So longe he waiteth to and fro, Til ate laste he fond hem tuo, 140 In prive place wher thei stode To speke and have here wordes goode. The place wher as he hem syh, It was under a banke nyh The grete See, and he above Stod and behield the lusti love Which ech of hem to other made With goodly chiere and wordes glade, That al his herte hath set afyre Of pure Envie: and as a fyre 150 Which fleth out of a myhti bowe, Aweie he fledde for a throwe, As he that was for love wod, Whan that he sih how that it stod. This Polipheme a Geant was; And whan he sih the sothe cas, How Galathee him hath forsake And Acis to hire love take, His herte mai it noght forbere That he ne roreth lich a Bere; 160 And as it were a wilde beste, The whom no reson mihte areste, He ran Ethna the hell aboute, Wher nevere yit the fyr was oute, Fulfild of sorghe and gret desese, That he syh Acis wel at ese. Til ate laste he him bethoghte, As he which al Envie soghte, And torneth to the banke ayein, Wher he with Galathee hath seyn 170 Acis, whom that he thoghte grieve, Thogh he himself mai noght relieve. This Geant with his ruide myht Part of the banke he schof doun riht, The which evene upon Acis fell, So that with fallinge of this hell This Poliphemus Acis slowh, Wherof sche made sorwe ynowh. And as sche fledde fro the londe, Neptunus tok hire into honde 180 And kept hire in so sauf a place Fro Polipheme and his manace, That he with al his false Envie Ne mihte atteigne hir compaignie. This Galathee of whom I speke, That of hirself mai noght be wreke, Withouten eny semblant feigned Sche hath hire loves deth compleigned, And with hire sorwe and with hire wo Sche hath the goddes moeved so, 190 That thei of pite and of grace Have Acis in the same place, Ther he lai ded, into a welle Transformed, as the bokes telle, With freisshe stremes and with cliere, As he whilom with lusti chiere Was freissh his love forto qweme. And with this ruide Polipheme For his Envie and for his hate Thei were wrothe. And thus algate, 200 Mi Sone, thou myht understonde, That if thou wolt in grace stonde With love, thou most leve Envie: And as thou wolt for thi partie Toward thi love stonde fre, So most thou soffre an other be, What so befalle upon the chaunce: For it is an unwys vengance, Which to non other man is lief, And is unto himselve grief. 210 Mi fader, this ensample is good; Bot how so evere that it stod With Poliphemes love as tho, It schal noght stonde with me so, To worchen eny felonie In love for no such Envie. Forthi if ther oght elles be, Now axeth forth, in what degre It is, and I me schal confesse With schrifte unto youre holinesse. 220