The nexte hour of Mars following this Arcite to the temple walked is Of fierce Mars, to do his sacrifice With all the rites of his pagan guise. With piteous* heart and high devotion *pious Right thus to Mars he said his orison “O stronge god, that in the regnes* old *realms Of Thrace honoured art, and lord y-hold* *held And hast in every regne, and every land Of armes all the bridle in thine hand, And *them fortunest as thee list devise*, *send them fortune Accept of me my piteous sacrifice. as you please* If so be that my youthe may deserve, And that my might be worthy for to serve Thy godhead, that I may be one of thine, Then pray I thee to *rue upon my pine*, *pity my anguish* For thilke* pain, and thilke hote fire, *that In which thou whilom burned’st for desire Whenne that thou usedest* the beauty *enjoyed Of faire young Venus, fresh and free, And haddest her in armes at thy will: And though thee ones on a time misfill*, *were unlucky When Vulcanus had caught thee in his las*, *net <69> And found thee ligging* by his wife, alas! *lying For thilke sorrow that was in thine heart, Have ruth* as well upon my paine’s smart. *pity I am young and unconning*, as thou know’st, *ignorant, simple And, as I trow*, with love offended most *believe That e’er was any living creature: For she, that doth* me all this woe endure, *causes Ne recketh ne’er whether I sink or fleet* *swim And well I wot, ere she me mercy hete*, *promise, vouchsafe I must with strengthe win her in the place: And well I wot, withoute help or grace Of thee, ne may my strengthe not avail: Then help me, lord, to-morr’w in my bataille, For thilke fire that whilom burned thee, As well as this fire that now burneth me; And do* that I to-morr’w may have victory. *cause Mine be the travail, all thine be the glory. Thy sovereign temple will I most honour Of any place, and alway most labour In thy pleasance and in thy craftes strong. And in thy temple I will my banner hong*, *hang And all the armes of my company, And evermore, until that day I die, Eternal fire I will before thee find And eke to this my vow I will me bind: My beard, my hair that hangeth long adown, That never yet hath felt offension* *indignity Of razor nor of shears, I will thee give, And be thy true servant while I live. Now, lord, have ruth upon my sorrows sore, Give me the victory, I ask no more.”