“The god of love, ah! benedicite , 504 How mighty and how great a lord is he! Against his might there gainë 505 none obstácles, He may be call’d a god for his mirácles. For he can maken at his owen guise Of every heart, as that him list devise. Lo here this Arcite, and this Palamon, That quietly were out of my prisón, And might have lived in Thebes royally, And weet 506 I am their mortal enemy, And that their death li’th in my might also, And yet hath love, maugré their eyen two, 507 Y-brought them hither bothë for to die. Now look ye, is not this an high folly? Who may not be a fool, if but he love? Behold, for Goddë’s sake that sits above,