Aucassin was of Biaucaire Of a goodly castle there, But from Nicolete the fair None might win his heart away Though his father, many a day, And his mother said him nay, "Ha! fond child, what wouldest thou? Nicolete is glad enow! Was from Carthage cast away, Paynims sold her on a day! Wouldst thou win a lady fair Choose a maid of high degree Such an one is meet for thee." "Nay of these I have no care, Nicolete is debonaire, Her body sweet and the face of her Take my heart as in a snare, Loyal love is but her share That is so sweet." Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: When the Count Garin de Biaucaire knew that he would avail not to withdraw Aucassin his son from the love of Nicolete, he went to the Captain of the city, who was his man, and spake to him, saying: "Sir Count; away with Nicolete thy daughter in God; cursed be the land whence she was brought into this country, for by reason of her do I lose Aucassin, that will neither be dubbed knight, nor do aught of the things that fall to him to be done. And wit ye well," he said, "that if I might have her at my will, I would burn her in a fire, and yourself might well be sore adread." "Sir," said the Captain, "this is grievous to me that he comes and goes and hath speech with her. I had bought the maiden at mine own charges, and nourished her, and baptized, and made her my daughter in God. Yea, I would have given her to a young man that should win her bread honourably. With this had Aucassin thy son naught to make or mend. But, sith it is thy will and thy pleasure, I will send her into that land and that country where never will he see her with his eyes." "Have a heed to thyself," said the Count Garin, "thence might great evil come on thee." So parted they each from other. Now the Captain was a right rich man: so had he a rich palace with a garden in face of it; in an upper chamber thereof he let place Nicolete, with one old woman to keep her company, and in that chamber put bread and meat and wine and such things as were needful. Then he let seal the door, that none might come in or go forth, save that there was one window, over against the garden, and strait enough, where through came to them a little air. _Here singeth one_: