CII.
In Constantine’s imperial city, burned
With a fierce fever, he had left the fair;
And hoped to find her, to that place returned,
Lovelier than ever; and enjoy her there.
But she to Antioch (as the warrior learned)
Had with another leman made repair;
Thinking, while such fresh youth was yet her own,
’Twere not a thing to brook—to sleep alone.
CIII.
Sir Gryphon, from the time he heard the news
Had evermore bemoaned him, day or night:
Whatever pleasure other wight pursues
Seems but the more to vex his troubled sprite.
Let each reflect, who to his mischief woos,
How keenly tempered are Love’s darts of might.
And) heavier than all ills, the torment fell,
In that he was ashamed his grief to tell.
CIV.
This; for that Aquilant had oft before
Reproved him for the passion which he nursed,
And sought to banish her from his heart’s core;
—Her, who of all bad women is the worst,
He still had censured, in his wiser lore.
If by his brother Aquilant accurst,
Her Gryphon, in his partial love, excuses,
For mostly self-conceit our sense abuses.
