Folwinge his wyf, the quene Proserpyne, Ech after other, right as any lyne 2230 Whyl that she gadered floures in the mede, In Claudian ye may the story rede, How in his grisly carte he hir fette:This king of fairye thanne adoun him sette (990) 2234 Up-on a bench of turves, fresh and grene, And right anon thus seyde he to his quene. 'My wyf,' quod he, 'ther may no wight

sey nay;

man.

Th'experience so preveth every day
The treson whiche that wommen doon to
2239
Ten hondred thousand [stories] telle I can
Notable of your untrouthe and brotilnesse.
O Salomon, wys, richest of richesse, 2242
Fulfild of sapience and of worldly glorie,
Ful worthy been thy wordes to memorie
To every wight that wit and reson can.
Thus preiseth he yet the bountee of man :
"Amonges a thousand men yet fond Ioon,
But of wommen alle fond I noon." (1004)
Thus seith the king that knoweth your
wikkednesse;

2250

And Jesus filius Syrak, as I gesse,
Ne speketh of yow but selde reverence.
A wilde fyr and corrupt pestilence
So falle up-on your bodies yet to-night!
Ne see ye nat this honarable knight, (1010)
By-cause, allas! that he is blind and old,
His owene man shal make him cokewold;
Lo heer he sit, the lechour, in the tree. 2257
Now wol I graunten, of my magestee,
Un-to this olde blinde worthy knight
That he shal have ayeyn his eyen sight, 2260
Whan that his wyf wold doon him vileinye;
Than shal he knowen al hir harlotrye
Both in repreve of hir and othere mo.'

'Ye shal,' quod Proserpyne,' wol ye so; Now, by my modres sires soule I swere, That I shal yeven hir suffisant answere, And alle wommen after, for hir sake; That, though they be in any gilt y-take, With face bold they shulle hem-self excuse,

And bere hem doun that wolden hem

Pardee, as faire as ye his name emplastre,
He was a lechour and an ydolastre;
And in his elde he verray god forsook.
And if that god ne hadde, as seith the book,
Y-spared him for his fadres sake, he sholde
Have lost his regne rather than he wolde.
I sette noght of al the vileinye, (1059)
That ye of wommen wryte, a boterflye.
I am a womman, nedes moot I speke, 2305
Or elles swelle til myn herte breke.
For sithen he seyde that we ben jan-
gleresses,

As ever hool I mote brouke my tresses,

I yeve it up; but sith I swoor myn ooth That I wolde graunten him his sighte (1069)

ageyn,

My word shalstonde, I warne yow, certeyn.
I am a king, it sit me noght to lye.' 2315
'And I,' quod she, 'a queene of fayërye.
Hir answere shal she have, I undertake;
Lat us na-more wordes heer-of make.
For sothe, I wol no lenger yow contrarie.'
Now lat us turne agayn to Januarie, 2320
That in the gardin with his faire May
Singeth, ful merier than the papejay,
'Yow love best, and shal, and other

May han to fruit so greet an appetyt, That she may dyen, but she of it have.' 'Allas!' quod he, that I ne had heer

a knave That coude climbe; allas! allas!' quod he, That I am blind.' 'Ye, sir, no fors,' quod she: 2340 'But wolde ye vouche-sauf, for goddes sake,

The pyrie inwith your armes for to take, (For wel I woot that ye mistruste me) Thanne sholde I climbe wel y-nogh,' quod she, (1100) 'So I my foot mighte sette upon your bak.' 'Certes,' quod he, ther-on shal be no lak,

2346

2370

Have pacience, and reson in your minde, I have yow holpe on bothe your eyen blinde. Up peril of my soule, I shal nat lyen, As me was taught, to hele with your yễn, Was no-thing bet to make yow to see Than strugle with a man up-on a tree. (1130) God woot, I dide it in ful good entente.' 'Strugle!' quod he, 'ye, algate in it wente!

2376 God yeve yow bothe on shames deeth to dyen!

Allas!' quod she, 'that ever I was so kinde!'

2390

'Now, dame,' quod he, 'lat al passe out of minde. Com doun, my lief, and if I have missayd, God help me so, as I am yvel apayd. But, by my fader soule, I wende han seyn, How that this Damian had by thee leyn, And that thy smok had leyn up-on his brest.' (1151) 2395 'Ye, sire,' quod she, 'ye may wene as yow lest;

But, sire, a man that waketh out of his sleep,

First whan his sighte is newe come ageyn, As he that hath a day or two y-seyn. (1160) Til that your sighte y-satled be a whyle, Ther may ful many a sighte yow bigyle. Beth war, I prey yow; for, by hevene king, 2407

Ful many a man weneth to seen a thing, And it is al another than it semeth. He that misconceyveth, he misdemeth.' And with that word she leep doun fro the tree. 2411

This Januarie, who is glad but he? He kisseth hir, and clippeth hir ful ofte, And on hir wombe he stroketh hir ful softe, (1170) And to his palays hoom he hath hir lad. Now, gode men, I pray yow to be glad, 2416 Thus endeth heer my tale of Januarie; God blesse us and his moder Seinte Marie !

'Er! goddes mercy!' seyde our Hoste tho, 'Now swich a wyf I pray god kepe me fro! Lo, whiche sleightes and subtilitees 2421 In wommen been! for ay as bisy as bees Ben they, us sely men for to deceyve, And from a sothe ever wol they weyve ; By this Marchauntes Tale it preveth weel. But doutelees, as trewe as any steel 2426 I have a wyf, though that she povre be; But of hir tonge a labbing shrewe is she, And yet she hath an heep of vyces mo; (11) Ther-of no fors, lat alle swiche thinges go.

But, wite ye what? in conseil be it seyd, Me reweth sore I am un-to hir teyd. 2432 For, and I sholde rekenen every vyce Which that she hath, y-wis, I were to

nyce,

And cause why; it sholde reported be 2435
And told to hir of somme of this meynee;
Of whom, it nedeth nat for to declare,
Sin wommen connen outen swich chaf-
fare;
(20)

And eek my wit suffyseth nat ther-to
To tellen al; wherfor my tale is do.' 2440

25

And ther-to he was hardy, wys, and riche,
And †piëtous and just, alwey y-liche; 20
Sooth of his word, benigne and honurable,
Of his corage as any centre stable;
Yong, fresh, and strong, in armes desirous
As any bacheler of al his hous.
A fair persone he was and fortunat,
And kepte alwey so wel royal estat,
That ther was nowher swich another man.
This noble king, this Tartre Cambinskan
Hadde two sones on Elpheta his wyf, (21)
Of whiche th'eldeste highte Algarsyf, 30
That other sone was cleped Cambalo.
A doghter hadde this worthy king also,
That yongest was, and highte Canacee.
But for to telle yow al hir beautee,

(30)

It lyth nat in my tonge, n'in my conning;
I dar nat undertake so heigh a thing. 36
Myn English eek is insufficient;
It moste been a rethor excellent,
That coude his colours longing for that art,
If he sholde hir discryven every part. 40
I am non swich, I moot speke as I can.
And so bifel that, whan this Cambinskan
Hath twenty winter born his diademe,
As he was wont fro yeer to yeer, I deme,
He leet the feste of his nativitee
45

Don cryen thurghout Sarray his citee,
The last Idus of March, after the yeer.
Phebus the sonne ful joly was and cleer;
For he was neigh his exaltacioun

(41)

Of which if I shal tellen al th'array,
Than wolde it occupye a someres day;
And eek it nedeth nat for to devyse
At every cours the ordre of hir servyse.
I wol nat tellen of hir strange sewes, (59)
Ne of hir swannes, ne of hir heronsewes.
Eek in that lond, as tellen knightes olde,
Ther is som mete that is ful deyntee holde,

(81)

90

Al armed save his heed ful richely,
Saluëth king and queen, and lordes alle,
By ordre, as they seten in the halle,
With so heigh reverence and obeisaunce
As wel in speche as in contenaunce,
That Gawain, with his olde curteisye, 95
Though he were come ageyn out of Fairye,
Ne coude him nat amende with a word.
And after this, biforn the heighe bord, (90)
He with a manly voys seith his message,
After the forme used in his langage,
With-outen vyce of sillable or of lettre ;
And, for his tale sholde seme the bettre,
Accordant to his wordes was his chere,
As techeth art of speche hem that it

lere;

100

Whan ther shal fallen any adversitee
Un-to your regne or to your-self also; 135
And openly who is your freend or foo.
And over al this, if any lady bright
Hath set hir herte on any maner wight,
If he be fals, she shal his treson see, (131)
His newe love and al his subtiltee
140
So openly, that ther shal no-thing hyde.
Wherfor, ageyn this lusty someres tyde,
This mirour and this ring, that ye may see,
He hath sent to my lady Canacee,
Your excellente doghter that is here. 145

The vertu of the ring, if ye wol here,
Is this; that, if hir lust it for to were (139)
Up-on hir thombe, or in hir purs it bere,
Ther is no foul that fleeth under the
hevene

That she ne shal wel understonde his stevene, 150

And knowe his mening openly and pleyn, And answere him in his langage ageyn. And every gras that groweth up-on rote She shal eek knowe, and whom it wol do bote,

Al be his woundes never so depe and wyde.