THE SCENE: In medieval literature, it was not uncommon for women to be portrayed as lusty sex-enthusiasts, while their dutiful men, such as the newlywed husband in this poem, struggled to keep up with them.
THE TEXT:
Even before a half a year he
Appears so tuckered out and weary,
So wan and haggard are his cheeks
They look like two old dried up sticks,
He’s yellower than a hawk’s feet ‘n’
As worthless as a worn-out mitten,
And his eyes are so deeply sunk in
Their sockets and hopelessly shrunken,
That clearly the poor boy is wasting
Away. His wife goes on insisting
By night and day he give her kisses
And hugs and intimate caresses.
“Husband, what is it?” she inquires.
“You used to have such hot desires
And were so vigorous of late,
Eager, lusty, and passionate,
You wouldn’t ever let me sleep,
And now instead I see you keep
So to yourself, I think, in faith,
You love another in my place.”
“What? I in love?” he tells her. “Hardly!
I find your jealousy ungodly.
I’m nearly dead from making love,
And this is all you’re thinking of!”
“Most surely, husband, God protect
Me, for you treat me with neglect.
Why won’t you have your way with me?”
– The Fellow With a Dozen Wives, 14th Century AD
[Image Credit: Flora and the Zephyrs by John William Waterhouse]
