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This Phebus gan aweyward for to wryen, |
| And thoughte his sorweful herte brast atwo, |
| His bowe he bente and sette ther inne a flo, |
| 265 | And in his ire his wyf thanne hath he slayn. |
| This is th'effect, ther is namoore to sayn, |
| For sorwe of which he brak his mynstralcie, |
| Bothe harpe, and lute, and gyterne, and sautrie, |
| And eek he brak hise arwes and his bowe, |
| 270 | And after that thus spak he to the crowe. |
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Then Phoebus turned away in sad surprise; |
| He thought his wretched heart would break for woe; |
| His bow he bent and set there an arrow, |
| 265 | And in his angry mood his wife did slay. |
| This the result; there is no more to say; |
| For grief of which he ceased his minstrelsy, |
| Broke harp and lute, gittern and psaltery; |
| And, too, he broke his arrows and his bow. |
| 270 | And after that he spoke thus to the crow. |
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