"Allas," quod he, "that I ne had heer a knave
That koude clymbe! Allas, Allas," quod he,
For I am blynd!" "Ye, sire, no fors," quod she;
But wolde ye vouche sauf, for Goddes sake,
1130 The pyrie inwith youre armes for to take,
For wel I woot that ye mystruste me,
Thanne sholde I clymbe wel ynogh," quod she,
"So I my foot myghte sette ypon youre bak."
       "Certes," quod he, "theron shal be no lak,
1135 Mighte I yow helpen with myn herte blood."
He stoupeth doun, and on his bak she stood,
And caughte hire by a twiste, and up she gooth -
Ladyes, I prey yow that ye be nat wrooth;
I kan nat glose, I am a rude man -
1140 And sodeynly anon this Damyan
Gan pullen up the smok, and in he throng.


       "Alas!" said he, "that I had here a knave
That could climb up, alas, alas!" said he,
"That I am blind." "Yea, sir, no odds," said she,
"If you'd but grant me, and for God's dear sake,
1130 That this pear-tree within your arms you'd take
For well I know that you do not trust me,
Then I could climb up well enough," said she,
"So I my foot might set upon your back."
       "Surely," said he, "thereof should be no lack,
1135 Might I so help you with my own heart's blood."
So he stooped down, and on his back she stood,
And gave herself a twist and up went she.
Ladies, I pray you be not wroth with me;
I cannot gloze, I'm an uncultured man.
1140 For of a sudden this said Damian
Pulled up her smock and thrust both deep and long.

       Now lat us turne agayn to Januarie,
That in the gardyn with his faire May
1110 Syngeth ful murier than the papejay,
"Yow love I best, and shal, and oother noon."
So longe aboute the aleyes is he goon,
Til he was come agaynes thilke pyrie
Where as this Damyan sitteth ful myrie
1115 An heigh among the fresshe leves grene.
       This fresshe May, that is so bright and sheene,
Gan for to syke, and seyde, "Allas, my syde!
Now sire," quod she, "for aught that may bityde,
I moste han of the peres that I see,
1120 Or I moot dye, so soore longeth me
To eten of the smale peres grene.
Help, for hir love that is of hevene queene!
I telle yow wel, a womman in my plit
May han to fruyt so greet an appetit
1125 That she may dyen, but she of it have."


       Now let us turn again to January,
Who in the garden with his lovely May
1110 Sang, and that merrier than the popinjay,
"I love you best, and ever shall, I know."
And so about the alleys did he go
Till he had come at last to that pear-tree
Wherein this Damian sat right merrily
1115 On high, among the young leaves fresh and green.
       This blooming May, who was so bright of sheen,
Began to sigh, and said: "Alas, my side!
Now, sir," said she, "no matter what betide,
I must have some of these pears that I see,
1120 Or I may die, so much I long," said she,
"To eat some of those little pears so green.
Help, for Her love Who is of Heaven Queen!
I tell you well, a woman in my plight
May have for fruit so great an appetite
1125 That she may die if none of it she have."

       "Dame," quod this Pluto, "be no lenger wrooth;
1100 I yeve it up! But sith I swoor myn ooth
That I wolde graunten hym his sighte ageyn,
My word shal stonde, I warne yow certeyn.
I am a kyng, it sit me noght to lye."
       "And I," quod she, "a queene of Fayerye!
1105 Hir answere shal she have, I undertake.
Lat us namoore wordes heerof make;
For sothe, I wol no lenger yow contrarie.


       "Dame," said this Pluto, "be no longer wroth;
1100 I give it up; but since I swore my oath
That I would give to him his sight again,
My word shall stand, I warn you that's certain.
I am a king, it suits me not to lie."
       "And I," said she, "am queen of Faery.
1105 Her answer shall she have, I undertake;
No further talk hereof let us two make.
Forsooth, I will not longer be contrary."

       Ye shal?" quod Proserpyne, "wol ye so?
Now by my moodres sires soule I swere
That I shal yeven hire suffisant answere,
1055 And alle wommen after, for hir sake;
That, though they be in any gilt ytake,
With face boold they shulle hemself excuse,
And bere hem doun that wolden hem accuse.
For lak of answere noon of hem shal dyen.
1060 Al hadde man seyn a thyng with bothe his yen,
Yit shul we wommen visage it hardily,
And wepe, and swere, and chyde subtilly,
So that ye man shul been as lewed as gees.
What rekketh me of youre auctoritees?
1065 I woot wel that this Jew, this Salomon,
Foond of us wommen fooles many oon.
But though that he ne foond no good womman,
Yet hath ther founde many another man
Wommen ful trewe, ful goode, and vertuous.
1070 Witnesse on hem that dwelle in cristes hous;
With martirdom they preved hire constance.
The Romayn geestes eek make remembrance
Of many a verray, trewe wyf also.
But, sire, ne be nat wrooth, al be it so,
1075 Though that he seyde he foond no good womman,
I prey yow take the sentence of the man;
He mente thus, that in sovereyn bontee
Nis noon but god, but neither he ne she.


       You shall," said Proserpine, "if will you so;
Now by my mother's father's soul, I swear
That I will give her adequate answer,
1055 And all such women after, for her sake;
That, though in any guilt caught, they'll not quake,
But with a bold face they'll themselves excuse,
And bear him down who would them thus accuse.
For lack of answer none of them shall die.
1060 Nay, though a man see things with either eye,
Yet shall we women brazen shamelessly
And weep and swear and wrangle cleverly,
So that you men shall stupid be as geese.
What do I care for your authorities?
1065 "I know well that this Jew, this Solomon
Found fools among us women, yes many one,
But though he never found a good woman,
Yet has there found full many another man
Women right true, right good, and virtuous
1070 Witness all those that dwell in Jesus' house;
With martyrdom they proved their constancy.
The Gesta Romanorum speak kindly
Of many wives both good and true also.
But be not angry, sir, though it be so
1075 That he said he had found no good woman,
I pray you take the meaning of the man;
He meant that sovereign goodness cannot be.
Except in God, Who is the Trinity.


       Ey! for verray god, that nys but oon,
1080 What make ye so muche of Salomon?
What though he made a temple, goddes hous?
What though he were riche and glorious?
So made he eek a temple of false goddis.
How myghte he do a thyng that moore forbode is?
1085 Pardee, as faire as ye his name emplastre,
He was a lecchour and an ydolastre,
And in his elde he verray God forsook;
And if this God ne hadde, as seith the book,
Yspared hem for his fadres sake, he sholde
1090 Have lost his regne rather than he wolde.
I sette right noght, of al the vileynye
That ye of wommen write, a boterflye!
I am a womman, nedes moot I speke,
Of elles swelle til myn herte breke.
1095 For sithen he seyde that we been jangleresses,
As evere hool I moote brouke my tresses,
I shal nat spare, for no curteisye,
To speke hym harm that wolde us vileynye."


       Ah, since of very God there is but one,
1080 Why do you make so much of Solomon?
What though he built a temple for God's house?
What though he were both rich and glorious?
So built he, too, a temple to false gods,
How could he with the Law be more at odds?
1085 By gad, clean as his name you whitewash, sir,
He was a lecher and idolater;
And in old age the True God he forsook.
And if that God had not, as says the Book,
Spared him for father David's sake, he should
1090 Have lost his kingdom sooner than he would.
I value not, of all the villainy
That you of women write, a butterfly.
I am a woman, and needs must I speak,
Or else swell up until my heart shall break.
1095 For since he said we gossip, rail, and scold,
As ever may I my fair tresses hold,
I will not spare, for any courtesy,
To speak him ill who'd wish us villainy."

1025        "My wyf," quod he, "ther may no wight seye nay;
Th'experience so preveth every day
The tresons whiche that wommen doon to man.
Ten hondred thousand (tales) tellen I kan
Notable of youre untrouthe and brotilnesse.
1030 O Salomon, wys, and richest of richesse,
Fulfild of sapience and of worldly glorie,
Ful worthy been thy wordes to memorie
To every wight that wit and reson kan.
Thus preiseth he yet the bountee of man:
1035 'Amonges a thousand men yet foond I oon,
But of wommen alle foond I noon.' -


1025        "My wife," said he, "there may no one say nay;
Experience proves fully every day
The treason that these women do to man.
Ten hundred thousand stories tell I can
To show your fickleness and lies. Of which,
1030 O Solomon wise, and richest of the rich,
Fulfilled of sapience and worldly glory,
Well worth remembrance are thy words and story
By everyone who's wit, and reason can.
Thus goodness he expounds with praise of man:
1035 'Among a thousand men yet found I one,
But of all women living found I none.'


       Thus seith the kyng that knoweth youre wikkednesse.
And Jhesus, filius Syrak, as I gesse,
Ne speketh of yow but seelde reverence.
1040 A wylde fyr and corrupt pestilence
So falle upon youre bodyes yet to-nyght!
Ne se ye nat this honurable knyght,
By cause, allas that he is blynd and old,
His owene man shal make hym cokewold.
1045 Lo, where he sit, the lechour, in the tree!
Now wol I graunten, of my magestee,
Unto this olde, blynde, worthy knyght
That he shal have ayen his eyen syght,
Whan that his wyf wold doon hym vileynye.
1050 Thanne shal he knowen al hire harlotrye,
Bothe in repreve of hire and othere mo."


       Thus spoke the king that knew your wickedness;
And Jesus son of Sirach, as I guess,
Spoke of you seldom with much reverence.
1040 A wild fire and a rotten pestilence
Fall on your bodies all before tonight!
Do you not see this honourable knight,
Because, alas! he is both blind and old,
His own sworn man shall make him a cuckold;
1045 Lo, there he sits, the lecher, in that tree.
Now will I grant, of my high majesty,
Unto this old and blind and worthy knight,
That he shall have again his two eyes' sight,
Just when his wife shall do him villainy;
1050 Then shall he know of all her harlotry,
Both in reproach to her and others too."

       Bright was the day, and blew the firmament;
Phebus hath of gold his stremes doun ysent,
To gladen every flour with his warmnesse.
1010 He was that tyme in Geminis, as I gesse,
But litel fro his declynacion
Of Cancer, Jovis exaltacion.
And so bifel, that brighte morwe-tyde,
That in that gardyn, in the ferther syde,
1015 Pluto, that is kyng of Fayerye,
And many a lady in his compaignye,
Folwynge his wyf, the queene Proserpyna,
Which that he ravysshed out of Ethna
Whil that she gadered floures in the mede -
1020 In Claudyan ye may the stories rede,
How in his grisely carte he hire fette -
This kyng of fairye thanne adoun hym sette
Upon a bench of turves, fressh and grene,
And right anon thus seyde he to his queene:


       Bright was the day and blue the firmament,
Phoebus his golden streamers down has sent
To gladden every flower with his warmness.
1010 He was that time in Gemini, I guess,
And but a little from his declination
Of Cancer, which is great Jove's exaltation.
And so it happened, in that bright morning-tide,
That in this garden, on the farther side,
1015 Pluto, who is the king of Faery,
With many a lady in his company,
Following his wife, the fair Queen Proserpine,
Each after other, straight as any line
While she was gathering flowers on a mead,
1020 In Claudian you may the story read
How in his grim car he had stolen her -
This king of Faery sat down yonder
Upon a turfen bank all fresh and green,
And right anon thus said he to his queen.

995        And with that word she saugh wher Damyan
Sat in the bussh, and coughen she bigan,
And with hir fynger signes made she
That Damyan sholde clymbe upon a tree,
That charged was with fruyt, and up he wente.
1000 For verraily he knew al hire entente,
And every signe that she koude make,
Wel bet than Januarie, hir owene make;
For in a lettre she hadde toold hym al
Of this matere, how he werchen shal.
1005 And thus I lete hym sitte upon the pyrie,
And Januarie and may romynge ful myrie.


995        And with that word she saw where Damian
Sat under bush; to cough then she began,
And with her slender finger signs made she
That Damian should climb into a tree
That burdened was with fruit, and up he went;
1000 For verily he knew her full intent,
And understood each sign that she could make,
Better than January, her old rake.
For in a letter she had told him all
Of how he should proceed when time should fall.
1005 And thus I leave him in the pear-tree still
While May and January roam at will.

       This fresshe May, whan she thise wordes herde,
Benyngnely to Januarie answerde,
975 But first and forward she bigan to wepe.
"I have," quod she, "a soule for to kepe
As wel as ye, and also myn honour,
And of my wyfhod thilke tendre flour,
Which that I have assured in youre hond,
980 Whan that the preest to yow my body bond;
Wherfore I wole answere in this manere,
By the leve of yow, my lord so deere:
I prey to God that nevere dawe the day
That I ne sterve, as foule as womman may,
985 If evere I do unto my kyn that shame,
Or elles I empeyre so my name,
That I be fals; and if I do that lak,
Do strepe me and put me in a sak,
And in the nexte ryver do me drenche.
990 I am a gentil womman and no wenche.
Why speke ye thus? But men been evere untrewe,
And wommen have repreve of yow ay newe.
Ye han noon oother contenance, I leeve,
But speke to us of untrust and repreeve."


       This blooming May, when these words she had heard,
Graciously January she answered,
975 But first and foremost she began to weep.
"I have also," said she, "a soul to keep,
As well as you, and also honour mine,
And of my wifehood that sweet flower divine
Which I assured you of, both safe and sound,
980 When unto you that priest my body bound;
Wherefore I'll answer you in this manner,
If I may by your leave, my lord so dear.
I pray to God that never dawns the day
That I'll not die, foully as woman may,
985 If ever I do unto my kin such shame,
And likewise damage so my own fair name,
As to be false; and if I grow so slack,
Strip me and put me naked in a sack
And in the nearest river let me drown.
990 I am a lady, not a wench of town.
Why speak you thus? Men ever are untrue,
And woman have reproaches always new.
No reason or excuse have you, I think,
And so you harp on women who hoodwink."

       "Now wyf," quod he, "heere nys but thou and I,
That art the creature that I best love.
950 For by that lord that sit in hevene above,
Levere ich hadde to dyen on a knyf,
Than thee offende, trewe deere wyf!
For Goddes sake, thenk how I thee chees,
Noght for no coveitise, doutelees,
955 But oonly for the love I had to thee.
And though that I be oold, and may nat see,
Beth to me trewe, and I wol telle yow why.
Thre thynges, certes, shal ye wynne therby:
First, love of Crist, and to youreself honour,
960 And al myn heritage, toun and tour;
I yeve it yow, maketh chartres as yow leste;
This shal be doon to-morwe er sonne reste,
So wisly God my soule brynge in blisse.
I prey yow first, in covenant ye me kisse;
965 And though that I be jalous, wyte me noght.
Ye been so depe enprented in my thoght
That, whan that I considere youre beautee,
And therwithal the unlikly elde of me,
I may nat, certes, though I sholde dye,
970 Forbere to been out of youre compaignye
For verray love; this is withouten doute.
Now kys me, wyf, and lat us rome aboute."


       "Now, wife," said he, "here's none but you and I,
And you're the one of all that I best love.
950 For by that Lord Who sits in Heaven above,
Far rather would I die upon a knife
Than do offence to you, my true, dear wife!
For God's sake how I did choose you out,
And for no love of money, beyond doubt,
955 But only for the love you roused in me.
And though I am grown old and cannot see,
Be true to me, and I will tell you why.
Three things, it's certain, shall you gain thereby;
First, Christ's dear love, and honour of your own,
960 And all my heritage of tower and town;
I give it you, draw deeds to please you, pet;
This shall be done tomorrow before sunset.
So truly may God bring my soul to bliss,
I pray you first, in covenant, that we kiss.
965 And though I'm jealous, yet reproach me not.
You are so deeply printed in my thought
That, when I do consider your beauty
And therewith all the unlovely age of me,
I cannot, truly, nay, though I should die,'
970 Abstain from being in your company,
For utter love; of this there is no doubt.
Now kiss me, wife, and let us walk about."

       Swiche olde lewed wordes used he.
On Damyan a signe made she,
That he sholde go biforn with his cliket.
940 This Damyan thanne hath opened the wyket,
And in he stirte, and that in swich manere
That no wight myghte it se neither yheere,
And stille he sit under a bussh anon.
This Januarie, as blynd as is a stoon,
945 With Mayus in his hand, and no wight mo,
Into his fresshe gardyn is ago,
And clapte to the wyket sodeynly.


       Such were the lewd old words that then used he;
To Damian a secret sign made she
That he should go before them with his clicket;
940 This Damian then opened up the wicket,
And in he slipped, and that in manner such
That none could see nor hear; and he did crouch
And still he sat beneath a bush anon.
This January, blind as is a stone,
945 With Maia's hand in his, and none else there,
Into his garden went, so fresh and fair,
And then clapped to the wicket suddenly.

       O noble Ovyde, ful sooth seystou, God woot,
What sleighte is it, thogh it be long and hoot,
915 That Love nyl fynde it out in som manere?
By Piramus and Tesbee may men leere;
Thogh they were kept ful longe streite overal,
They been accorded, rownynge thurgh a wal,
Ther no wight koude han founde out swich a sleighte.
920 But now to purpos: er that dayes eighte
Were passed, er the month of Juyn, bifil
That Januarie hath caught so greet a wil,
Thurgh eggyng of his wyf, hym for to pleye
In his gardyn, and no wight but they tweye,
925 That in a morwe unto his May seith he:
"Rys up, my wyf, my love, my lady free!
The turtles voys is herd, my dowve sweete;
The wynter is goon with alle his reynes weete.
Com forth now, with thyne eyen columbyn!
930 How fairer been thy brestes than is wyn!
The gardyn is enclosed al aboute;
Com forth, my white spouse! Out of doute
Thou hast me wounded in myn herte, o wyf!
No spot of thee ne knew I al my lyf.
935 Com forth, and lat us taken oure disport;
I chees thee for my wyf and my confort."


       O noble Ovid, truth you say, God wot!
What art is there, though it be long and hot,
915 But Love will find it somehow suits his turn?
By Pyramus and Thisbe may men learn;
Though they were strictly kept apart in all,
They soon accorded, whispering through a wall,
Where none could have suspected any gate.
920 But now to purpose: before had passed days eight,
And before the first day of July, befell
That January was under such a spell,
Through egging of his wife, to go and play
Within his garden, and no one but they,
925 That on a morning to this May said he:
"Rise up, my wife, my love, my lady free;
The turtle's voice is heard, my dove so sweet;
The winter's past, the rain's gone, and the sleet;
Come forth now with your two eyes columbine!
930 How sweeter are your breasts than is sweet wine!
The garden is enclosed and walled about;
Come forth, my white spouse, for beyond all doubt
You have me ravished in my heart, O wife!
No fault have I found in you in my life.
935 Come forth, come forth, and let us take our sport;
I chose you for my wife and my comfort."

       Lo, Argus, which that hadde an hondred yen,
900 For al that evere he koude poure or pryen,
Yet was he blent, and, God woot, so been mo,
That wenen wisly that it be nat so.
Passe over is an ese, I sey namoore.
This fresshe May, that I spak of so yoore,
905 In warm wex hath emprented the clyket
That Januarie bar of the smale wyket,
By which into his gardyn ofte he wente;
And Damyan, that knew al hire entente,
The cliket countrefeted pryvely.
910 Ther nys namoore to seye, but hastily
Som wonder by this clyket shal bityde,
Which ye shul heeren, if ye wole abyde.


       Lo, Argus, who was called the hundred-eyed,
900 No matter how he peered and watched and pried,
He was deceived; and God knows others to
Who think, and firmly, that it is not so.
Oblivion is peace; I say no more.
This lovely May, of whom I spoke before,
905 In warm wax made impression of the key
Her husband carried, to the gate where he
In entering his garden often went.
And Damian, who knew all her intent,
The key did counterfeit, and privately;
910 There is no more to say, but speedily
Some mischief of this latch-key shall betide,
Which you shall hear, if you but time will bide.

这帖子能达到1000楼吗？

       Allas! this noble Januarie free,
Amydde his lust and his prosperitee,
Is woxen blynd, and that al sodeynly,
860 He wepeth and he wayleth pitously;
And therwithal the fyr of jalousie,
Lest that his wyf sholde falle in som folye,
So brente his herte that he wolde fayn
That som man bothe hire and hym had slayn.
865 For neither after his deeth, nor in his lyf,
Ne wolde he that she were love ne wyf,
But evere lyve as wydwe in clothes blake,
Soul as the turtle that lost hath hire make,
But atte laste, after a month or tweye
870 His sorwe gan aswage, sooth to seye;
For whan he wiste it may noon oother be,
He paciently took his adversitee,
Save, out of doute, he may nat forgoon
That he nas jalous everemoore in oon;
875 Which jalousye it was so outrageous,
That neither in halle, n'yn noon oother hous,
Ne in noon oother place, neverthemo,
He nolde suffre hire for to ryde or go,
But if that he had hond on hire alway;
880 For which ful ofte wepeth fresshe May,
That loveth Damyan so benyngnely
That she moot outher dyen sodeynly,
Or elles she moot han hym as hir leste.
She wayteth whan hir herte wolde breste.
885 Upon that oother syde Damyan
Bicomen is the sorwefulleste man
That evere was; for neither nyght ne day
Ne myghte he speke a word to fresshe May,
As to his purpos, of no swich mateere,
890 But if that Januarie moste it heere,
That hadde an hand upon hire everemo.
But nathelees, by writyng to and fro,
And privee signes, wiste he what she mente,
And she knew eek the fyn of his entente.
895 O Januarie, what myghte it thee availle,
Thogh thou myghte se as fer as shippes saille?
For as good is blynd deceyved be
As to be deceyved whan a man may se.


       Alas! This noble January free,
In all his pleasure and prosperity,
Is fallen blind, and that all suddenly.
860 He wept and he lamented, pitifully;
And therewithal the fire of jealousy
Lest that his wife should fall to some folly,
So burned within his heart that he would fain
Both him and her some man had swiftly slain.
865 For neither after death nor in his life
Would he that she were other's love or wife,
But dress in black and live in widow's state,
Lone as the turtle-dove that's lost her mate.
But finally, after a month or twain,
870 His grief somewhat abated, to speak plain;
For when he knew it might not elsewise be,
He took in patience his adversity,
Except, doubtless, he could not renounce, as done,
His jealousy, from which he never won.
875 For this his passion was so outrageous
That neither in his hall nor other house
Nor any other place, not ever, no,
He suffered her to ride or walking go,
Unless he had his hand on her alway;
880 For which did often weep this fresh young May,
Who loved her Damian so tenderly
That she must either swiftly die or she
Must have him as she willed, her thirst to slake;
Biding her time, she thought her heart would break.
885 And on the other side this Damian
Was now become the most disconsolate man
That ever was; for neither night nor day
Might he so much as speak a word to May
Of his desire, as I am telling here,
890 Except it were said to January's ear,
Who never took his blind hand off her, no.
Nevertheless, by writing to and fro
And secret signals, he knew what she meant;
And she too knew the aim of his intent.
895 O January, what might it now avail
Could your eyes see as far as ships can sail?
For it's as pleasant, blind, deceived to be
As be deceived while yet a man may see.

845        O sodeyn hap! O thou fortune unstable!
Lyk to the scorpion so deceyvable,
That flaterest with thyn heed whan thou wolt stynge;
Thy tayl is deeth, thurgh thyn envenymynge.
O brotil joye! o sweete venym queynte!
850 O monstre, that so subtilly kanst peynte
Thy yiftes under hewe of stidefastnesse,
That thou deceyvest bothe moore and lesse!
Why hastow Januarie thus deceyved,
That haddest hym for thy fulle freend receyved?
855 And now thou hast biraft hym bothe his ye,
For sorwe of which desireth he to dyen.


845        O sudden chance, O Fortune, thou unstable,
Like to the scorpion so deceptive, able
To flatter with thy mouth when thou wilt sting;
Thy tail is death, through thine envenoming.
O fragile joy! O poison sweetly taint!
850 O monster that so cleverly canst paint
Thy gifts in all the hues of steadfastness
That thou deceivest both the great and less!
Why hast thou January thus deceived,
That had'st him for thine own full friend received?
855 And now thou hast bereft him of his eyes,
For sorrow of which in love he daily dies.

830        This noble knyght, this Januarie the olde,
Swich deyntee hath in it to walke and pleye,
That he wol no wight suffren bere the keye
Save he hymself; for of the smale wyket
He baar alwey of silver a clyket,
835 With which, whan that hym leste, he it unshette.
And whan he wolde paye his wyf hir dette
In somer seson, thider wolde he go,
And May his wyf, and no wight but they two;
And thynges whiche that were nat doon abedde,
840 He in the gardyn parfourned hem and spedde.
And in this wyse, many a murye day,
Lyved this Januarie and fresshe May.
But worldly joye may nat alwey dure
To Januarie, ne to creature.


830        This noble knight, this January old,
Such pleasure had therein to walk and play,
That none he'd suffer bear the key, they say.
Except he himself; for of the little wicket
He carried always the small silver clicket
835 With which, as pleased him, he'd unlock the gate.
And when he chose to pay court to his mate
In summer season, thither would he go
With May, his wife, and no one but they two;
And divers things that were not done abed,
840 Within that garden there were done, 'tis said.
And in this manner many a merry day
Lived this old January and young May.
But worldly pleasure cannot always stay,
And January's joy must pass away.

       Somme clerkes holden that felicitee
810 Stant in delit, and therfore certeyn he,
This noble Januarie, with al his myght,
In honest wyse, as longeth to a knyght,
Shoop hym to lyve ful deliciously.
His housynge, his array, as honestly
815 To his degree was maked as a kynges.
Amonges othere of his honeste thynges,
He made a gardyn, walled al with stoon;
So fair a gardyn woot I nowher noon.
For, out of doute, I verraily suppose
820 That he that wroot the romance of the rose
Ne koude of it the beautee wel devyse;
Ne Priapus ne myghte nat suffise,
Though he be God of gardyns, for to telle
The beautee of the gardyn and the welle,
825 That stood under a laurer alwey grene.
Ful ofte tyme he Pluto and his queene,
Proserpina, and al hire fayerye,
Disporten hem and maken melodye
Aboute that welle, and daunced, as men tolde.


       Some writers hold that all felicity
810 Stands in delight, and therefor, certainly,
This noble January, with all his might,
Honourably, as does befit a knight,
Arranged affairs to live deliciously.
His housing, his array, as splendidly
815 Befitted his condition as a king's.
Among the rest of his luxurious things
He built a garden walled about with stone;
So fair a garden do I know of none.
For, without doubt, I verily suppose
820 That he who wrote The Romance of the Rose
Could not its beauty say in singing wise;
Nor could Priapus' power quite suffice,
Though he is god of gardens all, to tell
The beauty of that garden, and the well
825 Which was beneath the laurel always green.
For oftentimes God Pluto and his queen,
Fair Proserpine and all her faery
Disported there and made sweet melody
About that well, and danced there, as men told.

       Up riseth Damyan the nexte morwe;
Al passed was his siknesse and his sorwe.
He kembeth hym, he preyneth hym and pyketh,
800 He dooth al that his lady lust and lyketh;
And eek to Januarie he gooth as lowe
As evere dide a dogge for the bowe.
He is so plesant unto every man
(For craft is al, whoso that do it kan)
805 That every wight is fayn to speke hym good;
And fully in his lady grace he stood.
Thus lete I Damyan aboute his nede,
And in my tale forth I wol procede.


       Up rose this Damian upon the morrow,
For gone was all his sickness and his sorrow.
He combed himself and preened his feathers smooth,
800 He did all that his lady liked, in sooth;
And then to January went as low
As ever did a hound trained to the bow.
He was so pleasant unto every man
For craft is everything for those who can
805 That everyone was fain to speak his good;
And fully in his lady's grace he stood.
Thus Damian I leave about his need
And forward in my tale I will proceed.

       This gentil May, fulfilled of pitee,
Right of hire hand a lettre made she,
785 In which she graunteth hym hire verray grace.
Ther lakketh noght, oonly but day and place,
Wher that she myghte unto his lust suffise;
For it shal be right as he wole devyse.
And whan she saugh hir tyme, upon a day,
790 To visite this Damyan gooth May,
And sotilly this lettre doun she threste
Under his pilwe, rede it if hym leste.
She taketh hym by the hand, and harde hym twiste
So secrely that no wight of it wiste,
795 And bad hym been al hool, and forth she wente
To Januarie, whan that he for hire sente.


       This gentle May, fulfilled of all pity,
With her own hand a letter then wrote she
785 In which she granted him her utmost grace;
There was naught lacking now, except time and place
Wherein she might suffice to ease his lust:
For all should be as he would have it, just;
And when she'd opportunity on a day,
790 To visit Damian went this lovely May,
And cleverly this letter she thrust close
Under his pillow, read it if he chose.
She took him by the hand and hard did press,
So secretly that no one else could guess,
795 And bade him gain his health, and forth she went
To January, when for her he sent.

775        Heere may ye se how excellent franchise
In wommen is, whan they hem narwe avyse.
Som tyrant is, as ther be many oon,
That hath an herte as hard as any stoon,
Which wolde han lat hym sterven in the place
780 Wel rather than han graunted hym hire grace;
And hem rejoysen in hire crueel pryde,
And rekke nat to been an homycide.


775        Here may you see what generosity
In women is when they advise closely.
Perhaps some tyrant, for there's many a one,
Who has a heart as hard as any stone,
Would well have let him die within that place
780 Much rather than have granted him her grace;
And such would have rejoiced in cruel pride,
Nor cared that she were thus a homicide.