Help, for hir love that is of hevene quene!
I telle yow wel, a womman in my plyt
May han to fruit so greet an appetyt,
That she may dyen; but she of it have.’
‘Allas!’ quod he, ‘that I ne had heer a knave
That coude climbe; allas! allas!’ quod he,
‘That I am blind.’ ‘Ye, sir, no fors,’ quod she:
‘But wolde ye vouche-sauf, for goddes sake,
The pyrie inwith your armes for to take,
(For wel I woot that ye mistruste me)
Thanne sholde I climbe wel y-nogh,’ quod she, (1100)
‘So I my foot mighte sette upon your bak.’
‘Certes,’ quod he, ‘ther-on shal be no lak,
Mighte I yow helpen with myn herte blood.’
He stoupeth doun, and on his bak she stood,
And caughte hir by a twiste, and up she gooth.
Ladies, I prey yow that ye be nat wrooth;
I can nat glose, I am a rude man.
And sodeynly anon this Damian
Gan pullen up the smok, and in he throng.
And whan that Pluto saugh this grete wrong, (1110)
To Januarie he gaf agayn his sighte,
And made him see, as wel as ever he mighte.
And whan that he hadde caught his sighte agayn,
Ne was ther never man of thing so fayn.
But on his wyf his thoght was evermo;
Up to the tree he caste his eyen two,
And saugh that Damian his wyf had dressed
In swich manere, it may nat ben expressed
But if I wolde speke uncurteisly:
And up he yaf a roring and a cry (1120)
As doth the moder whan the child shal dye:
‘Out! help! allas! harrow!’ he gan to crye,
‘O stronge lady store, what dostow?’
And she answerde, ‘sir, what eyleth yow?
Have pacience, and reson in your minde,
I have yow holpe on bothe your eyen blinde.
Up peril of my soule, I shal nat lyen,
As me was taught, to hele with your yën,
Was no-thing bet to make yow to see
Than strugle with a man up-on a tree. (1130)
God woot, I dide it in ful good entente.’
‘Strugle!’ quod he, ‘ye, algate in it wente!
God yeve yow bothe on shames deeth to dyen!
He swyved thee, I saugh it with myne yën,
And elles be I hanged by the hals!’
‘Thanne is,’ quod she, ‘my medicyne al fals;
For certeinly, if that ye mighte see,
Ye wolde nat seyn thise wordes un-to me;
Ye han som glimsing and no parfit sighte.’
‘I see,’ quod he, ‘as wel as ever I mighte, (1140)
Thonked be god! with bothe myne eyen two,
And by my trouthe, me thoughte he dide thee so.’
‘Ye maze, maze, gode sire,’ quod she,
‘This thank have I for I have maad yow see;
Allas!’ quod she, ‘that ever I was so kinde!’
‘Now, dame,’ quod he, ‘lat al passe out of minde.
Com doun, my lief, and if I have missayd,
God help me so, as I am yvel apayd.
But, by my fader soule, I wende han seyn,
How that this Damian had by thee leyn,
And that thy smok had leyn up-on his brest.’ (1151)
‘Ye, sire,’ quod she, ‘ye may wene as yow lest;
But, sire, a man that waketh out of his sleep,
He may nat sodeynly wel taken keep
Up-on a thing, ne seen it parfitly,
Til that he be adawed verraily;
Right so a man, that longe hath blind y-be,
Ne may nat sodeynly so wel y-see,
First whan his sighte is newe come ageyn,
As he that hath a day or two y-seyn. (1160)
Til that your sighte y-satled be a whyle,
Ther may ful many a sighte yow bigyle.
Beth war, I prey yow; for, by hevene king,
Ful many a man weneth to seen a thing,
And it is al another than it semeth.
He that misconceyveth, he misdemeth.’
And with that word she leep doun fro the tree.
This Januarie, who is glad but he?
He kisseth hir, and clippeth hir ful ofte,
And on hir wombe he stroketh hir ful softe, (1170)
And to his palays hoom he hath hir lad.
Now, gode men, I pray yow to be glad.
Thus endeth heer my tale of Januarie;
God blesse us and his moder Seinte Marie!
Here is ended the Marchantes Tale of Januarie.
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