alcmena.”

A noite escura, como a gente lê nos livros,

Moldada pelos deuses para ocultar este mundo,

Em certos momentos, com seu negro véu,

A fim de que o homem sob o manto descansar consiga,

A noite escura, tão censurada,

Tem seu lado claro, por certo,

Pois enquanto o sol a pino o fôlego nos arranca com trabalhos,

Assim que tu voas com teu véu, não podemos descansar!

Saudade, logo, dá do teu propiciado repouso.

Envious day, what desirest thee to spy?

What hast thou lost, why seekest thou this place,

That god thy light so quench, for his grace?”

Thou art the pine of hell

For many a’lover

Thy pouring in will nowhere let them dwell!”

First shall Phoebus fall from his sphere,

And every eagle be the doves fear,

And every stone out of his place start,

Before Troilus be out of Criseyde’s heart!”

He may well lay and wink,

But sleep may not in his heart sink”

Niece, if I shall be dead,

Have here a sword, and smite off my head!

With that his arm all suddenly he thrust

Under her neck, and then kissed her.”

The worst kind of misfortune is this,

A man to’ve been in prosperity,

And it he remembered, when it passed is.”

Pride, Envy, Ire, and Avarice,

He gained to flee, and every other vice.”

How Criseyde Troilus forsook,

Or at least, how that she was unkind,

Must henceforth be the matter of my book”

Phoebus and Neptune both,

That made the walls of the town,

Are with the folk of Troy always so wroth,

That they will bring it to confusion”

The parliament deliberated: Antenor will be changed for Criseyde! The president pronounced its will. Hector often prayed: Nay! Finally, though, no wight (creature) could withstand this cruel Fate’s will.”

O Troilus, what may men now thee call

But wretched of wretched, out of honor fall

Into misery, in which I will bewail

<Criseyde, allas!> ‘til my breath fail?”

Nem tanto ao Céu, nem tanto à Terra

Nem em Paris, nem em Calcutá

Nem Heitor, nem Páris

Apenas um trollado!

Paris, your brother, a lover has;

Why wouldn’t you have one too?”

And wash thy face, and to the king you go,

Or he may wonder why that you are gone.”

Ah, Fama sutil, que coisas falsas espalha,

como se fossem as menos mentirosas,

Todos em Tróia souberam por suas

asas tão prestas e fabulosas;

O boato circulou de homem a homem,

e o boato virou a nova verdade da cidade,

Como a filha de Calcas, com sua pele onde a neve some;

No Parlamento, sem meias-palavras,

Ele vendeu, como se fosse mera colheita de safra

Para em troca, sem rubor, receber Antenor.”

Amaldiçoada seja a porra naquele dia que me gerou!

Ended, then, love in woe? Yeah, or men lied!

And all wordly bliss, as I thought.

The end of bliss the sorrow occupied.”

Alguma vez uma mulher protagonizou um romance clássico, sem que estejamos

falando da burguesa que só pensa no dogma da traição?

Who ever saw me, he saw sorrow all at once,

Pain, torment, lament, woe, smear, distress.

Out of my woeful body harm there none is,

As anguish, languor, cruel bitterness,

Annoy, dread, fury, and sickness.”

E no entanto, ai de mim! Em que acredito eu?

Sempre houve muitos pregadores para cada discurso,

E alguns homens dizem que a Necessidade não existe;

Mas sim a livre-escolha, dada a todos.

Oh, encruzilhada! Tão sábios são os sacerdotes,

E discordantes, que não sei de que lado ficar.”

Ora então, eu digo, se desde a eternidade Ele

Já divinou nossos pensamentos, méritos e pecados,

Não temos livre-arbítrio, como os padres tecem!”

Eu gostaria de saber,

Das coisas que vêm a ser,

A causa certa da necessidade

É a Presciência de Deus

Ou a necessidade é que é causa

Certeira da Providência ser assim?

Hast thou such lust to be thine own foe?”

In thine head thine eyes seem dead”

Griselda morre de repente nos braços de Troilus, de puro desgosto e tristeza diante da iminente separação das almas-gêmeas… Oh, não! Apenas um ligeiro desmaio enganoso foi…

Átropos, corta agora minha corda, sua maldita!

Bewailing both the day that they were born.”

That a wight always his woe complain,

And sought nought how hopeful be,

It is but folly and increase of pain!”

and it supposed is,

That men the queen Helene shall restore,

And Greeks restore to us what missed is.”

For, ay!, with gold men may the heart grieve,

Of him that set is upon covetousness

And how I mean, I shall it you devise.”

he had not well the Gods understood.

For Gods speak in amphibologies [duplos-sentidos],

And, for one truth they tell 20 lies.”

But Jupiter, that of his might may do

The sorrowful to be glad, so give us grace,

As soon as nights ten, to meet in this place”

Mas Júpiter

que de seu poder

pode fazer

do triste feliz,

cheio de lazer,

me dê o prazer,

quando passem

noites dez,

nos braços te ter!”

My ship and me Caribdis will devour.”

The day is more, and longer every night,

Than they were wont to be, he thought tho’;

And that the sun went his course unright

By longer way than it was wont to go;

And said, <You know, I dreaded evermo’,

The sun’s son, Phaeton, be alive,

And that his father’s cart amiss he drive.>”

Que bom que o Faetão dirige,

em chama viva, seu próprio fáeton!

Tenha fé, o feto phantasma vai alumiar a noite…

…antes do trovão!

This Diomede, of whom I’ll tell you,

Went now, within himself arguing

With all the slight and awe that ever he could,

How best he knew, with the shortest tarryng,

Into his net Criseyde’s heart bring.

To this intent he could never fain;

To fish her, he laid out hook and line.”

For wise folk in books express,

<Men shall not wow a wight in heaviness.>”

Nos livros dizem os sábios,

Melhor é que nenhum homem instigue aquele em dificuldades”

Ele pensou em seu coração, <Seja como for,

Até’u morrer, vou seu coração buscar>”

Esse Diomedes, como nos declaram os livros,

Era em seus assuntos presto e corajoso;

Sua voz, severa, a cintura robusta,

Resiliente, provador, forte e distinto competidor

Nos atos, como seu pai Tideu.

E, não bastasse, era ainda herdeiro,

não só de Argos, como da Caledônia.”

Mas pra dizer de forma clara como não vê o consumido pelo amor,

Está escrito pelos antigos que Griselda enxergou naquele tempo o Paraíso.”

Ó, decerto não posso dizer dela a idade.”

E os homens deviam temer, até o fim dos tempos,

Dali em diante, deixar-se enlevar por qualquer rainha,

Cruel que é a miséria sobre sua imagem na História.”

What will you more, lovesome lady dear?

Let Troy and troyans from your heart pass!

Drive out that bitter hope, and make good cheer,

And clap again the beauty of your face,

That you with salty tears so deface.”

A verdade é a história que nos contam,

Que nenhuma mulher provocou tanto infortúnio

Quanto ela, na ocasião em que traiu Troilus.

Ela disse a si mesma, <Ai de mim! Porque agora já me é manifesto,

Sujei para sempre minha reputação no amor!

Eu enganei, deixei para trás, o mais gentil dos gentis-homens

Que jamais pisaram a terra. Homem do maior valor!

Pobre de mim, sem salvação até o fim dos dias,

Destinada ao Olvido do Hades, sem versos nem canções

Nenhuma apologia, quando muito há-de haver difamações!

Ah, e muitas línguas vão me injuriar

Através do mundo meu sino de ignomínia tocará;

E de todos são as mulheres as que mais me odiarão


Ainda que não seja eu a primeira a falsear

No que isso ajuda a diminuir minha culpa?

E, como não vejo nenhuma outra saída,

E já é tarde demais para recuar,

A Diomedes então serei eu devota.>”

But, really, how long it was between,

That she forsook him for this Diomede,

There is no author who told it, I assume.

Head every man now to his book’s head;

He shall no term find”

<Minha senhora a luzidia Griselda me traiu,

O indivíduo em quem mais acreditei,

Ela fincou seu coração noutras paragens;

A deusa da felicidade, com seu grande poder,

Mostrou-mo no meu sonho de maneira clara.

No meu sonho Griselda eu observei> –

E tudo isto a Pândaro Troilus relatou.”

Pândaro respondeu, dizendo, <Maldito o dia

Em que nasci; não fui eu a falar anteriormente,

Que sonhos muitos homens imaginosos iludem?

E por quê? Porque a gente os explica com erro.

Como ousas dizer que sua senhora falseou-te,

Por um sonho suscitado por seus próprios temores?

Troilus à Sibila sua irmã enviou,

Chamada Cassandra, justa toda ela”

<Esse aborrecimento de Diomedes vem,

O filho de Tideu, que descendente era

de Meleagro, cujo destino era aborrecer.

E sua senhora, onde quer que esteja,

Esse Diomedes seu coração conquistou, e ela o dele.

A você cabe lamentar-se ou seguir em frente;

Pois que não há dúvida, Diomedes entrou, e você saiu.>

<Não diz nada que preste, sacerdotisa,

Com essa sua predileção pela falsa profecia!

Você se pretende uma grande adivinha;

É o destino de Griselda caluniada

ser assim por suas semelhantes?

Nada feito! Que Zeus a amaldiçoe!

Você será mentirosa, ó irmã, hoje e sempre!

Decerto enganaste ainda Alceste,

Que era das criaturas, por mais caluniada fosse,

A mais gentil, amável, a melhor de todas.>”

Juro que um dia voltarei, embora esteja

em tamanha atribulação, que nada sei

sobre o ano ou o dia em que regressarei,

Pois que, sendo assim, nada hei de dizer.”

Só o que conta é a vontade e a intenção,

nada importando portanto a falta de cartas!”

Juro pelo mundo inteiro,

em meu coração não suporto

deixar de amá-la um quarto dum dia!

Só Deus sabe como nasci em tempo maldito!”

Eu odeio Griselda!

E, sabe Deus, detestá-la-ei para sempre!”

E desse mundo infeliz, ó Pai todo-poderoso,

Peço: Liberte-a de uma vez!

Ah, mas disso eu bem duvido!

Adiante sua fortuna a permitirá seguir.

Griselda amava o filho de Tideu,

E por isso Troilus deverá chorar amargo, desolado.

Assim é esse mundo; quem suportar contemplá-lo,

A cada estado não consegue descansar o coração;

Deus nos ajude a aprender a valorizá-lo!”

Por sua ira, sem medo, dia e noite,

Paguem então cruelmente os gregos;

Sempre Diomedes estará na linha de tiro.

E não é que ambos muitos encontros tiveram,

Cheios de golpes sangrentos e cumprimentos ardis,

Com lâminas úmidas de parte a parte?

E violentamente animado, Troilus até conseguiu

O elmo do inimigo atingir?”

E que nenhuma mulher franca e gentil

Testemunhando a insídia de Griselda,

Pela culpa que ela tinha comigo se zangue!

Vocês deverão comprovar sua culpa

por intermédio de muitos outros livros”

E devido à intensa diversidade

No Inglês e na escrita de nossa língua,

Eu oro a Deus que ninguém me perverta,

Nem me calunie por mau autor.

E que onde este livro seja lido, ou declamado,

Que seja propriamente entendido, ah, eu imploro!”

Como eu disse antes,

a fúria de Troilus foi paga cara pelos gregos;

Milhares foram mortos por suas mãos,

Pois aquele que não tinha igual,

Salvo Heitor, em seu tempo, ouvi eu dizer.

Contudo, pela graça de Deus,

O temerário Aquiles sua existência dizimou,


E, quando ele foi assim derrubado,

Sua leve alma alegremente ascendeu

Às santidades inerentes à sétima esfera,

Deixando para trás todo elemento;

Convertendo-se em energia de matéria,

Ali ele ficou, e observou, todo atenção,

As erráticas escaramuças nas planícies,

escutando a harmonia

Dos sons dotados de paradisíaca melodia.”

E após ser abatido, mirou o solo sangrento;

E por dentro se ria, piedoso, em face da desgraça

Daqueles que choravam sua morte tão precoce”

Assim principiou seu amor por Griselda,

Como contei, e dessa forma ele morreu.”

Esse mundo, que passa tão ligeiro quanto florescem as flores,

Amou-o demais aquele que, justo por amor,

Pregado foi na cruz, para nossas almas bendizer,

Primeiro definhou, depois se ergueu, e

senta-se agora nos Céus acima”

Veja esses velhos e malsãos ritos pagãos,

Veja, tudo que seus deuses permitiram;

Veja, os apetites deste mundo decrépito;

Veja, a vaidade e a paga do trabalho

de Zeus, Apolo, de Marte, dessa canalha!

Veja bem, as falas dos sacerdotes de outrora

Na Poesia, se você seus livros for buscar. -”

Filha da puta!


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