Anon. - Andrew Lang
Aucasins s'en est torné
Molt dolans et abosmés:
De s'amie o le vis cler
Nus ne le puet conforter,
Ne nul bon consel doner.
Vers le palais est alés;
Il en monta les degrés,
En une canbre est entrés,
Si comença a plorer
Et grant dol a demener
Et s'amie a regreter.
Nicolete, biax esters,
Biax venir et biax alers,
Biax borders et biax jouers,
Biax baisiers, biax acolers,
Por vos sui si adolés
Et si malement menés
Que je n'en cuit vis aler,
Suer douce amie.
Aucassin did so depart
Much in dole and heavy at heart
For his love so bright and dear,
None might bring him any cheer,
None might give good words to hear,
To the palace doth he fare
Climbeth up the palace-stair,
Passeth to a chamber there,
Thus great sorrow doth he bear,
For his lady and love so fair.
"Nicolete how fair art thou,
Sweet thy foot-fall, sweet thine eyes,
Sweet the mirth of thy replies,
Sweet thy laughter, sweet thy face,
Sweet thy lips and sweet thy brow,
And the touch of thine embrace,
All for thee I sorrow now,
Captive in an evil place,
Whence I ne'er may go my ways
Sister, sweet friend!"

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