The Canterbury Tales · The Merchant’s Tale · The Tale 2746 (3/4)

“Dame,” quoth this January, “take good heed,

At after meat, ye with your women all

(When that ye be in chamb’r out of this hall),

That all ye go to see this Damian:

Do him disport, he is a gentle man;

And tellë him that I will him visíte,

Have I nothing but rested me a lite:2904

And speed you fastë, for I will abide

Till that ye sleepë fastë by my side.”

And with that word he gan unto him call

A squiër, that was marshal of his hall,

And told him certain thingës that he wo’ld.

This freshë May hath straight her way y-hold,

With all her women, unto Damian.

Down by his beddë’s sidë sat she than,2905

Comfórting him as goodly as she may.

This Damian, when that his time he say,2906

In secret wise his purse, and eke his bill,

In which that he y-written had his will,

Hath put into her hand withoutë more,

Save that he sighed wondrous deep and sore,

And softëly to her right thus said he:

“Mercy, and that ye not discover me:

For I am dead if that this thing be kid.”2907

The pursë hath she in her bosom hid,

And went her way; ye get no more of me;

But unto January come is she,

That on his beddë’s sidë sat full soft.

He took her, and he kissed her full oft,

And laid him down to sleep, and that anon.

She feigned her as that she mustë gon

There as ye know that every wight must need;

And when she of this bill had taken heed,

She rent it all to cloutës2908 at the last,

And in the privy softëly it cast.

Who studieth2909 now but fairë freshë May?

Adown by oldë January she lay,

That sleptë, till the cough had him awaked:

Anon he pray’d her strippë her all naked,

He would of her, he said, have some pleasánce;

And said her clothës did him incumbránce.

And she obey’d him, be her lefe or loth.2910

But, lest that precious2911 folk be with me wroth,

How that he wrought I dare not to you tell,

Or whether she thought it paradise or hell;

But there I let them worken in their wise

Till evensong ring, and they must arise.

Were it by destiny, or áventure,

Were it by influence, or by natúre,

Or constellation, that in such estate

The heaven stood at that time fortunate

As for to put a bill of Venus’ works

(For allë thing hath time, as say these clerks),

To any woman for to get her love,

I cannot say; but greatë God above,

That knoweth that none act is causëless,

He deem2912 of all, for I will hold my peace.

But sooth is this, how that this freshë May

Hath taken such impressión that day

Of pity on this sickë Damian,

That from her heartë she not drivë can

The remembráncë for to do him ease.2913

“Certain,” thought she, “whom that this thing displease

I reckë not, for here I him assure,

To love him best of any creature,

Though he no morë haddë than his shirt.”

Lo, pity runneth soon in gentle heart.

Here may ye see, how excellent franchise2914

In women is when they them narrow advise.2915

Some tyrant is⁠—as there be many a one⁠—

That hath a heart as hard as any stone,

Which would have let him sterven2916 in the place

Well rather than have granted him her grace;

And then rejoicen in her cruel pride.

And reckon not to be a homicide.

This gentle May, full filled of pitý,

Right of her hand a letter maked she,

In which she granted him her very grace;

There lacked nought, but only day and place,

Where that she might unto his lust suffice:

For it shall be right as he will devise.

And when she saw her time upon a day

To visit this Damían went this May,

And subtilly this letter down she thrust

Under his pillow, read it if him lust.

She took him by the hand, and hard him twist’

So secretly, that no wight of it wist,

And bade him be all whole; and forth she went

To January, when he for her sent.

Up rosë Damian the nextë morrow,

All passed was his sickness and his sorrow.

He combed him, he proined2917 him and picked,

He did all that unto his lady liked;

And eke to January he went as low

As ever did a doggë for the bow.2918

He is so pleasant unto every man

(For craft is all, whoso that do it can),

Every wight is fain to speak him good;

And fully in his lady’s grace he stood.

Thus leave I Damian about his need,

And in my talë forth I will proceed.

Some clerkës2919 holdë that felicitý

Stands in delight; and therefore certain he,

This noble January, with all his might

In honest wise as longeth to a knight,

Shope2920 him to livë full deliciously:

His housing, his array, as honestly2921

To his degree was maked as a king’s.

Amongës other of his honest things

He had a garden wallëd all with stone;

So fair a garden wot I nowhere none.

For out of doubt I verily suppose

That he that wrote the Romance of the Rose2922

Could not of it the beauty well devise;2923

Nor Priapus2924 mightë not well suffice,

Though he be god of gardens, for to tell

The beauty of the garden, and the well2925

That stood under a laurel always green.

Full often time he, Pluto, and his queen

Proserpina, and all their faërie,

Disported them and madë melody

About that well, and danced, as men told.

This noble knight, this January old,

Such dainty2926 had in it to walk and play,

That he would suffer no wight to bear the key,

Save he himself, for of the small wickét

He bare always of silver a clikét,2927

With which, when that him list, he it unshet.2928

And when that he would pay his wifë’s debt,

In summer season, thither would he go,

And May his wife, and no wight but they two;

And thingës which that were not done in bed,

He in the garden them perform’d and sped.

And in this wisë many a merry day

Lived this January and fresh May,

But worldly joy may not always endure

To January, nor to no creatúre.

O sudden hap! O thou fortúne unstable!

Like to the scorpión so deceiváble,2929

That fhatt’rest with thy head when thou wilt sting;

Thy tail is death, through thine envenoming.

O brittle joy! O sweetë poison quaint

O monster, that so subtilly canst paint

Thy giftës, under hue of steadfastness,

That thou deceivest bothë more and less

Why hast thou January thus deceiv’d,

That haddest him for thy full friend receiv’d?

And now thou hast bereft him both his eyen,

For sorrow of which desireth he to dien.

Alas! this noble January free,

Amid his lust2932 and his prosperity

Is waxen blind, and that all suddenly.

He weeped and he wailed piteously;

And therewithal the fire of jealousy

(Lest that his wife should fall in some follý)

So burnt his heartë, that he wouldë fain,

That some man bothë him and her had slain;

For neither after his death, nor in his life,

Ne would he that she were no love nor wife,

But ever live as widow in clothës black,

Sole as the turtle that hath lost her make.2933

But at the last, after a month or tway,

His sorrow gan assuagë, sooth to say.

For, when he wist it might none other be,

He patiently took his adversity:

Save out of doubtë he may not foregon

That he was jealous evermore-in-one:2934

Which jealousy was so outrageoús,

That neither in hall, nor in none other house,

Nor in none other place never the mo’

He wouldë suffer her to ride or go,

But if2935 that he had hand on her alway.

For which full often weptë freshë May,

That loved Damian so burningly

That she must either dien suddenly,

Or ellës she must have him as her lest:2936

She waited2937 when her heartë wouldë brest.2938

Upon that other sidë Damian

Becomen is the sorrowfullest man

That ever was; for neither night nor day

He mightë speak a word to freshë May,

As to his purpose, of no such mattére,

But if2939 that January must it hear,

That had a hand upon her evermo’.

But natheless, by writing to and fro,

And privy signës, wist he what she meant,

And she knew eke the fine2940 of his intent.

O January, what might it thee avail,

Though thou might see as far as shippës sail?

For as good is it blind deceiv’d to be,

As be deceived when a man may see.

Lo, Argus, which that had a hundred eyen,

For all that ever he could pore or pryen,

Yet was he blent;2941 and, God wot, so be mo’,

That weenë wisly2942 that it be not so:

Pass over is an ease, I say no more.

This freshë May, of which I spakë yore,

In warm wax hath imprinted the clikét2943

That January bare of the small wickét

By which into his garden oft he went;

And Damian, that knew all her intent,

The cliket counterfeited privily;

There is no more to say, but hastily

Some wonder by this cliket shall betide,

Which ye shall hearen, if ye will abide.

O noble Ovid, sooth say’st thou, God wot,

What sleight is it, if love be long and hot,

That he’ll not find it out in some mannére?

By Pyramus and Thisbe may men lear;2944

Though they were kept full long and strait o’er all,

They be accorded,2945 rowning2946 through a wall,

Where no wight could have found out such a sleight.

But now to purpose; ere that dayës eight

Were passed of the month of July, fill2947

That January caught so great a will,

Through egging2948 of his wife, him for to play

In his gardén, and no wight but they tway,

That in a morning to this May said he:

“Rise up, my wife, my love, my lady free;

The turtle’s voice is heard, mine owen sweet;

The winter is gone, with all his rainës weet.2949

Come forth now with thine eyen columbine.2950

Well fairer be thy breasts than any wine.

The garden is enclosed all about;

Come forth, my whitë spouse; for, out of doubt,

Thou hast me wounded in mine heart, O wife:

No spot in thee was e’er in all thy life.

Come forth, and let us taken our disport;

I choose thee for my wife and my comfórt.”

Such oldë lewëd wordës used he.

On Damian a signë madë she,

That he should go beforë with his cliket.

This Damian then hath opened the wicket,

And in he start, and that in such mannére

That no wight might him either see or hear;

And still he sat under a bush. Anon

This January, as blind as is a stone,

With Maius in his hand, and no wight mo’,

Into this freshë garden is y-go,

And clapped to the wicket suddenly.

“Now, wife,” quoth he, “here is but thou and I;

Thou art the creature that I bestë love:

For, by that Lord that sits in heav’n above,

Lever2951 I had to dien on a knife,

Than thee offendë, dearë truë wife.

For Goddë’s sakë, think how I thee chees,2952

Not for no covetisë2953 doubtëless,

But only for the love I had to thee.

And though that I be old, and may not see,

Be to me true, and I will tell you why.

Certes three thingës shall ye win thereby:

First, love of Christ, and to yourself honoúr,

And all mine heritagë, town and tow’r.

I give it you, make charters as you lest;

This shall be done to-morrow ere sun rest,

So wisly2954 God my soulë bring to bliss!

I pray you, on this covenant me kiss.

And though that I be jealous, wite2955 me not;

Ye be so deep imprinted in my thought,

That when that I consider your beautý,

And therewithal th’ unlikely2956 eld of me,

I may not, certes, though I shouldë die,

Forbear to be out of your company,

For very love; this is withoutë doubt:

Now kiss me, wife, and let us roam about.”

This freshë May, when she these wordës heard,

Benignëly to January answér’d;

But first and forward she began to weep:

“I have,” quoth she, “a soulë for to keep

As well as ye, and also mine honoúr,

And of my wifehood thilkë tender flow’r

Which that I have assured in your hond,

When that the priest to you my body bond:

Wherefore I will answer in this mannére,

With leave of you mine owen lord so dear.

I pray to God, that never dawn the day

That I ne sterve,2957 as foul as woman may,

If e’er I do unto my kin that shame,

Or ellës I impairë so my name,

That I be false; and if I do that lack,

Do2958 strippë me, and put me in a sack,

And in the nextë river do2959 me drench:2960

I am a gentle woman, and no wench.

Why speak ye thus? but men be e’er untrue,

And women have reproof of you aye new.

Ye know none other dalliance, I believe,

But speak to us of untrust and repreve.”2961

And with that word she saw where Damian

Sat in the bush, and coughë she began;

And with her finger signë madë she,

That Damian should climb upon a tree

That charged was with fruit; and up he went:

For verily he knew all her intent,

And every signë that she couldë make,

Better than January her own make.2962

For in a letter she had told him all

Of this mattér, how that he workë shall.

And thus I leave him sitting in the perry,2963

And January and May roaming full merry.