“Father,” said Aucassin, “what is this thou sayest now?  God grant me never aught of my desire, if I be dubbed knight, or mount steed, or go into the stour where knights do smite and are smitten, if thou givest me not Nicolete, my sweet lady, whom I love so well.”

“Son,” quoth his father, “this may never be:  rather would I be quite disinherited and lose all that is mine, than that thou shouldst have her to thy wife, or to love par amours.”

So he turned him about.  But when Aucassin saw him going he called to him again, saying,

“Father, go to now, I will make with thee fair covenant.”

“What covenant, fair son?”

“I will take up arms, and go into the stour, on this covenant, that, if God bring me back sound and safe, thou wilt let me see Nicolete my sweet lady, even so long that I may have of her two words or three, and one kiss.”

“That will I grant,” said his father.

At this was Aucassin glad.

Here one singeth: 

   Of the kiss heard Aucassin
   That returning he shall win. 
   None so glad would he have been
   Of a myriad marks of gold
   Of a hundred thousand told. 
   Called for raiment brave of steel,
   Then they clad him, head to heel,
   Twyfold hauberk doth he don,
   Firmly braced the helmet on. 
   Girt the sword with hilt of gold,
   Horse doth mount, and lance doth wield,
   Looks to stirrups and to shield,
   Wondrous brave he rode to field. 
   Dreaming of his lady dear
   Setteth spurs to the destrere,
   Rideth forward without fear,
   Through the gate and forth away
      To the fray.

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

Aucassin was armed and mounted as ye have heard tell.  God! how goodly sat the shield on his shoulder, the helm on his head, and the baldric on his left haunch!  And the damoiseau was tall, fair, featly fashioned, and hardy of his hands, and the horse whereon he rode swift and keen, and straight had he spurred him forth of the gate.  Now believe ye not that his mind was on kine, nor cattle of the booty, nor thought he how he might strike a knight, nor be stricken again:  nor no such thing.  Nay, no memory had Aucassin of aught of these; rather he so dreamed of Nicolete, his sweet lady, that he dropped his reins, forgetting all there was to do, and his horse that had felt the spur, bore him into the press and hurled among the foe, and they laid hands on him all about, and took him captive, and seized away his spear and shield, and straightway they led him off a prisoner, and were even now discoursing of what death he should die.

And when Aucassin heard them,

“Ha!  God,” said he, “sweet Saviour.  Be these my deadly enemies that have taken me, and will soon cut off my head?  And once my head is off, no more shall I speak with Nicolete, my sweet lady, that I love so well.  Natheless have I here a good sword, and sit a good horse unwearied.  If now I keep not my head for her sake, God help her never, if she love me more!”