ther shall ye hear me tell
how Love torments the two lovers against whom he has taken the
field.

Alexander loves and desires her who is sighing for his love; but
he knows not, and will not know aught of this until he shall have
suffered many an ill and many a grief. For love of her he serves
the queen and the ladies of her chamber; but he does not dare to
speak to or address her who is most in his mind. If she had dared
to maintain against him the right which she thinks is hers in the
matter, willingly would he have told him of it; but she neither
dares nor ought to do so. And the fact that the one sees the
other, and that they dare not speak or act, turns to great
adversity for them; and love grows thereby and burns. But it is
the custom of all lovers that they willingly feed their eyes on
looks if they can do no better, and think that because the source
whence their love buds and grows delights them therefore it must
help their case, whereas it injures them: just as the man who
approaches and comes close to the fire burns himself more than
the man who draws back from it. Their love grows and increases
continually; but the one feels shame before the other; and each
conceals and hides this love so that neither flame nor smoke is
seen from the gleed beneath the ashes. But the heat is none the
less for that; rather the heat lasts longer below the gleed than
above it. Both the lovers are in very great anguish; for in order
that their complaint may not be known or perceived, each must
deceive all men by false pretence; but in the night great is the
plaint which each makes in solitude.

First will I tell you of Alexander: how he complains and laments.
Love brings before his mind the lady for whose sake he feels such
Sorrow; for she has robbed him of his heart, and will not let him
rest in his bed; so much it delights him to recall the beauty and
the mien of her as to whom he dare not hope that ever joy of her
may fall to his lot. "I may hold myself a fool," quoth he. "A
fool? Truly am I a fool, since I do not dare to say what I think;
for quickly would it turn to my bane. I have set my thought on
folly. Then is it not better for me to meditate in silence than
to get myself dubbed a fool? Never shall my desire be known. And
shall I hide the cause of my grief, and not dare to seek help or
succour for my sorrows? He who is conscious of weakness is a fool
if he does not seek that by which he may have health if he can
find