Classic Poem

This Palamon gan knytte his browes tweye.
" It nere," quod he, " to thee no greet honour
For to be fals, ne for to be traitour
To me, that am thy cosyn and thy brother
Ysworn ful depe, and ech of us til oother,
That nevere, for to dyen in the peyne,
Til that the deeth departe shal us tweyne,
Neither of us in love to hyndre oother,
Ne in noon oother cas, my leeve brother;
But that thou sholdest trewely forthren me
In every cas, as I shal forthren thee, —
This was thyn ooth, and myn also, certeyn;
I woot right wel, thou darst it nat withseyn."

This Arcite ful proudly spak ageyn:
" Thow shalt," quod he, " be rather fals than I . . .
I pose that thow lovedest hire biforn;
Wostow nat wel the olde clerkes sawe,
That " who shal yeve a lovere any lawe? "
Love is a gretter lawe, by my pan,
Than may be yeve to any erthely man;
And therfore positif lawe and swich decree
Is broken al day for love in ech degree.
A man moot nedes love, maugree his heed.
He may not fleen it, thogh he sholde be deed,
Al be she mayde, or wydwe, or elles wyf."