And therfore positif lawe, and swiche decree Is broken all day for love in eche degree. A man moste nedes love, maugre his hed; He may nat fleen it though he shuld be ded, All be she maid, or widewe, or elles wif. And eke it is not likely all thy lif To stonden in hire grace, no more shal I; For well thou wost thyselven veraily, That thou and I be damned to prison Perpetuel, us gaineth no raunson. We strive, as did the houndes for the bone, They fought all day, and yet hir part was none: Ther came a kyte, while that they were so wrothe, And bare away the bone betwix hem bothe: And, therfore, at kinges court, my brother, Eche man for himself, ther is non other. Love if thee lust, for I love, and ay shal; And sothly, leve brother, this is al. Here in this prison mosten we endure, And everich of us take his aventure. Great was the strif, and long, betwix hem twey, If that I hadde leiser for to sey; But to the effect. It happed on a day, (To tell it you as shortly as I may,) A worthy duk that highte Perithous, That felaw was to this duk Theseus Sin thilke day that they were children lite, Was come to Athenes, his felaw to visite, And for to play, as he was wont to do, For in this world he loved no man so; And he loved him as tenderly again: So well they loved, as old bokes sain, That whan that on was ded, sothly to tell, His felaw wente and sought him doun in hell; But of that storie list me not to write. Duk Perithous loved wel Arcite, And had him knowe at Thebes yere by yere, And finally, at request and praiere Of Perithous, withouten any raunson, Duk Theseus let him out of prison, Frely to gon wher that him list over all, In swiche a gise as I you tellen shall. This was the forword, plainly for to endite, Betwixen Theseus and him Arcite: That if so were, that Arcite were yfound Ever in his lif, by day or night, o stound In any countree of this Theseus, And he were caught, it was accorded thus, That with a swerd he shulde lese his hed; Ther was non other remedie, ne rede. But taketh his leve, and homeward he him speede: Let him beware, his nekke lieth to wedde. How great a sorwe suffereth now Arcite? The deth he feleth thurgh his herte smite: He wepeth, waileth, crieth pitously, To sleen himself he waiteth prively. He said, Alas the day that I was borne! Now is my prison werse than beforne; Now is me shape eternally to dwelle Not only in purgatorie, but in helle. Alas! that ever I knew Perithous, For elles had I dwelt with Theseus, Yfetered in his prison evermo, Than had I ben in blisse, and not in wo: Only the sight of hire, whom that I serve, Though that I never hire grace may deserve, Wold have sufficed right ynough for me. O dere cosin Palamon, quod he,