|
So on a day, right in the morwe tyde, |
| Unto a gardyn that was ther bisyde, |
| 195 | In which that they hadde maad hir ordinaunce |
| Of vitaille and of oother purveiaunce, |
| They goon and pleye hem al the longe day. |
| And this was in the sixte morwe of May, |
| Which May hadde peynted with his softe shoures |
| 200 | This gardyn ful of leves and of floures, |
| And craft of mannes hand so curiously |
| Arrayed hadde this gardyn trewely, |
| That nevere was ther gardyn of swich prys, |
| But if it were the verray Paradys. |
| 205 | The odour of floures and the fresshe sighte |
| Wolde han maked any herte lighte |
| That evere was born, but if to greet siknesse |
| Or to greet sorwe helde it in distresse; |
| So ful it was of beautee with plesaunce. |
| 210 | At after-dyner gonne they to daunce |
| And synge also, save Dorigen allone, |
| Which made alwey hir compleint and hir moone |
| For she ne saugh hym on the daunce go |
| That was hir housbonde, and hir love also. |
| 215 | But nathelees she moste a tyme abyde, |
| And with good hope lete hir sorwe slyde. |
|
| So on a day, all in the morningtide, |
| Unto a garden which was there beside, |
| 195 | Wherein they'd given command that there should be |
| Food and whatever else was necessary, |
| They went for pleasure all the livelong day. |
| And this was on the morning sixth of May, |
| And May had painted with his soft warm showers |
| 200 | This garden full of foliage and of flowers; |
| And work of man's hand had so curiously |
| Arrayed this lovely garden, truthfully, |
| That never was another of such price, |
| Unless it were the very Paradise. |
| 205 | The scent of flowers and the fair fresh sight |
| Would have made any heart dance for delight |
| That ever was born, unless too great sickness |
| Or too great sorrow held it in distress; |
| So full it was of beauty and pleasance. |
| 210 | After their dinner all began to dance, |
| And sing, also, except Dorigen alone, |
| Who made alway her same complaint and moan. |
| For him she saw not through the dancing go, |
| Who was her husband and her love also. |
| 215 | Nevertheless, she must a time abide, |
| And with good hope held, let her sorrow slide. |
|
