ake this covenant with me, that if I took arms and went out
to the fighting, and if God brought me back safe and sound, you would let
me see Nicolette my sweet friend for such time as I might speak two words
to her or three, and once only kiss her? This covenant you made with me,
and this covenant I will have you keep with me!"

"What, I?" said his father. "Ne'er help me Heaven if I keep this
covenant with you! and were she here now I would burn her in a fire; and
for yourself too you might fear the worst."

"Is this the whole conclusion?" said Aucassin.

"Aye," said his father, "so help me Heaven!"

"I' faith," said Aucassin, "then I am very sorry that a man of your age
should be a liar.--Count of Valence, you are my prisoner."

"Sir, it is even so," said the Count.

"Give me your hand!" said Aucassin.

"Sir, right willingly."

He put his hand in his.

"This you pledge me," said Aucassin, "that never in all your days to be
shall it be in your power to do shame to my father or to do hurt to him
or his, and you not do it!"

"Sir," said he, "for God's sake, mock me not, but set me a ransom! You
can ask me nothing, gold or silver, war-horses or palfreys, sables or
ermines, hounds or hawks, that I will not give you."

"How now?" said Aucassin. "Wot you not that you are my prisoner?"

"Aye, sir," said the Count Bulgarius.

"Ne'er help me Heaven," said Aucassin, "save you give me this pledge, if
I send not your head a-flying!"

"I' God's name," said he, "I give you what pledge you please!"

He gave the pledge; and Aucassin set him on a horse, and himself mounted
another, and conducted him till he was in safety.

_Here they sing_.

When Count Warren saw indeed
That he never will succeed
Aucassin his son to get
From bright-favoured Nicolette,
In a pris'n he had him set,
In a dungeon hid from day,
Builded all of marble grey.
Now when Aucassin came there
Sad he was--so was he ne'er.
Loud lamenting he fell on,
Thus as you shall hear anon.

"Flow'r o' the lily, Nicolette!
Bright-faced sweetheart, Nicolette!
Sweet as cluster of the vine,
Sweet as meed in maselyn.
This I saw some yesterday,
How a pilgrim on his way--
Limousin his land was--lay
Fevered on a bed within.
Grievous had his sickness been,
Great the fever he was in.
By his bedside Nicolette
Passing, lifted skirts and let--
'Neath the pretty ermine frock,
'Neath the snowy linen smock--
Just a dainty ankle show.
Lo, the sick was healed