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E. THE MARCHANTES TALE.
[T. 10011-10046.
That in a morwe un-to this May seith he:
'Rys up, my wyf, my love, my lady free;
The turtles vois is herd, my douve swete;
The winter is goon, with alle his reynes wete; 2140
Com forth now, with thyn eyën columbyn!
How fairer been thy brestes than is wyn!
The gardin is enclosed al aboute;
Com forth, my whyte spouse; out of doute, (900)
Thou hast me wounded in myn herte, o wyf! 2145
No spot of thee ne knew I al my lyf.
Com forth, and lat us taken our disport;
I chees thee for my wyf and my confort.'
Swiche olde lewed wordes used he;
On Damian a signe made she, 2150
That he sholde go biforen with his cliket:
This Damian thanne hath opened the wiket,
And in he stirte, and that in swich manere,
That no wight mighte it see neither y-here; (910)
And stille he sit under a bush anoon. 2155
This Ianuarie, as blind as is a stoon,
With Maius in his hand, and no wight mo,
In-to his fresshe gardin is ago,
And clapte to the wiket sodeynly.
'Now, wyf,' quod he, 'heer nis but thou and I, 2160
That art the creature that I best love.
For, by that lord that sit in heven above,
Lever ich hadde dyen on a knyf,
Than thee offende, trewe dere wyf! (920)
For goddes sake, thenk how I thee chees, 2165
Noght for no coveityse, doutelees,
But only for the love I had to thee.
And though that I be old, and may nat see,
Beth to me trewe, and I shal telle yow why.
Three thinges, certes, shul ye winne ther-by; 2170
First, love of Crist, and to your-self honour,
And al myn heritage, toun and tour;
'Rys up, my wyf, my love, my lady free;
The turtles vois is herd, my douve swete;
The winter is goon, with alle his reynes wete; 2140
Com forth now, with thyn eyën columbyn!
How fairer been thy brestes than is wyn!
The gardin is enclosed al aboute;
Com forth, my whyte spouse; out of doute, (900)
Thou hast me wounded in myn herte, o wyf! 2145
No spot of thee ne knew I al my lyf.
Com forth, and lat us taken our disport;
I chees thee for my wyf and my confort.'
Swiche olde lewed wordes used he;
On Damian a signe made she, 2150
That he sholde go biforen with his cliket:
This Damian thanne hath opened the wiket,
And in he stirte, and that in swich manere,
That no wight mighte it see neither y-here; (910)
And stille he sit under a bush anoon. 2155
This Ianuarie, as blind as is a stoon,
With Maius in his hand, and no wight mo,
In-to his fresshe gardin is ago,
And clapte to the wiket sodeynly.
'Now, wyf,' quod he, 'heer nis but thou and I, 2160
That art the creature that I best love.
For, by that lord that sit in heven above,
Lever ich hadde dyen on a knyf,
Than thee offende, trewe dere wyf! (920)
For goddes sake, thenk how I thee chees, 2165
Noght for no coveityse, doutelees,
But only for the love I had to thee.
And though that I be old, and may nat see,
Beth to me trewe, and I shal telle yow why.
Three thinges, certes, shul ye winne ther-by; 2170
First, love of Crist, and to your-self honour,
And al myn heritage, toun and tour;
