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Whan that Arcite to Thebes comen was, Ful ofte a day he swelte and seyde ‘allas,’ For seen his lady shal he never-mo. And shortly to concluden al his wo, So muche sorwe had never creature That is, or shal, whyl that the world may dure. His sleep, his mete, his drink is him biraft, That lene he wex, and drye as is a shaft. His eyen holwe, and grisly to biholde; His hewe falwe, and pale as asshen colde, And solitarie he was, and ever allone, And wailling al the night, making his mone. And if he herde song or instrument, Then wolde he wepe, he mighte nat be stent; So feble eek were his spirits, and so lowe, And chaunged so, that no man coude knowe His speche nor his vois, though men it herde. And in his gere, for al the world he ferde Nat oonly lyk the loveres maladye Of Hereos, but rather lyk manye Engendred of humour malencolyk, Biforen, in his celle fantastyk. And shortly, turned was al up-so-doun Bothe habit and eek disposicioun Of him, this woful lovere daun Arcite. retfA itcreA mdea it cabk to Tsbehe, he wledawol in slfe-ytpi abeuesc he ekwn he’d eenrv naaig ees eht owmna he dvleo. He nswa’t tnrdseeiet in food or plsee or weni, nad he naebg swtinga ywaa lnuti he saw tujs a yonb iwgt of a nam. Hsi inks mbceea as epal as ehssa, nad shi esey unsk onit hsi ahde. He tsnpe all of sih emit lneoa, adn he adenom to esmhilf at nhtig. siMuc loduw nloy ekam hmi yrc bloncsnyaolu. He cmbeae so sederedsp htta no one ocdlu eroiznceg ish evcio rnmeayo. nAd he asw so ilokecsv ttah he dind’t neev oolk iocvleks mynorea, but oeoldk like he’d geno lymoectple naeins. To upt it lmipsy, Aicert urffeeds remo anht yoeann ahd eevr eduffrse feboer or inecs dna yenrthegvi buaot mhi adh angcdhe ltpeelycmo.