In darkness horrible, and strong prisón, This seven year hath sitten Palamon, Forpined, 421 what for love, and for distress. Who feeleth double sorrow and heaviness But Palamon? that love distraineth 422 so, That wood 423 out of his wits he went for woe, And eke thereto he is a prisonére Perpetual, not only for a year. Who couldë rhyme in English properly His martyrdom? forsooth, it is not I; 424 Therefore I pass as lightly as I may. It fell that in the seventh year, in May The thirdë night (as oldë bookës sayn, That all this story tellen morë plain), Were it by áventure or destiny (As, when a thing is shapen 425