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E. THE MARCHANTES TALE.
[T. 9939-9974.
Why hastow Ianuarie thus deceyved, 2065
That haddest him for thy ful frend receyved?
And now thou hast biraft him bothe hise yën,
For sorwe of which desyreth he to dyen.
Allas! this noble Ianuarie free,
Amidde his lust and his prosperitee, 2070
Is woxen blind, and that al sodeynly.
He wepeth and he wayleth pitously;
And ther-with-al the fyr of Ialousye,
Lest that his wyf sholde falle in som folye, (830)
So brente his herte, that he wolde fayn 2075
That som man bothe him and hir had slayn.
For neither after his deeth, nor in his lyf,
Ne wolde he that she were love ne wyf,
But ever live as widwe in clothes blake,
Soul as the turtle that lost hath hir make. 2080
But atte laste, after a monthe or tweye,
His sorwe gan aswage, sooth to seye;
For whan he wiste it may noon other be,
He paciently took his adversitee; (840)
Save, out of doute, he may nat forgoon 2085
That he nas Ialous evermore in oon;
Which Ialousye it was so outrageous,
That neither in halle, nin noon other hous,
Ne in noon other place, never-the-mo,
He nolde suffre hir for to ryde or go, 2090
But-if that he had hand on hir alway;
For which ful ofte wepeth fresshe May,
That loveth Damian so benignely,
That she mot outher dyen sodeynly, (850)
Or elles she mot han him as hir leste; 2095
She wayteth whan hir herte wolde breste.
Up-on that other syde Damian
Bicomen is the sorwefulleste man
That ever was; for neither night ne day
Ne mighte he speke a word to fresshe May, 2100
That haddest him for thy ful frend receyved?
And now thou hast biraft him bothe hise yën,
For sorwe of which desyreth he to dyen.
Allas! this noble Ianuarie free,
Amidde his lust and his prosperitee, 2070
Is woxen blind, and that al sodeynly.
He wepeth and he wayleth pitously;
And ther-with-al the fyr of Ialousye,
Lest that his wyf sholde falle in som folye, (830)
So brente his herte, that he wolde fayn 2075
That som man bothe him and hir had slayn.
For neither after his deeth, nor in his lyf,
Ne wolde he that she were love ne wyf,
But ever live as widwe in clothes blake,
Soul as the turtle that lost hath hir make. 2080
But atte laste, after a monthe or tweye,
His sorwe gan aswage, sooth to seye;
For whan he wiste it may noon other be,
He paciently took his adversitee; (840)
Save, out of doute, he may nat forgoon 2085
That he nas Ialous evermore in oon;
Which Ialousye it was so outrageous,
That neither in halle, nin noon other hous,
Ne in noon other place, never-the-mo,
He nolde suffre hir for to ryde or go, 2090
But-if that he had hand on hir alway;
For which ful ofte wepeth fresshe May,
That loveth Damian so benignely,
That she mot outher dyen sodeynly, (850)
Or elles she mot han him as hir leste; 2095
She wayteth whan hir herte wolde breste.
Up-on that other syde Damian
Bicomen is the sorwefulleste man
That ever was; for neither night ne day
Ne mighte he speke a word to fresshe May, 2100
