For myn excuse, a scorn shal be my mede;

305 Your chere floureth, but hit wol not sede; Ful longe agoon I oghte have take hede.

4. For thogh I hadde yow to-morow ageyn, I might as wel holde Averill fro reyn, As holde yow, to make yow stedfast. 310 Almighty god, of trouthe sovereyn, Wher is the trouthe of man? who hath hit sleyn?

Who that hem loveth shal hem fynde

as fast

As in a tempest is a roten mast. Is that a tame best that is ay feyn 315 To renne away, when he is leest agast?

5.

Now mercy, swete, if I misseye, Have I seyd oght amis, I preye? I not; my wit is al aweye.

325

I fare as doth the song of Chaunte-pleure.
For now I pleyne, and now I pleye, 321
I am so mased that I deye,
Arcite hath born awey the keye
Of al my worlde, and my good aventure!
For in this worlde nis creature
Wakinge, in more discomfiture
Then I, ne more sorow endure;
And if I slepe a furlong wey or tweye,
Than thinketh me, that your figure
Before me stant, clad in asure,
To profren eft a newe assure
For to be trewe, and mercy me to preye.

The longe night drye, And on the day And of al this recche.

6.

330

this wonder sight Ι

for this afray I dye, 334

right noght, y-wis, ye

Ne never mo
myn yen two be drye,
And to your routhe and to your trouthe
I crye.

But welawey! to fer be they to fecche; Thus holdeth me my destinee wrecche.

But me to rede out of this drede

a

339

Ne may my wit, strecche.

so weyk is hit,

or gye not

XI.

I. Captivity.

Your yen two wol slee me sodenly,

I may the beauté of hem not sustene,
So woundeth hit through-out my herte
kene.

And but your word wol helen hastily
My hertes wounde, whyl that hit is grene,
Your yen two wol slee me sodenly,
I may the beautè of hem not sustene.

6

So hath your beautè fro your herte chaced Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne. 20 Allas! that nature hath in yow compassed

So greet beautè, that no man may atteyne To mercy, though he sterve for the peyne. So hath your beautè fro your herte chaced Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne; 25 For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.

Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat,

I never thenk to ben in his prison lene;
Sin I am free, I counte him not a beno.

He may answere, and seye this or that; 30
I do no fors, I speke right as I mene.
Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat,

I never thenk to ben in his prison lene. Love hath my name y-strike out of his sclat,

And he is strike out of my bokes clene 35 For ever-mo; +ther is non other mene. Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat,

I never thenk to ben in his prison lene; Sin I am free, I counte him not a bene. 39