"Nay of these I have no care,
Nicolete is debonaire,
Her body sweet and the face of her
Take my heart as in a snare,
Loyal love is but her share
That is so sweet."

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

When the Count Garin de Biaucaire knew that he would avail not to
withdraw Aucassin his son from the love of Nicolete, he went to the
Captain of the city, who was his man, and spake to him, saying:

"Sir Count; away with Nicolete thy daughter in God; cursed be the land
whence she was brought into this country, for by reason of her do I lose
Aucassin, that will neither be dubbed knight, nor do aught of the things
that fall to him to be done. And wit ye well," he said, "that if I might
have her at my will, I would burn her in a fire, and yourself might well
be sore adread."

"Sir," said the Captain, "this is grievous to me that he comes and goes
and hath speech with her. I had bought the maiden at mine own charges,
and nourished her, and baptized, and made her my daughter in God. Yea, I
would have given her to a young man that should win her bread honourably.
With this had Aucassin thy son naught to make or mend. But, sith it is
thy will and thy pleasure, I will send her into that land and that
country where never will he see her with his eyes."

"Have a heed to thyself," said the Count Garin, "thence might great evil
come on thee."