Of brotherhood while that their life may dure.
Free was Dan3691 John, and namely3692 of dispence,
As in that house, and full of diligence
To do pleasánce, and also great costáge;3693
He not forgot to give the leastë page
In all that house; but, after their degree,
He gave the lord, and sithen3694 his meinie,3695
When that he came, some manner honest thing;
For which they were as glad of his comíng
As fowl is fain when that the sun upriseth.
No more of this as now, for it sufficeth.
But so befell, this merchant on a day
Shope3696 him to makë ready his array
Toward the town of Bruges for to fare,
To buyë there a portión of ware;3697
For which he hath to Paris sent anon
A messenger, and prayed hath Dan John
That he should come to Saint Denís, and play3698
With him, and with his wife, a day or tway,
Ere he to Bruges went, in allë wise.
This noble monk, of which I you devise,3699
Had of his abbot, as him list, licence,
(Because he was a man of high prudence,
And eke an officer out for to ride,
To see their granges and their barnës wide);3700
And unto Saint Denis he came anon.
Who was so welcome as my lord Dan John,
Our dearë cousin, full of courtesy?
With him he brought a jub3701 of malvesie,3702
And eke another full of fine vernage,3703
And volatile,3704 as aye was his uságe:
And thus I let them eat, and drink, and play,
This merchant and this monk, a day or tway.
The thirdë day the merchant up ariseth,
And on his needës sadly him adviseth;3705
And up into his countour-house3706 went he,
To reckon with himself as well may be,
Of thilkë3707 year, how that it with him stood,
And how that he dispended bad his good,
And if that he increased were or non.
His bookës and his baggës many a one
He laid before him on his counting-board.
Full richë was his treasure and his hoard;
For which full fast his countour door he shet;
And eke he would that no man should him let3708
Of his accountës, for the meanë time:
And thus he sat, till it was passed prime.
Dan John was risen in the morn also,
And in the garden walked to and fro,
And had his thingës said full courteously.
The good wife came walking full privily
Into the garden, where he walked soft,
And him saluted, as she had done oft;
A maiden child came in her companý,
Which as her list she might govérn and gie,3709
For yet under the yardë3710 was the maid.
“O dearë cousin mine, Dan John,” she said,
“What aileth you so rath3711 for to arise?”
“Niecë,” quoth he, “it ought enough suffice
Five hourës for to sleep upon a night;
But3712 it were for an old appalled3713 wight,
As be these wedded men, that lie and dare,3714
As in a formë sits a weary hare,
Allë forstraught3715 with houndës great and smale;
But, dearë niecë, why be ye so pale?
I trowë certes that our goodë man
Hath you so laboúred, since this night began,
That you were need to restë hastily.”
And with that word he laugh’d full merrily,
And of his owen thought he wax’d all red.
This fairë wife gan for to shake her head,
And saidë thus; “Yea, God wot all,” quoth she.
“Nay, cousin mine, it stands not so with me;
For by that God, that gave me soul and life,
In all the realm of France is there no wife
That lessë lust hath to that sorry play;
For I may sing alas and well-away!
That I was born; but to no wight,” quoth she,
“Dare I not tell how that it stands with me.
Wherefore I think out of this land to wend,
Or ellës of myself to make an end,
So full am I of dread and eke of care.”
This monk began upon this wife to stare,
And said, “Alas! my niecë, God forbid
That ye for any sorrow, or any dread,
Fordo3716 yourself: but tellë me your grief,
Paráventure I may, in your mischíef,3717
Counsel or help; and therefore tellë me
All your annoy, for it shall be secré.
For on my portos3718 here I make an oath,
That never in my life, for lief nor loth,3719
Ne shall I of no counsel you bewray.”
“The same again to you,” quoth she, “I say.
By God and by this portos I you swear,
Though men me woulden all in pieces tear,
Ne shall I never, for3720 to go to hell,
Bewray one word of thing that ye me tell,
For no cousinage, nor alliánce,
But verily for love and affiánce.”3721
Thus be they sworn, and thereupon they kiss’d,
And each of them told other what them list.
“Cousin,” quoth she, “if that I haddë space,
As I have none, and namely3722 in this place,
Then would I tell a legend of my life,
What I have suffer’d since I was a wife
With mine husbánd, all3723 be he your cousín.
“Nay,” quoth this monk, “by God and Saint Martín,
He is no morë cousin unto me,
Than is the leaf that hangeth on the tree;
I call him so, by Saint Denis of France,
To have the morë cause of ácquaintánce
Of you, which I have loved specially
Aboven allë women sickerly,3724
This swear I you on my professioún;3725
Tell me your grief, lest that he come adown,
And hasten you, and go away anon.”
“My dearë love,” quoth she, “O my Dan John,
Full lief3726 were me this counsel for to hide,
But out it must, I may no more abide.
My husband is to me the worstë man
That ever was since that the world began;
But since I am a wife, it sits3727 not me
To tellë no wight of our privity,
Neither in bed, nor in none other place:
God shield3728 I shouldë tell it for his grace;
A wifë
