And when that he would pay his wifë’s debt,
In summer season, thither would he go,
And May his wife, and no wight but they two;
And thingës which that were not done in bed,
He in the garden them perform’d and sped.
And in this wisë many a merry day
Lived this January and fresh May,
But worldly joy may not always endure
To January, nor to no creatúre.
O sudden hap! O thou fortúne unstable!
Like to the scorpión so deceiváble,2929
That fhatt’rest with thy head when thou wilt sting;
Thy tail is death, through thine envenoming.
O brittle joy! O sweetë poison quaint!2930
O monster, that so subtilly canst paint
Thy giftës, under hue of steadfastness,
That thou deceivest bothë more and less!2931
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 lust2932 and his prosperity
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 follý)
So burnt his heartë, that he wouldë fain,
That some man bothë 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 clothës black,
Sole as the turtle that hath lost her make.2933
But at the last, after a month or tway,
His sorrow gan assuagë, sooth to say.
For, when he wist it might none other be,
He patiently took his adversity:
Save out of doubtë he may not foregon
That he was jealous evermore-in-one:2934
Which jealousy was so outrageoús,
That neither in hall, nor in none other house,
Nor in none other place never the mo’
He wouldë suffer her to ride or go,
But if2935 that he had hand on her alway.
For which full often weptë freshë May,
That loved Damian so burningly
That she must either dien suddenly,
Or ellës she must have him as her lest:2936
She waited2937 when her heartë wouldë brest.2938
Upon that other sidë Damian
Becomen is the sorrowfullest man
That ever was; for neither night nor day
He mightë speak a word to freshë May,
As to his purpose, of no such mattére,
But if2939 that January must it hear,
That had a hand upon her evermo’.
But natheless, by writing to and fro,
And privy signës, wist he what she meant,
And she knew eke the fine2940 of his intent.
O January, what might it thee avail,
Though thou might see as far as shippës 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,
For all that ever he could pore or pryen,
Yet was he blent;2941 and, God wot, so be mo’,
That weenë wisly2942 that it be not so:
Pass over is an ease, I say no more.
This freshë May, of which I spakë yore,
In warm wax hath imprinted the clikét2943
That January bare of the small wickét
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 mannére?
By Pyramus and Thisbe may men lear;2944
Though they were kept full long and strait o’er all,
They be accorded,2945 rowning2946 through a wall,
Where no wight could have found out such a sleight.
But now to purpose; ere that dayës eight
Were passed of the month of July, fill2947
That January caught so great a will,
Through egging2948 of his wife, him for to play
In his gardén, and no wight but they tway,
That in a morning to this May said he:
“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 rainës weet.2949
Come forth now with thine eyen columbine.2950
Well fairer be thy breasts than any wine.
The garden is enclosed all about;
Come forth, my whitë 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 comfórt.”
Such oldë lewëd wordës used he.
On Damian a signë madë she,
That he should go beforë with his cliket.
This Damian then hath opened the wicket,
And in he start, and that in such mannére
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 freshë 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 bestë love:
For, by that Lord that sits in heav’n above,
Lever2951 I had to dien on a knife,
Than thee offendë, dearë truë wife.
For Goddë’s sakë, think how I thee chees,2952
Not for no covetisë2953 doubtëless,
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 thingës shall ye win thereby:
First, love of Christ, and to yourself honoúr,
And all mine heritagë, town and tow’r.
I give it you, make charters as you lest;
This shall be done to-morrow ere sun rest,
So wisly2954 God my soulë bring to bliss!
I pray you, on this covenant me kiss.
And though that I be jealous, wite2955 me not;
Ye be so deep imprinted in my thought,
That when that I consider your beautý,
And therewithal th’ unlikely2956 eld of me,
I may not, certes, though I shouldë die,
Forbear to be out
