despaired, nothing durst he say, Save in his songës somewhat would he wray His woe, as in a general cómplainíng; He said, he lov’d, and was belov’d nothing. Of suchë matter made he many lays, Songës, complaintës, roundels, virëlays; How that he durstë not his sorrow tell, But languished, as doth a Fury in hell; And die he must, he said, as did Echo For Narcissus, that durst not tell her woe. In other manner than ye hear me say, He durstë not to her his woe bewray, Save that paráventure sometimes at dances, Where youngë folkë keep their óbservánces, It may well be he looked on her face In such a wise, as man that asketh grace, But nothing wistë she of his intent. Nath’less it happen’d, ere they thennës went, Becausë that he was her neighëbour, And was a man of worship and honoúr, And she had knowen him of timë yore, They fell in speech, and forth aye more and more Unto his purpose drew Aurelius; And when he saw his time, he saidë thus: “Madam,” quoth he, “by God that this world made, So that I wist it might your heartë glade, I would, that day that your Arviragus Went over sea, that I, Aurelius, Had gone where I should never come again; For well I wot my service is in vain. My guerdon is but bursting of mine heart. Madamë, rue upon my painë’s smart, For with a word ye may me slay or save. Here at your feet God would that I were grave. I havë now no leisure more to say: Have mercy, sweet, or you will do me dey.”
She gan to look upon Aurelius; “Is this your will,” quoth she, “and say ye thus? Ne’er erst,” quoth she, “I wistë what ye meant: But now, Aurelius, I know your intent. By thilkë God that gave me soul and life, Never shall I be an untruë wife In word nor work, as far as I have wit; I will be his to whom that I am knit; Take this for final answer as of me.” But after that in play thus saidë she. “Aurelius,” quoth she, “by high God above, Yet will I grantë you to be your love (Since I you see so piteously complain); Lookë, what day that endëlong Bretágne Ye remove all the rockës, stone by stone, That they not lettë ship nor boat to gon, I say, when ye have made this coast so clean Of rockës, that there is no stonë seen, Then will I love you best of any man; Have here my troth, in all that ever I can; For