The Miller's Prologue
Here folwen the wordes bitwene the Host and the Millere.
3109. Whan that the Knight had thus his tale y-told,
3110. In al the route nas ther yong ne old
3111. That he ne seyde it was a noble storie,
3112. And worthy for to drawen to memorie;
3113. And namely the gentils everichoon.
3114. Our Hoste lough and swoor, ‘so moot I goon,
3115. This gooth aright; unbokeled is the male;
3116. Lat see now who shal telle another tale:
3117. For trewely, the game is wel bigonne.
3118. Now telleth ye, sir Monk, if that ye conne,
3119. Sumwhat, to quyte with the Knightes tale.’
3120. The Miller, that for-dronken was al pale,
3121. So that unnethe up-on his hors he sat,
3122. He nolde avalen neither hood ne hat,
3123. Ne abyde no man for his curteisye,
3124. But in Pilates vois he gan to crye,
3125. And swoor by armes and by blood and bones,
3126. ‘I can a noble tale for the nones,
3127. With which I wol now quyte the Knightes tale.’
3128. Our Hoste saugh that he was dronke of ale,
3129. And seyde: ‘abyd, Robin, my leve brother,
3130. Som bettre man shal telle us first another:
3131. Abyd, and lat us werken thriftily.’
3132. ‘By goddes soul,’ quod he, ‘that wol nat I;
3133. For I wol speke, or elles go my wey.’
3134. Our Hoste answerde: ‘tel on, a devel wey!
3135. Thou art a fool, thy wit is overcome.’
3136. ‘Now herkneth,’ quod the Miller, ‘alle and some!
3137. But first I make a protestacioun
3138. That I am dronke, I knowe it by my soun;
3139. And therfore, if that I misspeke or seye,
3140. Wyte it the ale of Southwerk, I yow preye;
3141. For I wol telle a legende and a lyf
3142. Bothe of a Carpenter, and of his wyf,
3143. How that a clerk hath set the wrightes cappe.’
3144. The Reve answerde and seyde, ‘stint thy clappe,
3145. Lat be thy lewed dronken harlotrye.
3146. It is a sinne and eek a greet folye
3147. To apeiren any man, or him diffame,
3148. And eek to bringen wyves in swich fame.
3149. Thou mayst y-nogh of othere thinges seyn.’
3150. This dronken Miller spak ful sone ageyn,
3151. And seyde, ‘leve brother Osewold,
3152. Who hath no wyf, he is no cokewold.
3153. But I sey nat therfore that thou art oon;
3154. Ther been ful gode wyves many oon,
3155. And ever a thousand gode ayeyns oon badde,
3156. That knowestow wel thy-self, but-if thou madde.
3157. Why artow angry with my tale now?
3158. I have a wyf, pardee, as well as thou,
3159. Yet nolde I, for the oxen in my plogh,
3160. Taken up-on me more than y-nogh,
3161. As demen of my-self that I were oon;
3162. I wol beleve wel that I am noon.
3163. An housbond shal nat been inquisitif
3164. Of goddes privetee, nor of his wyf.
3165. So he may finde goddes foyson there,
3166. Of the remenant nedeth nat enquere.’
3167. What sholde I more seyn, but this Millere
3168. He nolde his wordes for no man forbere,
3169. But tolde his cherles tale in his manere;
3170. Me thinketh that I shal reherce it here.
3171. And ther-fore every gentil wight I preye,
3172. For goddes love, demeth nat that I seye
3173. Of evel entente, but that I moot reherce
3174. Hir tales alle, be they bettre or werse,
3175. Or elles falsen som of my matere.
3176. And therfore, who-so list it nat y-here,
3177. Turne over the leef, and chese another tale;
3178. For he shal finde y-nowe, grete and smale,
3179. Of storial thing that toucheth gentillesse,
3180. And eek moralitee and holinesse;
3181. Blameth nat me if that ye chese amis.
3182. The Miller is a cherl, ye knowe wel this;
3183. So was the Reve, and othere many mo,
3184. And harlotrye they tolden bothe two.
3185. Avyseth yow and putte me out of blame;
3186. And eek men shal nat make ernest of game.
Here endeth the prologe.
Here followen the words between the Host and the Miller.
When that the Knight had thus his tale y-told,
In all the rout nas there young ne old
That he ne said it was a noble story,
And worthy for to drawen to memory;
And namely the gentils everich one.
Our Host laugh and swore, “so mote I gon,
This goeth a-right; unbuckled is the mail;
Let see now who shall tell another tale:
For truly, the game is well begun.
Now telleth ye, sir Monk, if that ye can,
Somewhat, to quite with the Knight’s tale.”
The Miller, that for-drunken was all pale,
So that unneth upon his horse he sat,
He nould avalen neither hood ne hat,
Ne abide no man for his courtesy,
But in Pilate’s voice he ’gan to cry,
And swore by arms and by blood and bones,
“I can a noble tale for the nones,
With which I will now quite the Knight’s tale.”
Our Host saw that he was drunk of ale,
And said, “abide, Robin, my lief brother;
Some better man shall tell us first another:
Abide and let us worken thriftily.”
“By god’s soul,” quoth he, “that will not I;
For I will speak, or else go my way.”
Our Host answered, “tell on, a devil way!
Thou art a fool; thy wit is overcome.”
“Now harkneth,” quoth the Miller, “all and some!
But first I make a protestation
That I am drunk, I know it by my soun’;
And therefore, if that I misspeak or say,
Wite it the ale of Southwark, I you pray;
For I will tell a legend and a life
Both of a Carpenter, and of his wife,
How that a clerk hath set the wright’s cap.”
The Reeve answered and said, “stint thy clap!
Let be thy lewd drunken harlotry.
It is a sin and eke a great folly
To impairen any man, or him defame,
And eke to bringen wives in such fame.
Thou mayst enough of other things sayn.”
This drunken Miller spake full soon again,
And said, “lief brother Oswald,
Who hath no wife, he is no cuckold.
But I say not therefore that thou art one;
There be full good wives many one,
And ever a thousand good against one bad,
That knowest well thyself, but if thou mad.
Why art thou angry with my tale now?
I have a wife, pardee, as well as thou;
Yet nould I, for the oxen in my plough,
Taken upon me more than enough,
As deemen of myself that I were one;
I will believe well that I am none.
An husband shall not be inquisitive
Of god’s privity, nor of his wife.
So he may find god’s foison there,
Of the remnant needeth not enquire.”
What should I more sayn, but this Miller
He nould his words for no man forbear,
But told his churl’s tale in his manner;
Methinketh that I shall rehearse it here.
And therefore every gentil wight I pray,
For god’s love, deemeth not that I say
Of evil intent, but that I mote rehearse
Their tales all, be they better or worse,
Or else falsen some of my matter.
And therefore, whoso list it not y-hear,
Turn over the leaf, and choose another tale;
For he shall find enough, great and small,
Of ’storical thing that toucheth gentilesse,
And eke morality and holiness;
Blameth not me if that ye choose amiss.
The Miller is a churl, ye know well this;
So was the Reeve, and other many mo’,
And harlotry they tolden both two.
Adviseth you and put me out of blame;
And eke men shall not make earnest of game.
Here endeth the prologue.
