Part 37

Notes to the Prologue to the Merchant’s Tale

1. Though the manner in which the Merchant takes up the closing words of the Envoy to the Clerk’s Tale, and refers to the patience of Griselda, seems to prove beyond doubt that the order of the Tales in the text is the right one, yet in some manuscripts of good authority the Franklin’s Tale follows the Clerk’s, and the Envoy is concluded by this stanza: — “This worthy Clerk when ended was his tale, Our Hoste said, and swore by cocke’s bones ‘Me lever were than a barrel of ale My wife at home had heard this legend once; This is a gentle tale for the nonce; As, to my purpose, wiste ye my will. But thing that will not be, let it be still.’”

In other manuscripts of less authority the Host proceeds, in two similar stanzas, to impose a Tale on the Franklin; but Tyrwhitt is probably right in setting them aside as spurious, and in admitting the genuineness of the first only, if it be supposed that Chaucer forgot to cancel it when he had decided on another mode of connecting the Merchant’s with the Clerk’s Tale.

2. Saint Thomas of Ind: St. Thomas the Apostle, who was believed to have travelled in India.

THE TALE.<l>

Whilom there was dwelling in Lombardy A worthy knight, that born was at Pavie, In which he liv’d in great prosperity; And forty years a wifeless man was he, And follow’d aye his bodily delight On women, where as was his appetite, As do these fooles that be seculeres.<2> And, when that he was passed sixty years, Were it for holiness, or for dotage, I cannot say, but such a great corage* *inclination Hadde this knight to be a wedded man, That day and night he did all that he can To espy where that he might wedded be; Praying our Lord to grante him, that he Mighte once knowen of that blissful life That is betwixt a husband and his wife, And for to live under that holy bond With which God firste man and woman bond. “None other life,” said he, “is worth a bean; For wedlock is so easy, and so clean, That in this world it is a paradise.” Thus said this olde knight, that was so wise. And certainly, as sooth* as God is king, *true To take a wife it is a glorious thing, And namely* when a man is old and hoar, *especially Then is a wife the fruit of his treasor; Then should he take a young wife and a fair, On which he might engender him an heir, And lead his life in joy and in solace;* *mirth, delight Whereas these bachelors singen “Alas!” When that they find any adversity In love, which is but childish vanity. And truely it sits* well to be so, *becomes, befits That bachelors have often pain and woe: On brittle ground they build, and brittleness They finde when they *weene sickerness:* *think that there They live but as a bird or as a beast, is security* In liberty, and under no arrest;* *check, control Whereas a wedded man in his estate Liveth a life blissful and ordinate, Under the yoke of marriage y-bound; Well may his heart in joy and bliss abound. For who can be so buxom* as a wife? *obedient Who is so true, and eke so attentive To keep* him, sick and whole, as is his make?** *care for **mate For weal or woe she will him not forsake: She is not weary him to love and serve, Though that he lie bedrid until he sterve.* *die And yet some clerkes say it is not so; Of which he, Theophrast, is one of tho:* *those *What force* though Theophrast list for to lie? *what matter*

“Take no wife,” quoth he, <3> “for husbandry,* *thrift As for to spare in household thy dispence; A true servant doth more diligence Thy good to keep, than doth thine owen wife, For she will claim a half part all her life. And if that thou be sick, so God me save, Thy very friendes, or a true knave,* *servant Will keep thee bet than she, that *waiteth aye *ahways waits to After thy good,* and hath done many a day.” inherit your property* This sentence, and a hundred times worse, Writeth this man, there God his bones curse. But take no keep* of all such vanity, *notice Defy* Theophrast, and hearken to me. *distrust

A wife is Godde’s gifte verily; All other manner giftes hardily,* *truly As handes, rentes, pasture, or commune,* *common land Or mebles,* all be giftes of fortune, *furniture <4> That passen as a shadow on the wall: But dread* thou not, if plainly speak I shall, *doubt A wife will last, and in thine house endure, Well longer than thee list, paraventure.* *perhaps Marriage is a full great sacrament; He which that hath no wife, I hold him shent;* *ruined He liveth helpless, and all desolate (I speak of folk *in secular estate*): *who are not And hearken why, I say not this for nought, — of the clergy* That woman is for manne’s help y-wrought. The highe God, when he had Adam maked, And saw him all alone belly naked, God of his greate goodness saide then, Let us now make a help unto this man Like to himself; and then he made him Eve. Here may ye see, and hereby may ye preve,* *prove That a wife is man s help and his comfort, His paradise terrestre and his disport. So buxom* and so virtuous is she, *obedient, complying They muste needes live in unity; One flesh they be, and one blood, as I guess, With but one heart in weal and in distress. A wife? Ah! Saint Mary, ben’dicite, How might a man have any adversity That hath a wife? certes I cannot say The bliss the which that is betwixt them tway, There may no tongue it tell, or hearte think. If he be poor, she helpeth him to swink;* *labour She keeps his good, and wasteth never a deal;* *whit All that her husband list, her liketh* well; *pleaseth She saith not ones Nay, when he saith Yea; “Do this,” saith he; “All ready, Sir,” saith she. O blissful order, wedlock precious! Thou art so merry, and eke so virtuous, And so commended and approved eke, That every man that holds him worth a leek Upon his bare knees ought all his life To thank his God, that him hath sent a wife; Or elles pray to God him for to send A wife, to last unto his life’s end. For then his life is set in sickerness,* *security He may not be deceived, as I guess, So that he work after his wife’s rede;* *counsel Then may he boldely bear up his head, They be so true, and therewithal so wise. For which, if thou wilt worken as the wise, Do alway so as women will thee rede. * *counsel Lo how that Jacob, as these clerkes read, By good counsel of his mother Rebecc’ Bounde the kiddes skin about his neck; For which his father’s benison* he wan. *benediction Lo Judith, as the story telle can, By good counsel she Godde’s people kept, And slew him, Holofernes, while he slept. Lo Abigail, by good counsel, how she Saved her husband Nabal, when that he Should have been slain. And lo, Esther also By counsel good deliver’d out of woe The people of God, and made him, Mardoche, Of Assuere enhanced* for to be. *advanced in dignity There is nothing *in gree superlative* *of higher esteem* (As saith Senec) above a humble wife. Suffer thy wife’s tongue, as Cato bit;* *bid She shall command, and thou shalt suffer it, And yet she will obey of courtesy. A wife is keeper of thine husbandry: Well may the sicke man bewail and weep, There as there is no wife the house to keep. I warne thee, if wisely thou wilt wirch,* *work Love well thy wife, as Christ loveth his church: Thou lov’st thyself, if thou lovest thy wife. No man hateth his flesh, but in his life He fost’reth it; and therefore bid I thee Cherish thy wife, or thou shalt never the.* *thrive Husband and wife, what *so men jape or play,* *although men joke Of worldly folk holde the sicker* way; and jeer* *certain They be so knit there may no harm betide, And namely* upon the wife’s side. * especially

For which this January, of whom I told, Consider’d hath within his dayes old, The lusty life, the virtuous quiet, That is in marriage honey-sweet. And for his friends upon a day he sent To tell them the effect of his intent. With face sad,* his tale he hath them told: *grave, earnest He saide, “Friendes, I am hoar and old, And almost (God wot) on my pitte’s* brink, *grave’s Upon my soule somewhat must I think. I have my body foolishly dispended, Blessed be God that it shall be amended; For I will be certain a wedded man, And that anon in all the haste I can, Unto some maiden, fair and tender of age; I pray you shape* for my marriage * arrange, contrive All suddenly, for I will not abide: And I will fond* to espy, on my side, *try To whom I may be wedded hastily. But forasmuch as ye be more than, Ye shalle rather* such a thing espy Than I, and where me best were to ally. But one thing warn I you, my friendes dear, I will none old wife have in no mannere: She shall not passe sixteen year certain. Old fish and younge flesh would I have fain. Better,” quoth he, “a pike than a pickerel,* *young pike And better than old beef is tender veal. I will no woman thirty year of age, It is but beanestraw and great forage. And eke these olde widows (God it wot) They conne* so much craft on Wade’s boat,<5> *know *So muche brooke harm when that them lest,* *they can do so much That with them should I never live in rest. harm when they wish* For sundry schooles make subtle clerkes; Woman of many schooles half a clerk is. But certainly a young thing men may guy,* *guide Right as men may warm wax with handes ply.* *bend,mould Wherefore I say you plainly in a clause, I will none old wife have, right for this cause. For if so were I hadde such mischance, That I in her could have no pleasance, Then should I lead my life in avoutrie,* *adultery And go straight to the devil when I die. Nor children should I none upon her getten: Yet *were me lever* houndes had me eaten *I would rather* Than that mine heritage shoulde fall In strange hands: and this I tell you all. I doubte not I know the cause why Men shoulde wed: and farthermore know I There speaketh many a man of marriage That knows no more of it than doth my page, For what causes a man should take a wife. If he ne may not live chaste his life, Take him a wife with great devotion, Because of lawful procreation Of children, to th’ honour of God above, And not only for paramour or love; And for they shoulde lechery eschew, And yield their debte when that it is due: Or for that each of them should help the other In mischief,* as a sister shall the brother, *trouble And live in chastity full holily. But, Sires, by your leave, that am not I, For, God be thanked, I dare make avaunt,* *boast I feel my limbes stark* and suffisant *strong To do all that a man belongeth to: I wot myselfe best what I may do. Though I be hoar, I fare as doth a tree, That blossoms ere the fruit y-waxen* be; *grown The blossomy tree is neither dry nor dead; I feel me now here hoar but on my head. Mine heart and all my limbes are as green As laurel through the year is for to seen.* *see And, since that ye have heard all mine intent, I pray you to my will ye would assent.”

Diverse men diversely him told Of marriage many examples old; Some blamed it, some praised it, certain; But at the haste, shortly for to sayn (As all day* falleth altercation *constantly, every day Betwixte friends in disputation), There fell a strife betwixt his brethren two, Of which that one was called Placebo, Justinus soothly called was that other.

Placebo said; “O January, brother, Full little need have ye, my lord so dear, Counsel to ask of any that is here: But that ye be so full of sapience, That you not liketh, for your high prudence, To waive* from the word of Solomon. *depart, deviate This word said he unto us every one; Work alle thing by counsel, — thus said he, — And thenne shalt thou not repente thee But though that Solomon spake such a word, Mine owen deare brother and my lord, So wisly* God my soule bring at rest, *surely I hold your owen counsel is the best. For, brother mine, take of me this motive; * *advice, encouragement I have now been a court-man all my life, And, God it wot, though I unworthy be, I have standen in full great degree Aboute lordes of full high estate; Yet had I ne’er with none of them debate; I never them contraried truely. I know well that my lord can* more than I; *knows What that he saith I hold it firm and stable, I say the same, or else a thing semblable. A full great fool is any counsellor That serveth any lord of high honour That dare presume, or ones thinken it; That his counsel should pass his lorde’s wit. Nay, lordes be no fooles by my fay. Ye have yourselfe shewed here to day So high sentence,* so holily and well *judgment, sentiment That I consent, and confirm *every deal* *in every point* Your wordes all, and your opinioun By God, there is no man in all this town Nor in Itale, could better have y-said. Christ holds him of this counsel well apaid.* *satisfied And truely it is a high courage Of any man that stopen* is in age, *advanced <6> To take a young wife, by my father’s kin; Your hearte hangeth on a jolly pin. Do now in this matter right as you lest, For finally I hold it for the best.”

Justinus, that aye stille sat and heard, Right in this wise to Placebo answer’d. “Now, brother mine, be patient I pray, Since ye have said, and hearken what I say. Senec, among his other wordes wise, Saith, that a man ought him right well advise,* *consider To whom he gives his hand or his chattel. And since I ought advise me right well To whom I give my good away from me, Well more I ought advise me, pardie, To whom I give my body: for alway I warn you well it is no childe’s play To take a wife without advisement. Men must inquire (this is mine assent) Whe’er she be wise, or sober, or dronkelew,* *given to drink Or proud, or any other ways a shrew, A chidester,* or a waster of thy good, *a scold Or rich or poor; or else a man is wood.* *mad Albeit so, that no man finde shall None in this world, that *trotteth whole in all,* *is sound in No man, nor beast, such as men can devise,* every point* *describe But nathehess it ought enough suffice With any wife, if so were that she had More goode thewes* than her vices bad: * qualities And all this asketh leisure to inquere. For, God it wot, I have wept many a tear Full privily, since I have had a wife. Praise whoso will a wedded manne’s life, Certes, I find in it but cost and care, And observances of all blisses bare. And yet, God wot, my neighebours about, And namely* of women many a rout,** *especially **company Say that I have the moste steadfast wife, And eke the meekest one, that beareth life. But I know best where wringeth* me my shoe, *pinches Ye may for me right as you like do Advise you, ye be a man of age, How that ye enter into marriage; And namely* with a young wife and a fair, * especially By him that made water, fire, earth, air, The youngest man that is in all this rout* *company Is busy enough to bringen it about To have his wife alone, truste me: Ye shall not please her fully yeares three, This is to say, to do her full pleasance. A wife asketh full many an observance. I pray you that ye be not *evil apaid.”* *displeased*

“Well,” quoth this January, “and hast thou said? Straw for thy Senec, and for thy proverbs, I counte not a pannier full of herbs Of schoole termes; wiser men than thou, As thou hast heard, assented here right now To my purpose: Placebo, what say ye?” “I say it is a cursed* man,” quoth he, *ill-natured, wicked “That letteth* matrimony, sickerly.” *hindereth And with that word they rise up suddenly, And be assented fully, that he should Be wedded when him list, and where he would.

High fantasy and curious business From day to day gan in the soul impress* *imprint themselves Of January about his marriage Many a fair shape, and many a fair visage There passed through his hearte night by night. As whoso took a mirror polish’d bright, And set it in a common market-place, Then should he see many a figure pace By his mirror; and in the same wise Gan January in his thought devise Of maidens, which that dwelte him beside: He wiste not where that he might abide.* *stay, fix his choice For if that one had beauty in her face, Another stood so in the people’s grace For her sadness* and her benignity, *sedateness That of the people greatest voice had she: And some were rich and had a badde name. But natheless, betwixt earnest and game, He at the last appointed him on one, And let all others from his hearte gon, And chose her of his own authority; For love is blind all day, and may not see. And when that he was into bed y-brought, He pourtray’d in his heart and in his thought Her freshe beauty, and her age tender, Her middle small, her armes long and slender, Her wise governance, her gentleness, Her womanly bearing, and her sadness.* *sedateness And when that he *on her was condescended,* *had selected her* He thought his choice might not be amended; For when that he himself concluded had, He thought each other manne’ s wit so bad, That impossible it were to reply Against his choice; this was his fantasy. His friendes sent he to, at his instance, And prayed them to do him that pleasance, That hastily they would unto him come; He would abridge their labour all and some: Needed no more for them to go nor ride,<7> *He was appointed where he would abide.* *he had definitively

Placebo came, and eke his friendes soon, made his choice* And *alderfirst he bade them all a boon,* *first of all he asked That none of them no arguments would make a favour of them* Against the purpose that he had y-take: Which purpose was pleasant to God, said he, And very ground of his prosperity. He said, there was a maiden in the town, Which that of beauty hadde great renown; All* were it so she were of small degree, *although Sufficed him her youth and her beauty; Which maid, he said, he would have to his wife, To lead in ease and holiness his life; And thanked God, that he might have her all, That no wight with his blisse parte* shall; *have a share And prayed them to labour in this need, And shape that he faile not to speed: For then, he said, his spirit was at ease. “Then is,” quoth he, “nothing may me displease, Save one thing pricketh in my conscience, The which I will rehearse in your presence. I have,” quoth he, “heard said, full yore* ago, *long There may no man have perfect blisses two, This is to say, on earth and eke in heaven. For though he keep him from the sinne’s seven, And eke from every branch of thilke tree,<8> Yet is there so perfect felicity, And so great *ease and lust,* in marriage, *comfort and pleasure* That ev’r I am aghast,* now in mine age *ashamed, afraid That I shall head now so merry a life, So delicate, withoute woe or strife, That I shall have mine heav’n on earthe here. For since that very heav’n is bought so dear, With tribulation and great penance, How should I then, living in such pleasance As alle wedded men do with their wives, Come to the bliss where Christ *etern on live is?* *lives eternally* This is my dread;* and ye, my brethren tway, *doubt Assoile* me this question, I you pray.” *resolve, answer

Justinus, which that hated his folly, Answer’d anon right in his japery;* *mockery, jesting way And, for he would his longe tale abridge, He woulde no authority* allege, *written texts But saide; “Sir, so there be none obstacle Other than this, God of his high miracle, And of his mercy, may so for you wirch,* *work That, ere ye have your rights of holy church, Ye may repent of wedded manne’s life, In which ye say there is no woe nor strife: And elles God forbid, *but if* he sent *unless A wedded man his grace him to repent Well often, rather than a single man. And therefore, Sir, *the beste rede I can,* *this is the best counsel Despair you not, but have in your memory, that I know* Paraventure she may be your purgatory; She may be Godde’s means, and Godde’s whip; And then your soul shall up to heaven skip Swifter than doth an arrow from a bow. I hope to God hereafter ye shall know That there is none so great felicity In marriage, nor ever more shall be, That you shall let* of your salvation; *hinder So that ye use, as skill is and reason, The lustes* of your wife attemperly,** *pleasures **moderately And that ye please her not too amorously, And that ye keep you eke from other sin. My tale is done, for my wit is but thin. Be not aghast* hereof, my brother dear, *aharmed, afraid But let us waden out of this mattere, The Wife of Bath, if ye have understand, Of marriage, which ye have now in hand, Declared hath full well in little space; Fare ye now well, God have you in his grace.”

And with this word this Justin’ and his brother Have ta’en their leave, and each of them of other. And when they saw that it must needes be, They wroughte so, by sleight and wise treaty, That she, this maiden, which that *Maius hight,* *was named May* As hastily as ever that she might, Shall wedded be unto this January. I trow it were too longe you to tarry, If I told you of every *script and band* *written bond* By which she was feoffed in his hand; Or for to reckon of her rich array But finally y-comen is the day That to the churche bothe be they went, For to receive the holy sacrament, Forth came the priest, with stole about his neck, And bade her be like Sarah and Rebecc’ In wisdom and in truth of marriage; And said his orisons, as is usage, And crouched* them, and prayed God should them bless, *crossed And made all sicker* enough with holiness. *certain

Thus be they wedded with solemnity; And at the feaste sat both he and she, With other worthy folk, upon the dais. All full of joy and bliss is the palace, And full of instruments, and of vitaille, * *victuals, food The moste dainteous* of all Itale. *delicate Before them stood such instruments of soun’, That Orpheus, nor of Thebes Amphioun, Ne made never such a melody. At every course came in loud minstrelsy, That never Joab trumped for to hear, Nor he, Theodomas, yet half so clear At Thebes, when the city was in doubt. Bacchus the wine them skinked* all about. *poured <9> And Venus laughed upon every wight (For January was become her knight, And woulde both assaye his courage In liberty, and eke in marriage), And with her firebrand in her hand about Danced before the bride and all the rout. And certainly I dare right well say this, Hymeneus, that god of wedding is, Saw never his life so merry a wedded man. Hold thou thy peace, thou poet Marcian,<10> That writest us that ilke* wedding merry *same Of her Philology and him Mercury, And of the songes that the Muses sung; Too small is both thy pen, and eke thy tongue For to describen of this marriage. When tender youth hath wedded stooping age, There is such mirth that it may not be writ; Assay it youreself, then may ye wit* *know If that I lie or no in this mattere.

Maius, that sat with so benign a cheer,* *countenance Her to behold it seemed faerie; Queen Esther never look’d with such an eye On Assuere, so meek a look had she; I may you not devise all her beauty; But thus much of her beauty tell I may, That she was hike the bright morrow of May Full filled of all beauty and pleasance. This January is ravish’d in a trance, At every time he looked in her face; But in his heart he gan her to menace, That he that night in armes would her strain Harder than ever Paris did Helene. But natheless yet had he great pity That thilke night offende her must he, And thought, “Alas, O tender creature, Now woulde God ye mighte well endure All my courage, it is so sharp and keen; I am aghast* ye shall it not sustene. *afraid But God forbid that I did all my might. Now woulde God that it were waxen night, And that the night would lasten evermo’. I would that all this people were y-go.”* *gone away And finally he did all his labour, As he best mighte, saving his honour, To haste them from the meat in subtle wise.

The time came that reason was to rise; And after that men dance, and drinke fast, And spices all about the house they cast, And full of joy and bliss is every man, All but a squire, that highte Damian, Who carv’d before the knight full many a day; He was so ravish’d on his lady May, That for the very pain he was nigh wood;* *mad Almost he swelt* and swooned where he stood, *fainted 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,* *bewail Till freshe May will rue upon his pain. O perilous fire, that in the bedstraw breedeth! O foe familiar,* that his service bedeth!** *domestic <11> **offers O servant traitor, O false homely hewe,* *servant <12> Like to the adder in bosom shy untrue, God shield us alle from your acquaintance! O January, drunken in pleasance Of marriage, see how thy Damian, Thine owen squier and thy boren* man, *born <13> Intendeth for to do thee villainy:* *dishonour, outrage God grante thee thine *homehy foe* t’ espy. *enemy in the household* For in this world is no worse pestilence Than homely foe, all day in thy presence.

Performed hath the sun his arc diurn,* *daily 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 rout* *pleasant company* From January, with thank on every side. Home to their houses lustily they ride, Where as they do their thinges as them lest, And when they see their time they go to rest. Soon after that this hasty* January *eager Will go to bed, he will no longer tarry. He dranke hippocras, clarre, and vernage <14> Of spices hot, to increase his courage; And many a lectuary* had he full fine, *potion Such as the cursed monk Dan Constantine<15> Hath written in his book *de Coitu;* *of sexual intercourse* To eat them all he would nothing eschew: And to his privy friendes thus said he: “For Godde’s love, as soon as it may be, Let *voiden all* this house in courteous wise.” *everyone leave* And they have done right as he will devise. Men drinken, and the travers* draw anon; *curtains 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 freshe May, his paradise, his make.* *mate He lulled her, he kissed her full oft; With thicke bristles of his beard unsoft, Like to the skin of houndfish,* sharp as brere** *dogfish **briar (For he was shav’n all new in his mannere), He rubbed her upon her tender face, And saide thus; “Alas! I must trespace To you, my spouse, and you greatly offend, Ere time come that I will down descend. But natheless consider this,” quoth he, “There is no workman, whatsoe’er he be, That may both worke well and hastily: This will be done at leisure perfectly. It is *no force* how longe that we play; *no matter* In true wedlock coupled be we tway; And blessed be the yoke that we be in, For in our actes may there be no sin. A man may do no sinne with his wife, Nor hurt himselfe 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 clarre, And upright in his bedde then sat he. And after that he sang full loud and clear, And kiss’d his wife, and made wanton cheer. He was all coltish, full of ragerie * *wantonness And full of jargon as a flecked pie.<16> The slacke skin about his necke shaked, While that he sang, so chanted he and craked.* *quavered But God wot what that May thought in her heart, When she him saw up sitting in his shirt In his night-cap, and with his necke lean: She praised not his playing worth a bean. Then said he thus; “My reste 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 rose January, but freshe May Helde her chamber till the fourthe day, As usage is of wives for the best. For every labour some time must have rest, Or elles longe 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 manneare. I say. “O silly Damian, alas! Answer to this demand, as in this case, How shalt thou to thy lady, freshe May, Telle thy woe? She will alway say nay; Eke if thou speak, she will thy woe bewray; * *betray God be thine help, I can no better say. This sicke Damian in Venus’ fire So burned that he died for desire; For which he put his life *in aventure,* *at risk* No longer might he in this wise endure; But privily a penner* gan he borrow, *writing-case And in a letter wrote he all his sorrow, In manner of a complaint or a lay, Unto his faire freshe lady May. And in a purse of silk, hung on his shirt, He hath it put, and laid it at his heart.

The moone, that at noon was thilke* day *that That January had wedded freshe May, In ten of Taure, was into Cancer glided;<17> So long had Maius in her chamber abided, As custom is unto these nobles all. A bride shall not eaten in the ball Till dayes four, or three days at the least, Y-passed be; then let her go to feast. The fourthe day complete from noon to noon, When that the highe masse was y-done, In halle sat this January, and May, As fresh as is the brighte summer’s day. And so befell, how that this goode man Remember’d him upon this Damian. And saide; “Saint Mary, how may this be, That Damian attendeth not to me? Is he aye sick? or how may this betide?” His squiers, which that stoode there beside, Excused him, because of his sickness, Which letted* him to do his business: *hindered None other cause mighte make him tarry. “That me forthinketh,”* quoth this January *grieves, causes “He is a gentle squier, by my truth; uneasiness If that he died, it were great harm and ruth. He is as wise, as discreet, and secre’,* *secret, trusty As any man I know of his degree, And thereto manly and eke serviceble, And for to be a thrifty man right able. But after meat, as soon as ever I may I will myself visit him, and eke May, To do him all the comfort that I can.” And for that word him blessed every man, That of his bounty and his gentleness He woulde so comforten in sickness His squier, for it was a gentle deed.

“Dame,” quoth this January, “take good heed, At after meat, ye with your women all (When that ye be in chamb’r out of this hall), That all ye go to see this Damian: Do him disport, he is a gentle man; And telle him that I will him visite, *Have I nothing but rested me a lite:* *when only I have rested And speed you faste, for I will abide me a little* Till that ye sleepe faste by my side.” And with that word he gan unto him call A squier, that was marshal of his hall, And told him certain thinges that he wo’ld. This freshe May hath straight her way y-hold, With all her women, unto Damian. Down by his beddes side sat she than,* *then Comforting him as goodly as she may. This Damian, when that his time he say,* *saw In secret wise his purse, and eke his bill, In which that he y-written had his will, Hath put into her hand withoute more, Save that he sighed wondrous deep and sore, And softely to her right thus said he: “Mercy, and that ye not discover me: For I am dead if that this thing be kid.”* *discovered <18> The purse hath she in her bosom hid, And went her way; ye get no more of me; But unto January come is she, That on his bedde’s side sat full soft. He took her, and he kissed her full 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