whom he let escape, disdaining to kill him when left
alone at his mercy; besides, he wished him to tell the duke of the loss
and injury he had sustained. But before this fellow left Cliges, he
begged him to tell him his name, which later he repeated to the duke,
thus rousing his bitter ire.

(Vv. 3817-3864.) Now bad luck had fallen to the duke, who was in great
distress and grief. And Cliges takes back Fenice, whose love torments
and troubles him. If he does not confess to her now, love will long be
his enemy, and hers too, if she holds her peace and speaks not the word
which will bring him joy; for now each can tell the other privily the
thoughts that lie within the heart. But they so fear to be refused that
they dare not reveal their hearts. For his part, he fears lest she will
not accept his love, whereas she, too, would have spoken out had she
not feared to be rejected. In spite of this, the eyes of each reveal the
hidden thought, if only they had heeded this evidence. They converse
by glance of eye, but their tongues are so cowardly that they dare not
speak in any wise of the love which possesses them. No wonder if she
hesitates to begin, for a maid must be a simple and shrinking thing; but
he--why does he wait and hold back who was so bold for her just now, but
now in her presence is cowardly? God! whence comes this fear, that he
should shrink from a lonely girl, feeble and timid, simple and mild? It
is as if I should see the dog flee before the hare, and the fish chase
the beaver, the lamb the wolf, and the dove the eagle. In the same
fashion the labourer would forsake his pick with which he strives to
earn a livelihood, and the falcon would flee from the duck, and the
gerfalcon from the heron, and the pike from the minnow, and the stag
would chase the lion, and everything would be reversed. Now I feel
within me the desire to give some reason why it should happen to true
lovers that they lose their sense and boldness to say what they have in
mind when they have leisure and place and time.

(Vv. 3865-3914.) Ye who are interested in the art of Love, who do
faithfully maintain the customs and usage of his court, who never failed
to obey his law, whatever the result might be, tell me if there is
anything that pleases because of love without causing us to tremble
and grow pale. If any one oppose me in this, I can at once refute his
argument; for whoever does not grow pale and tremble, whoever does not
lose his sense