eless and showing their
sores, and who die of hunger and want and cold and misery. Such are they
who go to Paradise; and what have I to do with them? Hell is the place
for me. For to Hell go the fine churchmen, and the fine knights, killed
in the tourney or in some grand war, the brave soldiers and the gallant
gentlemen. With them will I go. There go also the fair gracious ladies
who have lovers two or three beside their lord. There go the gold and
the silver, the sables and ermines. There go the harpers and the
minstrels and the kings of the earth. With them will I go, so I have
Nicolette my most sweet friend with me."

"I' faith," said the Viscount, "'tis but vain to speak of it; you will
see her no more. Aye, were you to get speech of her and it came to your
father's ears, he would burn both her and me in a fire; and for yourself
too you might fear the worst."

"This is sore news to me," said Aucassin. And he departed from the
Viscount, sorrowful.

_Here they sing_.

Aucassin has turned once more
In wanhope and sorrow sore
For his love-friend bright of face.
None can help his evil case,
None a word of counsel say.
To the palace went his way;
Step by step he climbed the stair;
Entered in a chamber there.
Then he 'gan to weep alone,
And most dismally to groan,
And his lady to bemoan.

"Nicolette, ah, gracious air!
Coming, going, ever fair!
In thy talk and in thy toying,
In thy jest and in thy joying,
In thy kissing, in thy coying.
I am sore distressed for thee.
Such a woe has come on me
That I trow not to win free,
Sweet sister friend!"

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

At the same time that Aucassin was in the chamber, bemoaning Nicolette
his friend, Bulgarius Count of Valence, who had his war to maintain,
forgat it not; but he had summoned his men, foot and horse, and advanced
to assault the castle. And the cry went up and the noise; and the
knights and men-at-arms girt on their armour, and hastened to the gates
and walls to defend the castle; while the townsfolk mounted the parapets
and hurled bolts and sharpened stakes. At the time when the assault was
fast and furious, Warren Count of Beaucaire came into the chamber where
Aucassin was weeping and bemoaning Nicolette his most sweet friend whom
he loved so well.

"Ah, my son!" said he. "Wretch that thou art and unhappy, to see assault
made on this thy castle--none better nor more strong! Know, moreover,
that if thou los