The Canterbury Tales [151]
*expected **burst Upon that other side Damian Becomen is the sorrowfullest man That ever was; for neither night nor day He mighte speak a word to freshe May, As to his purpose, of no such mattere, *But if* that January must it hear, *unless* That had a hand upon her evermo'. But natheless, by writing to and fro, And privy signes, wist he what she meant, And she knew eke the fine* of his intent. *end, aim
O January, what might it thee avail, Though thou might see as far as shippes sail? For as good is it blind deceiv'd to be, As be deceived when a man may see. Lo, Argus, which that had a hundred eyen, <24> For all that ever he could pore or pryen, Yet was he blent;* and, God wot, so be mo', *deceived That *weene wisly* that it be not so: *think confidently* Pass over is an ease, I say no more. This freshe May, of which I spake yore,* *previously In warm wax hath *imprinted the cliket* *taken an impression That January bare of the small wicket of the key* By which into his garden oft he went; And Damian, that knew all her intent, The cliket counterfeited privily; There is no more to say, but hastily Some wonder by this cliket shall betide, Which ye shall hearen, if ye will abide.
O noble Ovid, sooth say'st thou, God wot, What sleight is it, if love be long and hot, That he'll not find it out in some mannere? By Pyramus and Thisbe may men lear;* *learn Though they were kept full long and strait o'er all, They be accorded,* rowning** through a wall, *agreed **whispering Where no wight could have found out such a sleight. But now to purpose; ere that dayes eight Were passed of the month of July, fill* *it befell That January caught so great a will, Through egging* of his wife, him for to play *inciting In his garden, and no wight but they tway, That in a morning to this May said he: <25> "Rise up, my wife, my love, my lady free; The turtle's voice is heard, mine owen sweet; The winter is gone, with all his raines weet.* *wet Come forth now with thine *eyen columbine* *eyes like the doves* Well fairer be thy breasts than any wine. The garden is enclosed all about; Come forth, my white spouse; for, out of doubt, Thou hast me wounded in mine heart, O wife: No spot in thee was e'er in all thy life. Come forth, and let us taken our disport; I choose thee for my wife and my comfort." Such olde lewed* wordes used he. *foolish, ignorant On Damian a signe made she, That he should go before with his cliket. This Damian then hath opened the wicket, And in he start, and that in such mannere That no wight might him either see or hear; And still he sat under a bush. Anon This January, as blind as is a stone, With Maius in his hand, and no wight mo', Into this freshe garden is y-go, And clapped to the wicket suddenly. "Now, wife," quoth he, "here is but thou and I; Thou art the creature that I beste love: For, by that Lord that sits in heav'n above, Lever* I had to dien on a knife, *rather Than thee offende, deare true wife. For Godde's sake, think how I thee chees,* *chose Not for no covetise* doubteless, * covetousness But only for the love I had to thee. And though that I be old, and may not see, Be to me true, and I will tell you why. Certes three thinges shall ye win thereby: First, love of Christ, and to yourself honour, And all mine heritage, town and tow'r. I give it you, make charters as you lest; This shall be done to-morrow ere sun rest, So wisly* God my soule bring to bliss! *surely I pray you, on this covenant me kiss. And though that I be jealous, wite* me not; *blame Ye be so deep imprinted in my thought, That when that I consider your beauty, And therewithal *th'unlikely eld* of me, *dissimilar age* I may not, certes,
O January, what might it thee avail, Though thou might see as far as shippes sail? For as good is it blind deceiv'd to be, As be deceived when a man may see. Lo, Argus, which that had a hundred eyen, <24> For all that ever he could pore or pryen, Yet was he blent;* and, God wot, so be mo', *deceived That *weene wisly* that it be not so: *think confidently* Pass over is an ease, I say no more. This freshe May, of which I spake yore,* *previously In warm wax hath *imprinted the cliket* *taken an impression That January bare of the small wicket of the key* By which into his garden oft he went; And Damian, that knew all her intent, The cliket counterfeited privily; There is no more to say, but hastily Some wonder by this cliket shall betide, Which ye shall hearen, if ye will abide.
O noble Ovid, sooth say'st thou, God wot, What sleight is it, if love be long and hot, That he'll not find it out in some mannere? By Pyramus and Thisbe may men lear;* *learn Though they were kept full long and strait o'er all, They be accorded,* rowning** through a wall, *agreed **whispering Where no wight could have found out such a sleight. But now to purpose; ere that dayes eight Were passed of the month of July, fill* *it befell That January caught so great a will, Through egging* of his wife, him for to play *inciting In his garden, and no wight but they tway, That in a morning to this May said he: <25> "Rise up, my wife, my love, my lady free; The turtle's voice is heard, mine owen sweet; The winter is gone, with all his raines weet.* *wet Come forth now with thine *eyen columbine* *eyes like the doves* Well fairer be thy breasts than any wine. The garden is enclosed all about; Come forth, my white spouse; for, out of doubt, Thou hast me wounded in mine heart, O wife: No spot in thee was e'er in all thy life. Come forth, and let us taken our disport; I choose thee for my wife and my comfort." Such olde lewed* wordes used he. *foolish, ignorant On Damian a signe made she, That he should go before with his cliket. This Damian then hath opened the wicket, And in he start, and that in such mannere That no wight might him either see or hear; And still he sat under a bush. Anon This January, as blind as is a stone, With Maius in his hand, and no wight mo', Into this freshe garden is y-go, And clapped to the wicket suddenly. "Now, wife," quoth he, "here is but thou and I; Thou art the creature that I beste love: For, by that Lord that sits in heav'n above, Lever* I had to dien on a knife, *rather Than thee offende, deare true wife. For Godde's sake, think how I thee chees,* *chose Not for no covetise* doubteless, * covetousness But only for the love I had to thee. And though that I be old, and may not see, Be to me true, and I will tell you why. Certes three thinges shall ye win thereby: First, love of Christ, and to yourself honour, And all mine heritage, town and tow'r. I give it you, make charters as you lest; This shall be done to-morrow ere sun rest, So wisly* God my soule bring to bliss! *surely I pray you, on this covenant me kiss. And though that I be jealous, wite* me not; *blame Ye be so deep imprinted in my thought, That when that I consider your beauty, And therewithal *th'unlikely eld* of me, *dissimilar age* I may not, certes,