Yond in the gardin, roming to and fro, Is cause of all my crying and wo: I n'ot whe'r she be woman or goddesse, But Venus is it, sothly, as I gesse. And therwithall on knees adoun he fill, And sayde, Venus, if it be your will You in this gardin thus to transfigure, Beforn me sorweful wretched creature, Out of this prison helpe that we may scape, And if so be our destine be shape By eterne word, to dien in prison, Of our lignage have som compassion, That is so low ybrought by tyrannie. And with that word Arcita gan espie Wher as this lady romed to and fro, And with that sight hire beaute hurt him so, That if that Palamon was wounded sore, Arcite is hurt as moche as he, or more: And with a sigh he sayde pitously, The fresshe bentee sleth me sodenly, Of hire that rometh in yonder place. And but I have hire mercie and hire grace, That I may seen hire at the leste way, I n'am but ded, there n'is no more to say. This Palamon, whan he these wordes herd, Dispitously he loked, and answerd, Whether sayest thou this in ernest or in play? Nay, quod Arcite, in ernest be my fay; God helpe me so, me lust full yvel play. This Palamon gan knit his browes twey: It were, quod he, to thee no gret honour For to be false, ne for to be traytour To me, that am thy cosin and thy brother: Ysworne ful depe, and eche of us to other, That neuer for to dien in the peine, Till that the deth departen shal us tweine, Neyther of us in love to hindre other, Ne in non other cas, my leve brother; But that thou shuldest trewely forther me In evry cas, as I shuld forther thee. This was thin oth, and min also certain, I wot it wel thou darst it not withsain: Thus art thou of my conseil out of doute, And now thou woldest falsly ben aboute To love my lady, whom I love and serve, And ever shal, til that min herte sterve. Now certes, false Arcite, thou shalt not so; I loved hire firste, and tolde thee my wo, As to my conseil, and to my brother sworne To forther me, as I have tolde beforne, For which thou art ybounden as a knight To helpen me, if it lie in thy might; Or elles art thou false, I dare wel sain. This Arcita full proudly spake again: Thou shalt, quod he, be rather false than I, And thou art false, I tell thee utterly. For _par amour_ I loved hire first, or thou. What wolt thou sayn, thou wistest nat right now Whether she were a woman or a goddesse: Thin is affection of holinesse, And min is love as to a creature, For which I tolde thee min aventure, As to my cosin, and my brother sworne. I pose, that thou lovedst hire beforne: Wost thou not wel the olde clerkes sawe, That who shall give a lover any lawe? Love is a greter lawe, by my pan, Than may be yeven of any erthly man;