'TIS OF AUCASSIN AND OF NICOLETTE
Who will deign to hear the song
Solace of a captive's wrong,
Telling how two children met,
Aucassin and Nicolette;
How by grievous pains distraught,
Noble deeds the varlet wrought
For his love, and her bright face!
Sweet my rhyme, and full of grace,
Fair my tale, and debonair.
He who lists--though full of care,
Sore astonied, much amazed,
All cast down, by men mispraised,
Sick in body, sick in soul,
Hearing shall be glad and whole,
So sweet the tale.
Now they say and tell and relate:
How the Count Bougars of Valence made war on Count Garin of Beaucaire,
war so great, so wonderful, and so mortal, that never dawned the day
but that he was at the gates and walls and barriers of the town, with a
hundred knights and ten thousand men-at-arms, on foot and on horse. So
he burned the Count's land, and spoiled his heritage, and dealt death
to his men. The Count Garin of Beaucaire was full of years, and frail;
he had long outworn his day. He had no heir, neither son nor daughter,
save one only varlet, and he was such as I will tell you. Aucassin was
the name of the lad. Fair he was, and pleasant to look upon, tall and
shapely of body in every whit of him. His hair was golden, and curled
in little rings about his head; he had grey and dancing eyes, a clear,
oval face, a nose high and comely, and he was so gracious in all good
graces that nought in him was found to blame, but good alone. But Love,
that high prince, so utterly had cast him down, that he cared not to
become knight, neither to bear arms, nor to tilt at tourneys, nor yet
to do aught that it became his name to do.