Who would list to the good lay
Gladness of the captive grey?
'Tis how two young lovers met,
Aucassin and Nicolete,
Of the pains the lover bore
And the sorrows he outwore,
For the goodness and the grace,
Of his love, so fair of face.
Sweet the song, the story sweet,
There is no man hearkens it,
No man living 'neath the sun,
So outwearied, so foredone,
Sick and woful, worn and sad,
But is healed, but is glad
'Tis so sweet.
So say they, speak they, tell they the Tale:
How the Count Bougars de Valence made war on Count Garin de Biaucaire,
war so great, and so marvellous, and so mortal that never a day dawned
but alway he was there, by the gates and walls, and barriers of the town
with a hundred knights, and ten thousand men at arms, horsemen and
footmen: so burned he the Count's land, and spoiled his country, and slew
his men. Now the Count Garin de Biaucaire was old and frail, and his
good days were gone over. No heir had he, neither son nor daughter, save
one young man only; such an one as I shall tell you. Aucassin was the
name of the damoiseau: fair was he, goodly, and great, and featly
fashioned of his body, and limbs. His hair was yellow, in little curls,
his eyes blue and laughing, his face beautiful and shapely, his nose high
and well set, and so richly seen was he in all things good, that in him
was none evil at all.
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