Have reuthe as wel upon my peines smerte. I am yonge and unkonning as thou wost, And, as I trow, with love offended most, That ever was ony lives creature; For she that doth me all this wo endure Ne recceth never whether I sinke or flete; And wel I wote, or she me mercy hete, I moste with strengthe win hire in the place: And wel I wote, withouten helpe or grace Of thee, ne may my strengthe not availle: Than help me, Lord, to-morwe in my bataille, For thilke fire that whilom brenned thee, As wel as that this fire now brenneth me, And do, that I to-morwe may han victorie; Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie. Thy soveraine temple wol I most honouren Of ony place, and alway most labouren In thy plesance, and in thy craftes strong, And in thy temple I wol my baner hong, And all the armes of my compagnie, And evermore, until that day I die, Eterne fire I wol beforne thee find; And eke to this avow I wol me bind. My berd, my here, that hangeth long adoun, That never yet felt non offensioun, Of rasour ne of shere, I wol thee yeve, And ben thy trewe servant while I live. Now, Lord, have reuth upon my sorwes sore, Yeve me the victorie, I axe thee no more. The praier stint of Arcita the stronge, The ringes on the temple dore that honge, And eke the dores, clattereden ful fast, Of which Arcita somwhat him agast. The fires brent upon the auter bright, That it gan all the temple for to light, A swete smel anon the ground up yaf, And Arcita anon his hond up haf, And more enscense into the fire he cast, With other rites mo; and, at the last, The statue of Mars began his hauberke ring, And with that soun he herd a murmuring Ful low and dim, that said thus, Victory; For which he yaf to Mars honour and glorie. And thus with joye, and hope wel to fare, Arcite anon unto his inne is fare, As fayn as foul is of the brighte sonne; And right anon swiche strif ther is begonne, For thilke granting in the heven above, Betwixen Venus, the goddesse of Love, And Mars, the sterne god armipotent, That Jupiter was besy it to stent, Til that the pale Saturnus the Colde, That knew so many of aventures olde, Fond in his olde experience and art, That he ful sone hath plesed every part. As sooth is sayd, elde hath gret avantage; In elde is both wisdom and usage: Men may the old out-renne, but not out-rede. Saturne anon, to stenten strif and drede, Albeit that it is again his kind, Of all this strif he gan a remedy find. My dere doughter Venus, quod Saturne, My cours, that hath so wide for to turne, Hath more power than wot any man. Min is the drenching in the see so wan, Min is the prison in the derke cote, Min is the strangel and hanging by the throte, The murmure, and the cherles rebelling,