So sore had Venus hurt him with her brand,
As that she bare it dancing in her hand.
And to his bed he went him hastily;
No more of him as at this time speak I;
But there I let him weep enough and plain,2876
Till freshë May will rue upon his pain.
O perilous fire, that in the bedstraw breedeth!
O foe familiar,2877 that his service bedeth!2878
O servant traitor, O false homely hewe,2879
Like to the adder in bosom shy untrue,
God shield us allë from your acquaintánce!
O January, drunken in pleasánce
Of marriage, see how thy Damian,
Thine owen squier and thy boren2880 man,
Intendeth for to do thee villainy:2881
God grantë thee thine homely foe2882 t’ espy.
For in this world is no worse pestilence
Than homely foe, all day in thy presénce.
Performed hath the sun his arc diurn,2883
No longer may the body of him sojourn
On the horizon, in that latitude:
Night with his mantle, that is dark and rude,
Gan overspread the hemisphere about:
For which departed is this lusty rout2884
From January, with thank on every side.
Home to their houses lustily they ride,
Where as they do their thingës as them lest,
And when they see their time they go to rest.
Soon after that this hasty2885 Januáry
Will go to bed, he will no longer tarry.
He drankë hippocras, clarre,2886 and vernage2887
Of spices hot, to increase his couráge;
And many a lectuary had he full fine,
Such as the cursed monk Dan Constantine2888
Hath written in his book de Coitu;
To eat them all he would nothing eschew:
And to his privy friendës thus said he:
“For Goddë’s love, as soon as it may be,
Let voiden all this house in courteous wise.”
And they have done right as he will devise.
Men drinken, and the travers2889 draw anon;
The bride is brought to bed as still as stone;
And when the bed was with the priest y-bless’d,
Out of the chamber every wight him dress’d,
And January hath fast in arms y-take
His freshë May, his paradise, his make.2890
He lulled her, he kissed her full oft;
With thickë bristles of his beard unsoft,
Like to the skin of houndfish,2891 sharp as brere2892
(For he was shav’n all new in his mannére),
He rubbed her upon her tender face,
And saidë thus; “Alas! I must trespace
To you, my spouse, and you greatly offend,
Ere timë come that I will down descend.
But natheless consider this,” quoth he,
“There is no workman, whatsoe’er he be,
That may both workë well and hastily:
This will be done at leisure perfectly.
It is no force2893 how longë that we play;
In true wedlock coupled be we tway;
And blessed be the yoke that we be in,
For in our actës may there be no sin.
A man may do no sinnë with his wife,
Nor hurt himselfë with his owen knife;
For we have leave to play us by the law.”
Thus labour’d he, till that the day gan daw,
And then he took a sop in fine clarré,
And upright in his beddë then sat he.
And after that he sang full loud and clear,
And kiss’d his wife, and madë wanton cheer.
He was all coltish, full of ragerie2894
And full of jargon as a flecked pie.
The slackë skin about his neckë shaked,
While that he sang, so chanted he and craked.2895
But God wot what that May thought in her heart,
When she him saw up sitting in his shirt
In his nightcap, and with his neckë lean:
She praised not his playing worth a bean.
Then said he thus; “My restë will I take
Now day is come, I may no longer wake;
And down he laid his head and slept till prime.
And afterward, when that he saw his time,
Up rosë January, but freshë May
Heldë her chamber till the fourthë day,
As usage is of wivës for the best.
For every labour some time must have rest,
Or ellës longë may he not endure;
This is to say, no life of creature,
Be it of fish, or bird, or beast, or man.
Now will I speak of woeful Damian,
That languisheth for love, as ye shall hear;
Therefore I speak to him in this mannére.
I say. “O silly Damian, alas!
Answér to this demand, as in this case,
How shalt thou to thy lady, freshë May,
Tellë thy woe? She will alway say nay;
Eke if thou speak, she will thy woe bewray;2896
God be thine help, I can no better say.
This sickë Damian in Venus’ fire
So burned that he diëd for desire;
For which he put his life in áventure,2897
No longer might he in this wise endure;
But privily a penner2898 gan he borrow,
And in a letter wrote he all his sorrow,
In manner of a cómplaint or a lay,
Unto his fairë freshë lady May.
And in a purse of silk, hung on his shirt,
He hath it put, and laid it at his heart.
The moonë, that at noon was thilkë2899 day
That January had wedded freshë May,
In ten of Taure, was into Cancer glided;2900
So long had Maius in her chamber abided,
As custom is unto these nobles all.
A bridë shall not eaten in the hall
Till dayës four, or three days at the least,
Y-passed be; then let her go to feast.
The fourthë day complete from noon to noon,
When that the highë massë was y-done,
In hallë sat this January, and May,
As fresh as is the brightë summer’s day.
And so befell, how that this goodë man
Remember’d him upon this Damian.
And saidë; “Saint Marý, how may this be,
That Damian attendeth not to me?
Is he aye sick? or how may this betide?”
His squiërs, which that stoodë there beside,
Excused him, because of his sickness,
Which letted2901 him to do his business:
None other causë mightë make him tarry.
“That me forthinketh,”2902 quoth this January,
“He is a gentle squiër, by my truth;
If that he died, it were great harm and ruth.
He is as wise, as díscreet, and secré,2903
As any man I know of his degree,
And
