Aurelius, that his cost had all forlorn, 3402 Cursed the time that ever he was born. “Alas!” quoth he, “alas that I behight 3403 Of pured 3404 gold a thousand pound of weight To this philosopher! how shall I do? I see no more, but that I am fordo. 3405 Mine heritagë must I needës sell, And be a beggar; here I will not dwell, And shamen all my kindred in this place, But 3406 I of him may gettë better grace. But natheless I will of him assay At certain dayës year by year to pay, And thank him of his greatë courtesy. My trothë will I keep, I will not lie.” With heartë sore he went unto his coffer, And broughtë gold unto this philosópher, The value of five hundred pound, I guess,