Canterbury Tales and Other Poems by Geoffrey Chaucer (always you kirsty moseley .txt) 📖

oft, And laid him down to sleep, and that anon.

She feigned her as that she muste gon

There as ye know that every wight must need; And when she of this bill had taken heed, She rent it all to cloutes* at the last, *fragments And in the privy softely it cast.

Who studieth* now but faire freshe May? *is thoughtful Adown by olde January she lay,

That slepte, till the cough had him awaked: Anon he pray’d her strippe her all naked, He would of her, he said, have some pleasance; And said her clothes did him incumbrance.

And she obey’d him, be her *lefe or loth. willing or unwilling*

But, lest that precious* folk be with me wroth, *over-nice <19>

How that he wrought I dare not to you tell, Or whether she thought it paradise or hell; But there I let them worken in their wise Till evensong ring, and they must arise.

 

Were it by destiny, or aventure, chance Were it by influence, or by nature,

Or constellation, that in such estate

The heaven stood at that time fortunate As for to put a bill of Venus’ works

(For alle thing hath time, as say these clerks), To any woman for to get her love,

I cannot say; but greate God above,

That knoweth that none act is causeless, *He deem* of all, for I will hold my peace. let him judge

But sooth is this, how that this freshe May Hath taken such impression that day

Of pity on this sicke Damian,

That from her hearte she not drive can The remembrance for *to do him ease. to satisfy “Certain,” thought she, “whom that this thing displease his desire*

I recke not, for here I him assure,

To love him best of any creature,

Though he no more haddee than his shirt.”

Lo, pity runneth soon in gentle heart.

Here may ye see, how excellent franchise generosity In women is when they them *narrow advise. closely consider*

Some tyrant is, — as there be many a one, —

That hath a heart as hard as any stone, Which would have let him sterven* in the place *die Well rather than have granted him her grace; And then rejoicen in her cruel pride.

And reckon not to be a homicide.

This gentle May, full filled of pity,

Right of her hand a letter maked she,

In which she granted him her very grace; There lacked nought, but only day and place, Where that she might unto his lust suffice: For it shall be right as he will devise.

And when she saw her time upon a day

To visit this Damian went this May,

And subtilly this letter down she thrust Under his pillow, read it if him lust. pleased She took him by the hand, and hard him twist So secretly, that no wight of it wist, And bade him be all whole; and forth she went To January, when he for her sent.

Up rose Damian the nexte morrow,

All passed was his sickness and his sorrow.

He combed him, he proined <20> him and picked, He did all that unto his lady liked;

And eke to January he went as low

As ever did a dogge for the bow.<21>

He is so pleasant unto every man

(For craft is all, whoso that do it can), Every wight is fain to speak him good; And fully in his lady’s grace he stood.

Thus leave I Damian about his need,

And in my tale forth I will proceed.

 

Some clerke* holde that felicity writers, scholars Stands in delight; and therefore certain he, This noble January, with all his might In honest wise as longeth to a knight, belongeth Shope him to live full deliciously: *prepared, arranged His housing, his array, as honestly honourably, suitably To his degree was maked as a king’s.

Amonges other of his honest things

He had a garden walled all with stone; So fair a garden wot I nowhere none.

For out of doubt I verily suppose

That he that wrote the Romance of the Rose <22>

Could not of it the beauty well devise; describe Nor Priapus <23> mighte not well suffice, Though he be god of gardens, for to tell The beauty of the garden, and the well fountain That stood under a laurel always green.

Full often time he, Pluto, and his queen Proserpina, and all their faerie,

Disported them and made melody

About that well, and danced, as men told.

This noble knight, this January old

Such dainty* had in it to walk and play, *pleasure That he would suffer no wight to bear the key, Save he himself, for of the small wicket He bare always of silver a cliket, key With which, when that him list, he it unshet. opened And when that he would pay his wife’s debt, In summer season, thither would he go, And May his wife, and no wight but they two; And thinges which that were not done in bed, He in the garden them perform’d and sped.

And in this wise many a merry day

Lived this January and fresh May,

But worldly joy may not always endure

To January, nor to no creatucere.

 

O sudden hap! O thou fortune unstable!

Like to the scorpion so deceivable, deceitful That fhatt’rest with thy head when thou wilt sting; Thy tail is death, through thine envenoming.

O brittle joy! O sweete poison quaint! strange O monster, that so subtilly canst paint Thy giftes, under hue of steadfastness, That thou deceivest bothe *more and less!* great and small

Why hast thou January thus deceiv’d,

That haddest him for thy full friend receiv’d?

And now thou hast bereft him both his eyen, For sorrow of which desireth he to dien.

Alas! this noble January free,

Amid his lust* and his prosperity *pleasure Is waxen blind, and that all suddenly.

He weeped and he wailed piteously;

And therewithal the fire of jealousy

(Lest that his wife should fall in some folly) So burnt his hearte, that he woulde fain, That some man bothe him and her had slain; For neither after his death, nor in his life, Ne would he that she were no love nor wife, But ever live as widow in clothes black, Sole as the turtle that hath lost her make. mate But at the last, after a month or tway, His sorrow gan assuage, soothe to say.

For, when he wist it might none other be, He patiently took his adversity:

Save out of doubte he may not foregon

That he was jealous evermore-in-one: continually Which jealousy was so outrageous,

That neither in hall, nor in none other house, Nor in none other place never the mo’

He woulde suffer her to ride or go,

But if that he had hand on her alway. *unless For which full often wepte freshe May, That loved Damian so burningly

That she must either dien suddenly,

Or elles she must have him as her lest: pleased She waited* when her hearte woulde brest.* 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, though I shoulde die, Forbear to be out of your company,

For very love; this is withoute doubt: Now kiss me, wife, and let us roam about.”

 

This freshe May, when she these wordes heard, Benignely to January answer’d;

But first and forward she began to weep: “I have,” quoth she, “a soule for to keep As well as ye, and also mine honour,

And of my wifehood