|
And whan that Pluto saugh this grete wrong, |
| To Januarie he gaf agayn his sighte, |
| And made hym se as wel as evere he myghte. |
| 1145 | And whan that he hadde caught his sighte agayn, |
| Ne was ther nevere man of thyng so fayn, |
| But on his wyf his thoght was everemo. |
| Up to the tree he caste his eyen two, |
| And saugh that Damyan his wyf had dressed |
| 1150 | In swich manere it may nat been expressed, |
| But if I wolde speke uncurteisly; |
| And up he yaf a roryng and a cry, |
| As dooth the mooder whan the child shal dye: |
| "Out! Help! Allas! Harrow!" he gan to crye, |
| 1155 | "O stronge lady stoore, what dostow?" |
|
| And when King Pluto saw this awful wrong, |
| To January he gave again his sight, |
| And made him see as well as ever he might. |
| 1145 | And when he thus had got his sight again, |
| Never was man of anything so fain. |
| But since his wife he thought of first and last, |
| Up to the tree his eyes he quickly cast, |
| And saw how Damian his wife had dressed |
| 1150 | In such a way as cannot be expressed, |
| Except I should rudely speak and vulgarly: |
| And such a bellowing clamour then raised he |
| As does a mother when her child must die: |
| "Out! Help! Alas! Oh, help me!" he did cry, |
| 1155 | "Outlandish, brazen woman, what do you do?" |
|
