The chambre, ther as lay this fresshe quene, 85 Depeynted was with whyte boles grete, And by the light she knew, that shoon so shene, That Phebus cam to brenne hem with his hete; This sely Venus, dreynt in teres wete, Enbraceth Mars, and seyde, "alas! I dye! 90 The torch is come, that al this world wol wrye."
Up sterte Mars, him liste not to slepe, Whan he his lady herde so compleyne; But, for his nature was not for to wepe, In stede of teres, fro his eyen tweyne 95 The fyry sparkes brosten out for peyne; And hente his hauberk, that lay him besyde; Flee wolde he not, ne mighte him-selven hyde.
He throweth on his helm of huge wighte, And girt him with his swerde; and in his honde 100 His mighty spere, as he was wont to fighte, He shaketh so that almost it to-wonde; Ful hevy he was to walken over londe; He may not holde with Venus companye, But bad hir fleen, lest Phebus hir espye. 105
O woful Mars! alas! what mayst thou seyn, That in the paleys of thy disturbaunce Art left behinde, in peril to be sleyn? And yet ther-to is double thy penaunce, For she, that hath thyn herte in governaunce, 110 Is passed halfe the stremes of thyn yën; That thou nere swift, wel mayst thou wepe and cryen.
Now fleeth Venus un-to Cylenius tour, With voide cours, for fere of Phebus light. Alas! and ther ne hath she no socour, 115 For she ne fond ne saw no maner wight; And eek as ther she had but litil might; Wher-for, hir-selven for to hyde and save, Within the gate she fledde into a cave.
Derk was this cave, and smoking as the helle, 120 Not but two pas within the gate hit stood; A naturel day in derk I lete hir dwelle. Now wol I speke of Mars, furious and wood; For sorow he wolde have seen his herte blood; Sith that he mighte hir don no companye, 125 He ne roghte not a myte for to dye.
So feble he wex, for hete and for his wo, That nigh he swelt, he mighte unnethe endure; He passeth but oo steyre in dayes two, But ner the les, for al his hevy armure, 130 He foloweth hir that is his lyves cure; For whos departing he took gretter yre Thanne for al his brenning in the fyre.
After he walketh softely a pas, Compleyning, that hit pite was to here. 135 He seyde, "O lady bright, Venus! alas! That ever so wyde a compas is my spere! Alas! whan shal I mete yow, herte dere, This twelfte day of April I endure, Through Ielous Phebus, this misaventure." 140