It was aretted him no villanie; Ther may no man clepen it cowardie. For which anon Duk Theseus let crie, To stenten alle rancour and envie, The gree as wel of o side as of other, And eyther side ylike, as others brother; And yave hem giftes after hir degree, And helde a feste fully dayes three; And conveyed the kinges worthily Out of his toun a journee largely; And home went every man the righte way; Ther n'as no more but farewel, have good day. Of this bataille I wol no more endite, But speke of Palamon and of Arcite. Swelleth the brest of Arcite, and the sore Encreseth at his herte more and more. The clotered blood for any leche-craft Corrumpeth, and is in his bouke ylaft, That neyther vine-blood ne ventousing, Ne drinke of herbes, may ben his helping. The vertue expulsif, or animal, Forthilke vertue cleped natural, Ne may the venime voiden ne expell; The pipes of his longes gan to swell, And every lacerte in his brest adoun Is shent with venime and corruptioun. Him gaineth neyther for to get his lif Vomit upward ne dounward laxatif: All is to brosten thilke region; Nature hath now no domination: And certainly ther nature wol not werche. Farewel physike; go bere the man to cherche. This is all and som, that Arcite moste die; For which he sendeth after Emelie, And Palamon, that was his cosin dere; Than sayd he thus, as ye shuln after here: Nought may the woful spirit in myn herte Declare o point of all my sorwes smerte To you, my lady, that I love most; But I bequethe the service of my gost To you aboven every creature, Sin that my lif ne may no lenger dure. Alas! the wo, alas! the peines strong, That I for you have suffered, and so long; Alas! the deth; alas! mine Emelie; Alas! departing of our compagnie; Alas! min hertes quene; alas! my wif; Min hertes ladie! ender of my lif! What is this world? what axen men to have? Now with his love, now in his colde grave Alone withouten any compagnie. Farewel, my swete! farewel, min Emelie! And softe take me in your armes twey, For love of God, and herkeneth what I sey. I have here with my cosin Palamon Had strif and rancour many a day agon For love of you, and for my jalousie; And Jupiter so wis my soule gie, To speken of a servant properly, With alle circumstances trewely, That is to sayn, trouth, honour, and knighthede, Wisdom, humblesse, estat, and high kinrede, Freedom, and all that longeth to that art, So Jupiter have of my soule part, As in this world right now ne know I non So worthy to be loved as Palamon, That serveth you, and wol don all his lif; And if that ever ye shal ben a wif, Foryete not Palamon, the gentil man. And with that word his speche faille began; For from his feet up to his brest wos come