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T. 9613-9648.]
E. THE MARCHANTES TALE.
441
Ther is swich mirthe that it may nat be writen;
1740Assayeth it your-self, than may ye witen
If that I lye or noon in this matere.
Maius, that sit with so benigne a chere,
Hir to biholde it semed fayëryë;
(500)Quene Ester loked never with swich an yë
1745On Assuer, so meke a look hath she.
I may yow nat devyse al hir beautee;
But thus muche of hir beautee telle I may,
That she was lyk the brighte morwe of May,
Fulfild of alle beautee and plesaunce.
1750 This Ianuarie is ravisshed in a traunce
At every time he loked on hir face;
But in his herte he gan hir to manace,
That he that night in armes wolde hir streyne
(510)Harder than ever Paris dide Eleyne.
1755But nathelees, yet hadde he greet pitee,
That thilke night offenden hir moste he;
And thoughte, 'allas! o tendre creature!
Now wolde god ye mighte wel endure
Al my corage, it is so sharp and kene;
1760I am agast ye shul it nat sustene.
But god forbede that I dide al my might!
Now wolde god that it were woxen night,
And that the night wolde lasten evermo.
(520)I wolde that al this peple were ago.'
1765And finally, he doth al his labour,
As he best mighte, savinge his honour,
To haste hem fro the mete in subtil wyse.
The tyme cam that reson was to ryse;
And after that, men daunce and drinken faste,
1770And spyces al aboute the hous they caste;
And ful of Ioye and blisse is every man;
All but a squyer, highte Damian,
Which carf biforn the knight ful many a day.
(530)He was so ravisshed on his lady May,
1740Assayeth it your-self, than may ye witen
If that I lye or noon in this matere.
Maius, that sit with so benigne a chere,
Hir to biholde it semed fayëryë;
(500)Quene Ester loked never with swich an yë
1745On Assuer, so meke a look hath she.
I may yow nat devyse al hir beautee;
But thus muche of hir beautee telle I may,
That she was lyk the brighte morwe of May,
Fulfild of alle beautee and plesaunce.
1750 This Ianuarie is ravisshed in a traunce
At every time he loked on hir face;
But in his herte he gan hir to manace,
That he that night in armes wolde hir streyne
(510)Harder than ever Paris dide Eleyne.
1755But nathelees, yet hadde he greet pitee,
That thilke night offenden hir moste he;
And thoughte, 'allas! o tendre creature!
Now wolde god ye mighte wel endure
Al my corage, it is so sharp and kene;
1760I am agast ye shul it nat sustene.
But god forbede that I dide al my might!
Now wolde god that it were woxen night,
And that the night wolde lasten evermo.
(520)I wolde that al this peple were ago.'
1765And finally, he doth al his labour,
As he best mighte, savinge his honour,
To haste hem fro the mete in subtil wyse.
The tyme cam that reson was to ryse;
And after that, men daunce and drinken faste,
1770And spyces al aboute the hous they caste;
And ful of Ioye and blisse is every man;
All but a squyer, highte Damian,
Which carf biforn the knight ful many a day.
(530)He was so ravisshed on his lady May,
