The Tale

“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 tellë him that I will him visíte, Have I nothing but rested me a lite: And speed you fastë, for I will abide Till that ye sleepë fastë by my side.” And with that word he gan unto him call A squiër, that was marshal of his hall, And told him certain thingës that he wo’ld. This freshë May hath straight her way y-hold, With all her women, unto Damian. Down by his beddë’s sidë sat she than, Comfórting him as goodly as she may. This Damian, when that his time he say, In secret wise his purse, and eke his bill, In which that he y-written had his will, Hath put into her hand withoutë more, Save that he sighed wondrous deep and sore, And softëly to her right thus said he: “Mercy, and that ye not discover me: For I am dead if that this thing be kid.” The pursë 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 beddë’s sidë 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 mustë gon There as ye know that every wight must need; And when she of this bill had taken heed, She rent it all to cloutës at the last, And in the privy softëly it cast. Who studieth now but fairë freshë May? Adown by oldë January she lay, That sleptë, till the cough had him awaked: Anon he pray’d her strippë her all naked, He would of her, he said, have some pleasánce; And said her clothës did him incumbránce. And she obey’d him, be her lefe or loth. But, lest that precious folk be with me wroth, 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.