(Ladys, I pray yow that ye be not wroth,
I can not glose, I am a rude man :)
And sodeinly anoon this Damyan
Gan pullen up the smok, and in he throng.
And whan that Pluto saugh this grete wrong, To January he yaf his sight agayn,
Ne was ther never man of thing so fayn;
But on his wyf his thought was evermo.
Up to the tree he kest his eyghen tuo,
And seigh that Damyan his wyf hadde dressid
In which maner it may not ben expressid,
But-if I wolde speke uncurteisly.
And up he yaf a roryng and a cry,
As doth the moder whan the child schal dye; Out! help! allas! harrow!' he gan to crie; 1120 'O stronge lady stoure, what dos thow?'
And sche answerith: Sire, what eylith yow?
Have paciens and resoun in your mynde,
I have yow holpen on bothe your eyen blynde.
Up peril of my soule, I schal not lyen,
As me was taught to hele with your yen,
Was nothing bet for to make yow see,
Than stroggle with a man upon a tree;
God woot, I dede it in ful good entente.'
Stroggle!' quod he, 'ye, algat in it wente.
God yive yow bothe on schames deth to dyen!
He swyvede the; I saugh it with myn yen;
And elles be I honged by the hals.'
Than is,' quod sche' my medicine fals.
For certeynly, if that ye mighten see,
Ye wolde not saye tho wordes unto me.
Ye han som glymsyng, and no parfyt sighte.
'I se,' quod he, 'as wel as ever I mighte.
(Thankid be God) with bothe myn yen tuo, And by my trouth me thought he did the so.' 1140 Ye mase, mase, goode sir,' quod sche;
This thank have I for I have maad yow see;
Allas!' quod sche, that ever I was so kynde.'
Now, dame,' quod he, let al passe out of mynde;
Com doun, my leef, and if I have myssayd,
God help me so, as I am evel appayd.
But by my fader soule, I wende have seyn,
How that this Damyan hadde by the leyn,
And that thy smok hadde layn upon thy breste.'
Ye, sire,' quod sche, 'ye may wene as yow leste;
But, sire, a man that wakith out of his slep,
He may not sodeynly wel take keep
Upon a thing, ne seen it parfytly,
Til that he be adawed verrayly.
Right so a man, that long hath blynd i-be,
He may not sodeynly so wel i-se,
First whan the sight is newe comen agayn,
As he that hath a day or tuo i-sayn.
Til that your sight y-stablid be a while,
Ther may ful many a sighte yow bigile.
Beth war, I pray yow, for, by heven king,
Ful many man wenith for to se a thing
And it is al another than it semeth;
He that mysconceyveth he mysdemeth.'
And with that word sche leep doun fro the tre. This January who is glad but he?
He kissith hir, and clippith hir ful ofte,
And on hir wombe he strokith hir ful softe;
And to his paleys hom he hath hir lad.
Now, goode men, I pray yow to be glad.
Thus endith her my tale of Januarye,
God blesse us, and his moder seinte Marie !
Y! Goddes mercy!' sayd our Hoste tho,
Now such a wyf I pray God keep
Lo, whiche sleightes and subtilitees In wommen ben; for ay as busy as bees Ben thay us seely men for to desceyve, And from a soth ever wol thay weyve. By this Marchaundes tale it proveth wel. But douteles, as trewe as eny steele I have a wyf, though that sche pore be; But of hir tonge a labbyng schrewe is sche; And yit sche hath an heep of vices mo. Therof no fors; let alle such thinges go. But wite ye what? in counseil be it seyd, Me rewith sore I am unto hir teyd; And if I scholde reken every vice, Which that sche hath, i-wis I were to nyce; And cause why, it schulde reported be And told to hir of som of this meyné, (Of whom it needith not for to declare, Syn wommen connen oute such chaffare); And eek my witte suffisith nought therto To tellen al; wherfor my tale is do.'
Sir Squier, com forth, if that your And say us a tale of love, for certes ye Connen theron as moche as ony man.'
'Nay, sire,' quod he; but I wil say as I can With herty wil, for I wil not rebelle
Against your wille; a tale wil I telle,
Have me excused if that I speke amys;
My wil is good; and thereto my tale is this.'
T Sarray, in the lond of Tartary,
Ther dwelled a kyng that werryede
Russy,
Thurgh which ther deyede many a
doughty man;
This nobil kyng was cleped Cambynskan,
Which in his tyme was of so gret renoun,
That ther nas nowher in no regioun
So excellent a lord in alle thing;
Him lakkede nought that longede to a kyng.
As of the secte of which that he was born,
He kept his lawe to which that he was sworn; 10
And therto he was hardy, wys, and riche,
And pitous and just, and alway yliche,
Soth of his word, benign and honurable;
Of his corage as eny centre stable;
Yong, freisch, and strong, in armes desirous,
eny bachiler of al his hous.
A fair person he was, and fortunat,
And kepte so wel his real astat,
That ther was nowher such a ryal man.
This noble kyng, this Tartre, this Cambynskan, 20
Hadde tuo sones by Elcheta his wyf,
Of which the eldest highte Algarsyf,
That other was i-cleped Camballo.
A doughter hadde this worthi king also,
That yongest was, and highte Canacé;
But for to telle yow al hir beauté,
It lith not on my tonge, ne my connyng,
I dar nought undertake so heigh a thing;
Myn Englissh eek is insufficient,
It moste be a rethor excellent
That couth his colours longyng for that art,
If he schold hir discryve in eny part;
I am non such, I mot speke as I can.
And so bifel it, that this Cambynskan
Hath twenty wynter born his dyademe;
As he was wont fro yer to yer, I deme,
He leet the fest of his nativité
Don cryen, thurghout Sarray his cite,
The last Idus of March, after the yeer.
Phebus the sonne ful joly was and cleer,
For he was neigh his exaltacioun
In Martez face, and in his mansioun
In Aries, the colerik, the hote signe.
Ful lusty was the wedir and benigne,
For which the foules ayein the sonne scheene,
What for the sesoun and for the yonge greene,
Ful lowde song in here affecciouns;
Hem semed have geten hem protecciouns
Ayens the swerd of wynter kene and cold.
This Cambynskan, of which I have yow
In royal vesture, sittyng on his deys
With dyadem, ful heigh in his paleys,
And held his fest solempne and so riche,
That in this worlde ne was there noon it liche.
Of which if I schal tellen al tharray,
Than wold it occupie a someres day;
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