“My dearë daughter Venus,” quoth Saturn, “My course, that hath so widë for to turn, Hath morë power than wot any man. Mine is the drowning in the sea so wan; Mine is the prison in the darkë cote, Mine the strangling and hanging by the throat, The murmur, and the churlish rebelling, The groyning, and the privy poisoning. I do vengeance and plein correctión, I dwell in the sign of the lión. Mine is the ruin of the highë halls, The falling of the towers and the walls Upon the miner or the carpenter: I slew Samson in shaking the pillar: Mine also be the maladiës cold, The darkë treasons, and the castës old: My looking is the father of pestilence. Now weep no more, I shall do diligence That Palamon, that is thine owen knight, Shall have his lady, as thou hast him hight. Though Mars shall help his knight, yet natheless Betwixtë you there must sometime be peace: All be ye not of one complexión, That each day causeth such división, I am thine ayel, ready at thy will; Weep now no more, I shall thy lust fulfil.” Now will I stenten of the gods above, Of Mars, and of Venus, goddess of love, And tellë you as plainly as I can The great effect, for which that I began.
Great was the feast in Athens thilkë day; And eke the lusty season of that May Made every wight to be in such pleasance, That all that Monday jousten they and dance, And spenden it in Venus’ high servíce. But by the causë that they shouldë rise Early a-morrow for to see that fight, Unto their restë wentë they at night. And on the morrow, when the day gan spring, Of horse and harness noise and clattering There was in the hostelries all about: And to the palace rode there many a rout Of lordës, upon steedës and palfreys. There mayst thou see devising of harness So uncouth and so rich, and wrought so weel Of goldsmithry, of brouding, and of steel; The shieldës bright, the testers, and trappures; Gold-hewen helmets, hauberks, coat-armures; Lordës in parements on their coursérs, Knightës of retinue, and eke squiérs, Nailing the spears, and helmës