Nicolette the fair, the fond, Climbed the fosse and won beyond; There she kneeled her, and implored Very help of Christ the Lord. "Father, King of majesty, Where to turn I know not, I. So, within the woodland gloom Wolf and boar and lion roam, Fearful things, with rav'ning maw, Rending tusk and tooth and claw. Yet, if all adread I stay, Men will come at break of day, Treat me to their heart's desire, Burn my body in the fire. But by God's dear majesty Such a death I will not die; Since I die, ah, better then Trust the boar than trust to men. Since all's evil, men and beast, Choose I the least." Now they say and tell and relate: Nicolette made great sorrow in such manner as you have heard. She commended herself to God's keeping, and fared on until she entered the forest. She kept upon the fringes of the woodland, for dread of the wild beasts and reptiles; and hiding herself within some thick bush, sleep overtook her, and she slept fast until six hours of the morn, when shepherds and herdsmen come from the city to lead their flocks to pasture between the wood and the river. The shepherds sat by a clear, sweet spring, which bubbled forth on the outskirts of the greenwood, and spreading a cloak upon the grass, set bread thereon. Whilst they ate together, Nicolette awoke at the song of the birds and the laughter, and hastened to the well. "Fair children," said she, "God have you in His keeping." "God bless you also," answered one who was more fluent of tongue than his companions. "Fair child," said she, "do you know Aucassin, the son of Count Garin of this realm?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God keep you, pretty boy," said she, "as you tell him that within this wood there is a fair quarry for his hunting; and if he may take her he would not part with one of her members for a hundred golden marks, nor for five hundred, nay, nor for aught that man can give." Then looking upon her steadfastly, their hearts were troubled, the maid was so beautiful. "Will I tell him?" cried he who was readier of word than his companions. "Woe to him who speaks of it ever, or tells Aucassin what you say. You speak not truth but faery, for in all this forest there is no beast--neither stag, nor lion, nor boar--one of whose legs would be worth two pence, or three at the very best, and you talk of five hundred marks of gold. Woe betide him who believes your story, or shall spread it abroad. You are a fay, and no fit company for such as us, so pass upon your road." "Ah, fair child," answered she, "yet you will do as I pray. For this beast is the only medicine that may heal Aucassin of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse, take them, and give him my message. For within three days must he hunt this chace, and if within three days he find not the quarry, never may he cure him of his wound."