So that he knew non other red, Bot forto wayten upon alle,[545] Til he may se the chance falle That he hire love myhte grieve, Which he himself mai noght achieve. 120 This Galathee, seith the Poete, Above alle othre was unmete Of beaute, that men thanne knewe,[547] And hadde a lusti love and trewe, A Bacheler in his degree, Riht such an other as was sche, On whom sche hath hire herte set, So that it myhte noght be let For yifte ne for no beheste,[548] That sche ne was al at his heste. 130 This yonge knyht Acis was hote, Which hire ayeinward als so hote Al only loveth and nomo. Hierof was Poliphemus wo [Sidenote: =P. i. 164=] Thurgh pure Envie, and evere aspide, And waiteth upon every side,[549] Whan he togedre myhte se This yonge Acis with Galathe. 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[550] Of pure Envie: and as a fyre[551] 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;[552] 160 And as it were a wilde beste, The whom no reson mihte areste,[553] He ran Ethna the hell aboute, Wher nevere yit the fyr was oute, [Sidenote: =P. i. 165=] 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[554] 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[555] 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