To makë him a garland of the greves, 433 Were it of woodbine, or of hawthorn leaves, And loud he sang against the sun so sheen. 434 “O May, with all thy flowers and thy green, Right welcome be thou, fairë freshë May, I hope that I some green here getten may.” And from his courser, with a lusty heart, Into the grove full hastily he start, And in a path he roamed up and down, There as by áventure this Palamon Was in a bush, that no man might him see, For sore afeard of his death was he. Nothing ne knew he that it was Arcite; God wot he would have trowed it full lite. 435 But sooth is said, gone since full many years, 436 The field hath eyen, and the wood hath ears. It is full fair a man to bear him even, 437 For all day meeten men at unset steven. 438