Lo, thus, my Sone, thou miht knowe That the corage of hardiesce Is of knyhthode the prouesce, Which is to love sufficant Aboven al the remenant That unto loves court poursuie. Bot who that wol no Slowthe eschuie, 2020 Upon knihthode and noght travaile, I not what love him scholde availe; Bot every labour axeth why Of som reward, wherof that I Ensamples couthe telle ynowe Of hem that toward love drowe Be olde daies, as thei scholde. Mi fader, therof hiere I wolde. Mi Sone, it is wel resonable, In place which is honorable 2030 If that a man his herte sette, That thanne he for no Slowthe lette To do what longeth to manhede. For if thou wolt the bokes rede Of Lancelot and othre mo, Ther miht thou sen hou it was tho Of armes, for thei wolde atteigne To love, which withoute peine Mai noght be gete of ydelnesse. And that I take to witnesse 2040 An old Cronique in special, The which into memorial Is write, for his loves sake Hou that a kniht schal undertake. Ther was a king, which Oënes Was hote, and he under his pes Hield Calidoyne in his Empire, And hadde a dowhter Deianire. Men wiste in thilke time non So fair a wiht as sche was on; 2050 And as sche was a lusti wiht, Riht so was thanne a noble kniht, To whom Mercurie fader was. This kniht the tuo pilers of bras, The whiche yit a man mai finde, Sette up in the desert of Ynde; That was the worthi Hercules, Whos name schal ben endeles For the merveilles whiche he wroghte. This Hercules the love soghte 2060 Of Deianire, and of this thing Unto hir fader, which was king, He spak touchende of Mariage. The king knowende his hih lignage, And dradde also hise mihtes sterne, To him ne dorste his dowhter werne; And natheles this he him seide, How Achelons er he ferst preide To wedden hire, and in accord Thei stode, as it was of record: 2070 Bot for al that this he him granteth, That which of hem that other daunteth In armes, him sche scholde take, And that the king hath undertake. This Achelons was a Geant, A soubtil man, a deceivant, Which thurgh magique and sorcerie Couthe al the world of tricherie: And whan that he this tale herde, Hou upon that the king ansuerde 2080 With Hercules he moste feighte, He tristeth noght upon his sleighte Al only, whan it comth to nede, Bot that which voydeth alle drede And every noble herte stereth, The love, that no lif forbereth, For his ladi, whom he desireth, With hardiesse his herte fyreth, And sende him word withoute faile That he wol take the bataille. 2090 Thei setten day, they chosen field, The knihtes coevered under Schield Togedre come at time set, And echon is with other met. It fell thei foghten bothe afote, Ther was no ston, ther was no rote, Which mihte letten hem the weie, But al was voide and take aweie. Thei smyten strokes bot a fewe, For Hercules, which wolde schewe 2100 His grete strengthe as for the nones, He sterte upon him al at ones And cawhte him in hise armes stronge. This Geant wot he mai noght longe