Now let us turn again to January, That in the garden with his fairë May Singeth well merrier than the popinjay: 2989 “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, 2990 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 she may dien, but 2991 she of it have.” “Alas!” quoth he, “that I had here a knave 2992