Upon the morrow, when that it was day, Unto Bretágne they took the rightë way, Aurelius and this magicián beside, And be descended where they would abide: And this was, as the bookës me remember, The coldë frosty season of December. Phoebus wax’d old, and huëd like latoun, 3336 That in his hotë declinatioún Shone as the burned gold, with streamës 3337 bright; But now in Capricorn adown he light, Where as he shone full pale, I dare well sayn. The bitter frostës, with the sleet and rain, Destroyed have the green in every yard. 3338 Janus sits by the fire with double beard, And drinketh of his bugle horn the wine: Before him stands the brawn of tusked swine, And “nowel” 3339 crieth every lusty man. Aurelius, in all that ev’r he can,