403 in hand he bare upright; A hat he wore upon his hairës bright. Arrayed was this god (as he took keep) 404 As he was when that Argus 405 took his sleep; And said him thus: “To Athens shalt thou wend; 406 There is thee shapen 407 of thy woe an end.” And with that word Arcite woke and start. “Now truëly how sore that e’er me smart,” Quoth he, “to Athens right now will I fare. Nor for no dread of death shall I not spare To see my lady that I love and serve; In her presénce I reckë not to sterve.” 408 And with that word he caught a great mirrór, And saw that changed was all his colór, And saw his visage all in other kind. And right anon it ran him ill his mind,