And she answered: “Sir, what aileth you? Have patience and reason in your mind, I have you help’d on both your eyen blind. On peril of my soul, I shall not lien, As me was taught to helpë with your eyen, Was nothing better for to make you see, Than struggle with a man upon a tree: God wot, I did it in full good intent.” “Struggle!” quoth he, “yea, algate in it went. God give you both one shamë’s death to dien! He swived thee; I saw it with mine eyen; And ellës be I hanged by the halse.” “Then is,” quoth she, “my medicine all false; For certainly, if that ye mightë see, Ye would not say these wordës unto me. Ye have some glimpsing, and no perfect sight.” “I see,” quoth he, “as well as ever I might, (Thanked be God!) with both mine eyen two, And by my faith me thought he did thee so.” “Ye maze, ye mazë, goodë Sir,” quoth she; “This thank have I for I have made you see: Alas!” quoth she, “that e’er I was so kind.” “Now, Dame,” quoth he, “let all pass out of mind; Come down, my lefe, and if I have missaid, God help me so, as I am evil apaid. But, by my father’s soul, I ween’d have seen How that this Damian had by thee lain, And that thy smock had lain upon his breast.”
“Yea, Sir,” quoth she, “ye may ween as ye lest: But, Sir, a man that wakes out of his sleep, He may not suddenly well takë keep Upon a thing, nor see it perfectly, Till that he be adawed verily. Right so a man, that long hath blind y-be, He may not suddenly so well y-see, First when his sight is newë come again, As he that hath a day or two y-seen. Till that your sight establish’d be a while, There may full many a sightë you beguile. Beware, I pray you, for, by heaven’s king, Full many a man weeneth to see a thing, And it is all another than it seemeth; He which that misconceiveth oft misdeemeth.” And with that word she leapt down from the tree. This January, who is glad but he? He kissed her, and clipped her full oft, And on her womb he stroked her full soft; And to his palace home he hath her lad. Now, goodë men, I pray you to be glad. Thus endeth here my tale of Januáry, God bless us, and his mother, Saintë Mary.