The Tale

Performed hath the sun his arc diurn, 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 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 hasty Januáry Will go to bed, he will no longer tarry. He drankë hippocras, clarre, and vernage Of spices hot, to increase his couráge; And many a lectuary had he full fine, Such as the cursed monk Dan Constantine 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 travers 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. He lulled her, he kissed her full oft; With thickë bristles of his beard unsoft, Like to the skin of houndfish, sharp as brere (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,”