Here they speak and tell the story.
When the king of Carthage heard Nicolette speak thus, he threw his arms round her neck.
“Fair sweet friend,” said he, “tell me who you are! Be not afraid of me!”
“Sir,” said she, “I am daughter to the king of Carthage, and was carried captive as a little child, full fifteen years ago.”
When they heard her speak thus, they knew well that she said truly; and they made very great rejoicing over her, and brought her to the palace with great honour, as a king’s daughter. A lord they wished to give her, a king of Paynim; but she had no care to wed. And when she had been there full three days or four,
she considered with herself by what device she might go to seek Aucassin. She procured a viol and learned to play on it; till one day they wished to marry her to a king, a rich Paynim. Then she stole away in the night, and came to the seaport, and harboured her at the house of a poor woman on the seashore.
And she took a herb, and smeared her head and face with it, so that she was all black and stained. And she got a coat made, and cloak and shirt and breeches, and attired herself in minstrel guise; and she took her viol, and went to a mariner, and so dealt with him that he took her in his ship. They set their sail, and sailed over the high sea till they arrived at the land of Provence. And Nicolette went forth, and took her viol, and went playing through the country, till she came to the Castle of Beaucaire, where Aucassin was.
At Beaucaire beneath the tower
Aucassin was one fair hour.
Here he sat him on a stair;
Round him his proud barons were;
Saw the flower and green herb spring,
Heard the song-bird sweetly sing;
Of his love he thought anew,
Nicolette the maiden true,
Whom he loved so long a day;
Then to tears and sighs gave way.
Look you, Nicolette below
Draws her viol, draws her bow;
Now she speaks, her tale tells so:
“List to me, proud lords arow,
Those aloft and those alow!
Would it please you hear a word
Of Aucassin, a proud lord,
And of Nicolette the bold?
Long their love did last and hold
Till he sought her in the wold.
Then, from Torelore’s stronghold,
They were haled by heathen horde.
Of Aucassin we’ve no word.
Nicolette the maiden bold
Is at Carthage the stronghold,
Whom her father dear doth hold
Who of yonder land is lord.
Husband they would her award,
Felon king of heathenesse.
Nicolette cares not for this,
For she loves a lording lad,
Aucassin to name he had.
By God and His name she vows
Never lord will she espouse,
If she have not her true love
She’s so fain of.”