quoth he, “There is no workman, whatsoe’er he be, That may both workë well and hastily: This will be done at leisure perfectly. It is no force how longë that we play; In true wedlock coupled be we tway; And blessed be the yoke that we be in, For in our actës may there be no sin. A man may do no sinnë with his wife, Nor hurt himselfë 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 clarré, And upright in his beddë then sat he. And after that he sang full loud and clear, And kiss’d his wife, and madë wanton cheer. He was all coltish, full of ragerie And full of jargon as a flecked pie. The slackë skin about his neckë shaked, While that he sang, so chanted he and craked. But God wot what that May thought in her heart, When she him saw up sitting in his shirt In his nightcap, and with his neckë lean: She praised not his playing worth a bean. Then said he thus; “My restë 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 rosë January, but freshë May Heldë her chamber till the fourthë day, As usage is of wivës for the best. For every labour some time must have rest, Or ellës longë may he not endure; This is to say, no life of creature, Be it of fish, or bird, or beast, or man.