I speak, Or ellës swell until mine heartë break. For since he said that we be jangleresses, As ever may I brookë whole my tresses, I shall not spare for no courtesy To speak him harm, that said us villainy.” “Dame,” quoth this Pluto, “be no longer wroth; I give it up: but, since I swore mine oath That I would grant to him his sight again, My word shall stand, that warn I you certáin: I am a king, it sits me not to lie.” “And I,” quoth she, “am queen of Faërie. Her answer she shall have, I undertake, Let us no morë wordës of it make. Forsooth, I will no longer you contráry.”
Now let us turn again to January, That in the garden with his fairë May Singeth well merrier than the popinjay: “You love I best, and shall, and other none.” So long about the alleys is he gone, Till he was comë to that ilkë perry, Where as this Damian sattë full merry On high, among the freshë leavës green. This freshë May, that is so bright and sheen, Gan for to sigh, and said, “Alas my side! Now, Sir,” quoth she, “for aught that may betide, I must have of the pearës that I see, Or I must die, so sorë longeth me To eaten of the smallë pearës green; Help, for her love that is of heaven queen! I tell you well, a woman in my plight May have to fruit so great an appetite, That