Alas, the whyle! for hit was routhe and sinne,
That she upon his sorowes wolde rewe,
105
But no-thing thenketh the fals as doth the trewe.
Hir fredom fond Arcite in swich manere,
That al was his that she hath, moche or lyte,
Ne to no creature made she chere
Ferther than that hit lyked to Arcite;
110
Ther was no lak with which he mighte hir wyte,