hear

     For his love that is so dear,

     Then thou spakest, shrill and clear,

     “Gentle knight withouten fear

     Little good befalleth thee,

     Little help of sigh or tear,

     Ne’er shalt thou have joy of me.

     Never shalt thou win me; still

     Am I held in evil will

     Of thy father and thy kin,

     Therefore must I cross the sea,

     And another land must win.”

     Then she cut her curls of gold,

     Cast them in the dungeon hold,

     Aucassin doth clasp them there,

     Kissed the curls that were so fair,

     Them doth in his bosom bear,

     Then he wept, even as of old,

     All for his love!

   Then say they, speak they, tell they the Tale:

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