These be they that go into Paradise, with them have I naught to make.  But into Hell would I fain go; for into Hell fare the goodly clerks, and goodly knights that fall in tourneys and great wars, and stout men at arms, and all men noble.  With these would I liefly go.  And thither pass the sweet ladies and courteous that have two lovers, or three, and their lords also thereto.  Thither goes the gold, and the silver, and cloth of vair, and cloth of gris, and harpers, and makers, and the prince of this world.  With these I would gladly go, let me but have with me, Nicolete, my sweetest lady.”

“Certes,” quoth the Captain, “in vain wilt thou speak thereof, for never shalt thou see her; and if thou hadst word with her, and thy father knew it, he would let burn in a fire both her and me, and thyself might well be sore adread.”

“That is even what irketh me,” quoth Aucassin.  So he went from the Captain sorrowing.

Here singeth one: 

   Aucassin did so depart
   Much in dole and heavy at heart
   For his love so bright and dear,
   None might bring him any cheer,
   None might give good words to hear,
   To the palace doth he fare
   Climbeth up the palace-stair,
   Passeth to a chamber there,
   Thus great sorrow doth he bear,
   For his lady and love so fair.

   “Nicolete how fair art thou,
   Sweet thy foot-fall, sweet thine eyes,
   Sweet the mirth of thy replies,
   Sweet thy laughter, sweet thy face,
   Sweet thy lips and sweet thy brow,
   And the touch of thine embrace,
   All for thee I sorrow now,
   Captive in an evil place,
   Whence I ne’er may go my ways
   Sister, sweet friend!”

So say they, speak they, tell they the Tale: 

While Aucassin was in the chamber sorrowing for Nicolete his love, even then the Count Bougars de Valence, that had his war to wage, forgat it no whit, but had called up his horsemen and his footmen, so made he for the castle to storm it.  And the cry of battle arose, and the din, and knights and men at arms busked them, and ran to walls and gates to hold the keep.  And the towns-folk mounted to the battlements, and cast down bolts and pikes.  Then while the assault was great, and even at its height, the Count Garin de Biaucaire came into the chamber where Aucassin was making lament, sorrowing for Nicolete, his sweet lady that he loved so well.

“Ha! son,” quoth he, “how caitiff art thou, and cowardly, that canst see men assail thy goodliest castle and strongest.  Know thou that if thou lose it, thou losest all.  Son, go to, take arms, and mount thy horse, and defend thy land, and help thy men, and fare into the stour.  Thou needst not smite nor be smitten.  If they do but see thee among them, better will they guard their substance, and their lives, and thy land and mine.  And thou art so great, and hardy of thy hands, that well mightst thou do this thing, and to do it is thy devoir.”