|
"Allas," quod he, "that I ne had heer a knave |
| That koude clymbe! Allas, Allas," quod he, |
| For I am blynd!" "Ye, sire, no fors," quod she; |
| But wolde ye vouche sauf, for Goddes sake, |
| 1130 | The pyrie inwith youre armes for to take, |
| For wel I woot that ye mystruste me, |
| Thanne sholde I clymbe wel ynogh," quod she, |
| "So I my foot myghte sette ypon youre bak." |
| "Certes," quod he, "theron shal be no lak, |
| 1135 | Mighte I yow helpen with myn herte blood." |
| He stoupeth doun, and on his bak she stood, |
| And caughte hire by a twiste, and up she gooth - |
| Ladyes, I prey yow that ye be nat wrooth; |
| I kan nat glose, I am a rude man - |
| 1140 | And sodeynly anon this Damyan |
| Gan pullen up the smok, and in he throng. |
|
| "Alas!" said he, "that I had here a knave |
| That could climb up, alas, alas!" said he, |
| "That I am blind." "Yea, sir, no odds," said she, |
| "If you'd but grant me, and for God's dear sake, |
| 1130 | That this pear-tree within your arms you'd take |
| For well I know that you do not trust me, |
| Then I could climb up well enough," said she, |
| "So I my foot might set upon your back." |
| "Surely," said he, "thereof should be no lack, |
| 1135 | Might I so help you with my own heart's blood." |
| So he stooped down, and on his back she stood, |
| And gave herself a twist and up went she. |
| Ladies, I pray you be not wroth with me; |
| I cannot gloze, I'm an uncultured man. |
| 1140 | For of a sudden this said Damian |
| Pulled up her smock and thrust both deep and long. |
|
