Bright was the sun, and clear that morrowning, And Palamon, this woful prisoner, As was his wont, by leave of his gaoler, Was ris’n, and roamed in a chamber on high, In which he all the noble city sigh, 332 And eke the garden, full of branches green, There as this fresh Emelia the sheen Was in her walk, and roamed up and down. This sorrowful prisoner, this Palamon Went in his chamber roaming to and fro, And to himself complaining of his woe: That he was born, full oft he said, Alas! And so befell, by áventure or cas, 333 That through a window thick of many a bar Of iron great, and square as any spar, He cast his eyes upon Emelia, And therewithal he blent 334 and cried, Ah! As though he stungen were unto the heart. And with that cry Arcite anon up start, And saidë, “Cousin mine, what aileth thee,