|
Lo, Argus, which that hadde an hondred yen, |
| 900 | For al that evere he koude poure or pryen, |
| Yet was he blent, and, God woot, so been mo, |
| That wenen wisly that it be nat so. |
| Passe over is an ese, I sey namoore. |
| This fresshe May, that I spak of so yoore, |
| 905 | In warm wex hath emprented the clyket |
| That Januarie bar of the smale wyket, |
| By which into his gardyn ofte he wente; |
| And Damyan, that knew al hire entente, |
| The cliket countrefeted pryvely. |
| 910 | Ther nys namoore to seye, but hastily |
| Som wonder by this clyket shal bityde, |
| Which ye shul heeren, if ye wole abyde. |
|
| Lo, Argus, who was called the hundred-eyed, |
| 900 | No matter how he peered and watched and pried, |
| He was deceived; and God knows others to |
| Who think, and firmly, that it is not so. |
| Oblivion is peace; I say no more. |
| This lovely May, of whom I spoke before, |
| 905 | In warm wax made impression of the key |
| Her husband carried, to the gate where he |
| In entering his garden often went. |
| And Damian, who knew all her intent, |
| The key did counterfeit, and privately; |
| 910 | There is no more to say, but speedily |
| Some mischief of this latch-key shall betide, |
| Which you shall hear, if you but time will bide. |
|
