It happened that on the 6th of May they were all gathered in a
garden. Every leaf and flower shone in the sunlight, washed freshly
by gentle showers. It seemed a veritable paradise for its beauty and
sweet-scented flowers. No one, unless sickness or great sorrow
weighed him down, could be sad on such a day. Dorigen alone did not
join in the merrymaking. Among the others danced a Squire Aurelius,
as gay and fresh as is the month of May; nor were his virtue and
wealth less than his beauty and the good estimation in which he was
held. Yet, unhappily, for these two years he had loved Dorigen with
all his might, but had not dared to tell her of his love. To allay
his grief he had written verses in which he lamented his lady's hard
heart and his own sad plight in that he dared not speak but must die,
even as Echo of her love for Narcissus.

On the day of which I speak it chanced that they two fell talking,
and when Aurelius saw his time, "Madam," said he, "'tis in your power
to save me or to slay me, for I love you better than any woman alive.
If you will not love me then I must die, for without you life is all
pain and woe." When she heard this she answered, "Is this what you
meant, Aurelius, by those sad looks of yours? Never before could I
guess. But your sighs are all in vain. I love my husband, and never
shall I love another man in my life." So much she said, and then in
jest she added, "Yet on my honour, there is one way for you to win my
love. Go, sink all the black rocks that fringe this coast deep
beneath the sea. If you do this, then I may be your love." At this
cruel answer Aurelius went home in deep grief and cast him down and
wept till the glorious sun had set in gloom, and hid his face beneath
the dusky west--(for, gentles, this is how the poets say that night
has fallen!).