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The Miller's Tale

Here biginneth the Millere his tale.

Whylom ther was dwellinge at Oxenford

A riche gnof, that gestes heeld to bord,

And of his craft he was a Carpenter.

With him ther was dwellinge a povre scoler, 

Had lerned art, but al his fantasye

Was turned for to lerne astrologye,

And coude a certeyn of conclusiouns

To demen by interrogaciouns,

If that men axed him in certein houres, 

Whan that men sholde have droghte or elles shoures, 

Or if men axed him what sholde bifalle

Of every thing, I may nat rekene hem alle.

  This clerk was cleped hende Nicholas;

Of derne love he coude and of solas; 

And ther-to be was sleigh and ful privee,

And lyk a mayden meke for to see.

A chambre hadde he in that hostelrye

Allone, with-outen any companye,

Ful fetisly y-dight with herbes swote; 

And he him-self as swete as is the rote 

Of licorys, or any cetewale.

His Almageste and bokes grete and smale,

His astrelabie, longinge for his art,

His augrim-stones layen faire a-part 

On shelves couched at his beddes heed:

His presse y-covered with a falding reed.

And al above ther lay a gay sautrye,

On which he made a nightes melodye

So swetely, that al the chambre rong; 

And Angelus ad virginem he song;

And after that he song the kinges note;

Ful often blessed was his mery throte.

And thus this swete clerk his tyme spente

After his freendes finding and his rente. 

  This Carpenter had wedded newe a wyf

Which that he lovede more than his lyf;

Of eightetene yeer she was of age.

Ialous he was, and heeld hir narwe in cage,

For she was wilde and yong, and he was old 

And demed him-self ben lyk a cokewold. 

He knew nat Catoun, for his wit was rude,

That bad man sholde wedde his similitude.

Men sholde wedden after hir estaat,

For youthe and elde is often at debaat. 

But sith that he was fallen in the snare,

He moste endure, as other folk, his care.

  Fair was this yonge wyf, and ther-with-al

As any wesele hir body gent and smal.

A ceynt she werede barred al of silk,

A barmclooth eek as whyt as morne milk 

Up-on hir lendes, ful of many a gore.

Whyt was hir smok, and brouded al bifore

And eek bihinde, on hir coler aboute,

Of col-blak silk, with-inne and eek with-oute. 

The tapes of hir whyte voluper

Were of the same suyte of hir coler;

Hir filet brood of silk, and set ful hye:

And sikerly she hadde a likerous yë.

Ful smale y-pulled were hir browes two, 

And tho were bent, and blake as any sloo.

She was ful more blisful on to see

Than is the newe pere-ionette tree;

And softer than the wolle is of a wether.

And by hir girdel heeng a purs of lether 

Tasseld with silk, and perled with latoun.

In al this world, to seken up and doun,

There nis no man so wys, that coude thenche

So gay a popelote, or swich a wenche.

Ful brighter was the shyning of hir hewe 

Than in the tour the noble y-forged newe.

But of hir song, it was as loude and yerne

As any swalwe sittinge on a berne.

Ther-to she coude skippe and make game,

As any kide or calf folwinge his dame. 

Hir mouth was swete as bragot or the meeth,

Or hord of apples leyd in hey or heeth.

Winsinge she was, as is a Ioly colt,

Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.

A brooch she baar up-on hir lowe coler, 

As brood as is the bos of a bocler.

Hir shoes were laced on hir legges hye;

She was a prymerole, a pigges-nye

For any lord to leggen in his bedde,

Or yet for any good yeman to wedde. 

  Now sire, and eft sire, so bifel the cas,

That on a day this hende Nicholas

Fil with this yonge wyf to rage and pleye,

Whyl that hir housbond was at Oseneye,

As clerkes ben ful subtile and ful queynte; 

And prively he caughte hir by the queynte,    

And seyde, y-wis, but if ich have my wille,

For derne love of thee, lemman, I spille.

And heeld hir harde by the haunche-bones,

And seyde, lemman, love me al at-ones, 

Or I wol dyen, also god me save!

And she sprong as a colt doth in the trave,

And with hir heed she wryed faste awey,

And seyde, I wol nat kisse thee, by my fey,

Why, lat be,quod she, lat be, Nicholas,

Or I wol crye out harrow” and allas.” 

Do wey your handes for your curteisye!

  This Nicholas gan mercy for to crye,

And spak so faire, and profred hir so faste,

That she hir love him graunted atte laste, 

And swoor hir ooth, by seint Thomas of Kent,

That she wol been at his comandement,

Whan that she may hir leyser wel espye.

Myn housbond is so ful of Ialousye,

That but ye wayte wel and been privee,

I woot right wel I nam but deed,quod she.   

Ye moste been ful derne, as in this cas.

  ‘Nay ther-of care thee noght,quod Nicholas,

A clerk had litherly biset his whyle,

But-if he coude a Carpenter bigyle.’ 

And thus they been acorded and y-sworn

To wayte a tyme, as I have told biforn.

Whan Nicholas had doon thus everydeel,

And thakked hir aboute the lendes weel,

He kist hir swete, and taketh his sautrye, 

And pleyeth faste, and maketh melodye. 

  Than fil it thus, that to the parish-chirche,

Cristes owne werkes for to wirche,

This gode wyf wente on an haliday;

Hir forheed shoon as bright as any day, 

So was it wasshen whan she leet hir werk.

  Now was ther of that chirche a parish-clerk,

The which that was y-cleped Absolon.

Crul was his heer, and as the gold it shoon,

And strouted as a fanne large and brode;

Ful streight and even lay his Ioly shode. 

His rode was reed, his eyen greye as goos;

With Powles window corven on his shoos,

In hoses rede he wente fetisly.

Y-clad he was ful smal and proprely,

Al in a kirtel of a light wachet;

Ful faire and thikke been the poyntes set.

And ther-up-on he hadde a gay surplys

As whyt as is the blosme up-on the rys.

A mery child he was, so god me save, 

Wel coude he laten blood and clippe and shave, 

And make a chartre of lond or acquitaunce.

In twenty manere coude he trippe and daunce

After the scole of Oxenforde tho,

And with his legges casten to and fro,

And pleyen songes on a small rubible;

Ther-to he song som-tyme a loud quinible;

And as wel coude he pleye on his giterne.

In al the toun nas brewhous ne taverne

That he ne visited with his solas, 

Ther any gaylard tappestere was.

But sooth to seyn, he was somdel squaymous

Of farting, and of speche daungerous.

  This Absolon, that Iolif was and gay,

Gooth with a sencer on the haliday, 

Sensinge the wyves of the parish faste;

And many a lovely look on hem he caste,

And namely on this carpenteres wyf.

To loke on hir him thoughte a mery lyf,

She was so propre and swete and likerous. 

I dar wel seyn, if she had been a mous, 

And he a cat, he wolde hir hente anon.

  This parish-clerk, this Ioly Absolon,

Hath in his herte swich a love-longinge,

That of no wyf ne took he noon offringe; 

For curteisye, he seyde, he wolde noon.

The mone, whan it was night, ful brighte shoon,

And Absolon his giterne hath y-take,

For paramours, he thoghte for to wake.

And forth he gooth, Iolif and amorous, 

Til he cam to the carpenteres hous

A litel after cokkes hadde y-crowe;

And dressed him up by a shot-windowe

That was up-on the carpenteres wal.

He singeth in his vois gentil and smal, 

Now, dere lady, if thy wille be,

I preye yow that ye wol rewe on me,

Ful wel acordaunt to his giterninge.

This carpenter awook, and herde him singe,

And spak un-to his wyf, and seyde anon,

What! Alison! herestow nat Absolon

That chaunteth thus under our boures wal?

And she answerde hir housbond ther-with-al,

Yis, god wot, Iohn, I here it every-del.

  This passeth forth; what wol ye bet than wel? 

Fro day to day this Ioly Absolon

So woweth hir, that him is wo bigon.

He waketh al the night and al the day;

He kempte hise lokkes brode, and made him gay;

He woweth hir by menes and brocage, 

And swoor he wolde been hir owne page; 

He singeth, brokkinge as a nightingale;

He sente hir piment, meeth, and spyced ale,

And wafres, pyping hote out of the glede;

And for she was of toune, he profred mede. 

For som folk wol ben wonnen for richesse,

And som for strokes, and som for gentillesse.

  Somtyme, to shewe his lightnesse and maistrye,

He pleyeth Herodes on a scaffold hye.

But what availleth him as in this cas? 

She loveth so this hende Nicholas,

That Absolon may blowe the bukkes horn;

He ne hadde for his labour but a scorn;

And thus she maketh Absolon hir ape,

And al his ernest turneth til a Iape. 

Ful sooth is this proverbe, it is no lye,

Men seyn right thus, alwey the nye slye

Maketh the ferre leve to be looth.

For though that Absolon be wood or wrooth,

By-cause that he fer was from hir sighte, 

This nye Nicholas stood in his lighte. 

  Now bere thee wel, thou hende Nicholas!

For Absolon may waille and singe allas.

And so bifel it on a Saterday,

This carpenter was goon til Osenay;

And hende Nicholas and Alisoun

Acorded been to this conclusioun,

That Nicholas shal shapen him a wyle

This sely Ialous housbond to bigyle;

And if so be the game wente aright,

She sholde slepen in his arm al night,

For this was his desyr and hir also.

And right anon, with-outen wordes mo,

This Nicholas no lenger wolde tarie,

But doth ful softe un-to his chambre carie 

Bothe mete and drinke for a day or tweye,

And to hir housbonde bad hir for to seye,

If that he axed after Nicholas,

She sholde seye she niste where he was,

Of al that day she saugh him nat with yë; 

She trowed that he was in maladye, 

For, for no cry, hir mayde coude him calle;

He nolde answere, for no-thing that mighte falle.

  This passeth forth al thilke Saterday,

That Nicholas stille in his chambre lay, 

And eet and sleep, or dide what him leste,

Til Sonday, that the sonne gooth to reste.

  This sely carpenter hath greet merveyle

Of Nicholas, or what thing mighte him eyle,

And seyde, I am adrad, by seint Thomas, 

It stondeth nat aright with Nicholas. 

God shilde that he deyde sodeynly!

This world is now ful tikel, sikerly;

I saugh to-day a cors y-born to chirche

That now, on Monday last, I saugh him wirche. 

  Go up,quod he un-to his knave anoon,

Clepe at his dore, or knokke with a stoon,

Loke how it is, and tel me boldely.

  This knave gooth him up ful sturdily,

And at the chambre-dore, whyl that he stood, 

He cryde and knokked as that he were wood:— 

What! how! what do ye, maister Nicholay?

How may ye slepen al the longe day?

  But al for noght, he herde nat a word;

An hole he fond, ful lowe up-on a bord, 

Ther as the cat was wont in for to crepe;

And at that hole he looked in ful depe,

And at the laste he hadde of him a sighte.

This Nicholas sat gaping ever up-righte,

As he had kyked on the newe mone. 

Adoun he gooth, and tolde his maister sone 

In what array he saugh this ilke man.

  This carpenter to blessen him bigan,

And seyde, help us, seinte Frideswyde!

A man woot litel what him shal bityde.

This man is falle, with his astromye,

In som woodnesse or in som agonye;

I thoghte ay wel how that it sholde be!

Men sholde nat knowe of goddes privetee.

Ye, blessed be alwey a lewed man,

That noght but oonly his bileve can! 

So ferde another clerk with astromye;

He walked in the feeldes for to prye

Up-on the sterres, what ther sholde bifalle,

Til he was in a marle-pit y-falle;

He saugh nat that. But yet, by seint Thomas,

Me reweth sore of hende Nicholas.

He shal be rated of his studying,

If that I may, by Iesus, hevene king!

  Get me a staf, that I may underspore,

Whyl that thou, Robin, hevest up the dore. 

He shal out of his studying, as I gesse’—

And to the chambre-dore he gan him dresse.

His knave was a strong carl for the nones,

And by the haspe he haf it up atones; 

In-to the floor the dore fil anon.

This Nicholas sat ay as stille as stoon,

And ever gaped upward in-to the eir.

This carpenter wende he were in despeir,

And hente him by the sholdres mightily,

And shook him harde, and cryde spitously,    

What! Nicholay! what, how! what! loke adoun!

Awake, and thenk on Cristes passioun;

I crouche thee from elves and fro wightes!

Ther-with the night-spel seyde he anon-rightes 

On foure halves of the hous aboute,

And on the threshfold of the dore with-oute:—

Iesu Crist, and seynt Benedight,

Blesse this hous from every wikked wight,

For nightes verye, the white pater-noster! 

Where wentestow, seynt Petres soster?’ 

  And atte laste this hende Nicholas

Gan for to syke sore, and seyde, allas!

Shal al the world be lost eftsones now?

  This carpenter answerde, what seystow?

What! thenk on god, as we don, men that swinke.

  This Nicholas answerde, fecche me drinke;

And after wol I speke in privetee

Of certeyn thing that toucheth me and thee;

I wol telle it non other man, certeyn.’ 

  This carpenter goth doun, and comth ageyn, 

And broghte of mighty ale a large quart;

And whan that ech of hem had dronke his part,

This Nicholas his dore faste shette,

And doun the carpenter by him he sette. 

  He seyde, Iohn, myn hoste lief and dere,

Thou shall up-on thy trouthe swere me here,

That to no wight thou shalt this conseil wreye;

For it is Cristes conseil that I seye,

And if thou telle it man, thou are forlore;

For this vengaunce thou shalt han therfore, 

That if thou wreye me, thou shalt be wood!

Nay, Crist forbede it, for his holy blood!

Quod tho this sely man, I nam no labbe,

Ne, though I seye, I nam nat lief to gabbe. 

Sey what thou wolt, I shal it never telle

To child ne wyf, by him that harwed helle!

  ‘Now John,quod Nicholas, I wol nat lye;

I have y-founde in myn astrologye,

As I have loked in the mone bright, 

That now, a Monday next, at quarter-night, 

Shal falle a reyn and that so wilde and wood,

That half so greet was never Noës flood.

This world,he seyde, in lasse than in an hour

Shal al be dreynt, so hidous is the shour; 

Thus shal mankynde drenche and lese hir lyf.

  This carpenter answerde, allas, my wyf!

And shal she drenche? allas! myn Alisoun!

For sorwe of this he fil almost adoun,

And seyde, is ther no remedie in this cas?’ 

  ‘Why, yis, for gode,quod hende Nicholas, 

If thou wolt werken after lore and reed;

Thou mayst nat werken after thyn owene heed.

For thus seith Salomon, that was ful trewe,

Werk al by conseil, and thou shalt nat rewe.”

And if thou werken wolt by good conseil,

I undertake, with-outen mast and seyl,

Yet shal I saven hir and thee and me

Hastow nat herd how saved was Noë,

Whan that our lord had warned him biforn

That al the world with water sholde be lorn?’

  ‘Yis,quod this carpenter, ful yore ago.

  ‘Hastow nat herd,quod Nicholas, also

The sorwe of Noë with his felawshipe,

Er that he mighte gete his wyf to shipe? 

Him had be lever, I dar wel undertake,

At thilke tyme, than alle hise wetheres blake,

That she hadde had a ship hir-self allone.

And ther-fore, wostou what is best to done?

This asketh haste, and of an hastif thing 

Men may nat preche or maken tarying. 

  Anon go gete us faste in-to this in

A kneding-trogh, or elles a kimelin,

For ech of us, but loke that they be large,

In whiche we mowe swimme as in a barge,

And han ther-inne vitaille suffisant

But for a day; fy on the remenant!

The water shal aslake and goon away

Aboute pryme up-on the nexte day.

But Robin may nat wite of this, thy knave, 

Ne eek thy mayde Gille I may nat save;

Axe nat why, for though thou aske me,

I wol nat tellen goddes privetee.

Suffiseth thee, but if thy wittes madde, 

To han as greet a grace as Noë hadde. 

Thy wyf shal I wel saven, out of doute,

Go now thy wey, and speed thee heer-aboute.

  But whan thou hast, for hir and thee and me,

Y-geten us thise kneding-tubbes three,

Than shaltow hange hem in the roof ful hye, 

That no man of our purveyaunce spye. 

And whan thou thus hast doon as I have seyd,

And hast our vitaille faire in hem y-leyd,

And eek an ax, to smyte the corde atwo

When that the water comth, that we may go, 

And broke an hole an heigh, up-on the gable,

Unto the gardin-ward, over the stable,

That we may frely passen forth our way

Whan that the grete shour is goon away—

Than shaltow swimme as myrie, I undertake,    

As doth the whyte doke after hir drake. 

Than wol I clepe, how! Alison! how! John!

Be myrie, for the flood wol passe anon.”

And thou wolt seyn, hayl, maister Nicholay!

Good morwe, I se thee wel, for it is day.” 

And than shul we be lordes al our lyf

Of al the world, as Noë and his wyf.

  But of o thyng I warne thee ful right,

Be wel avysed, on that ilke night

That we ben entred in-to shippes bord, 

That noon of us ne speke nat a word, 

Ne clepe, ne crye, but been in his preyere;

For it is goddes owne heste dere.

  Thy wyf and thou mote hange fer a-twinne,

For that bitwixe yow shal be no sinne 

No more in looking than ther shal in dede;

This ordinance is seyd, go, god thee spede!

Tomorwe at night, whan men ben alle aslepe,

In-to our kneding-tubbes wol we crepe,

And sitten ther, abyding goddes grace. 

Go now thy wey, I have no lenger space 

To make of this no lenger sermoning.

Men seyn thus, send the wyse, and sey no-thing;”

Thou art so wys, it nedeth thee nat teche;

Go, save our lyf, and that I thee biseche.‘

  This sely carpenter goth forth his wey.

Ful ofte he seith allasand weylawey,

And to his wyf he tolde his privetee;

And she was war, and knew it bet than he,

What al this queynte cast was for to seye.

But nathelees she ferde as she wolde deye, 

And seyde, allas! go forth thy wey anon,

Help us to scape, or we ben lost echon;

I am thy trewe verray wedded wyf;

Go, dere spouse, and help to save our lyf.’ 

  Lo! which a greet thyng is affeccioun!

Men may dye of imaginacioun,

So depe may impressioun be take.

This sely carpenter biginneth quake;

Him thinketh verraily that he may see

Noës flood come walwing as the see 

To drenchen Alisoun, his hony dere.

He wepeth, weyleth, maketh sory chere,

He syketh with ful many a sory swogh.

He gooth and geteth him a kneding-trogh, 

And after that a tubbe and a kimelin,

And prively he sente hem to his in,

And heng hem in the roof in privetee.

His owne hand he made laddres three,

To climben by the ronges and the stalkes 

Un-to the tubbes hanginge in the balkes, 

And hem vitailled, bothe trogh and tubbe,

With breed and chese, and good ale in a Iubbe,

Suffysinge right y-nogh as for a day.

But er that he had maad al this array, 

He sente his knave, and eek his wenche also,

Up-on his nede to London for to go.

And on the Monday, whan it drow to night,

He shette his dore with-oute candel-light,

And dressed al thing as it sholde be. 

And shortly, up they clomben alle three; 

They sitten stille wel a furlong-way.

  ‘Now, Pater-noster, clom!seyde Nicholay,

And clom,quod John, and clom,seyde Alisoun.

This carpenter seyde his devocioun, 

And stille he sit, and biddeth his preyere,

Awaytinge on the reyn, if he it here.

  The dede sleep, for wery bisinesse,

Fil on this carpenter right, as I gesse,

Aboute corfew-tyme, or litel more;

For travail of his goost he groneth sore,

And eft he routeth, for his heed mislay.

Doun of the laddre stalketh Nicholay,

And Alisoun, ful softe adoun she spedde;

With-outen wordes mo, they goon to bedde 

Ther-as the carpenter is wont to lye.

Ther was the revel and the melodye;

And thus lyth Alison and Nicholas,

In bisinesse of mirthe and of solas,

Til that the belle of laudes gan to ringe, 

And freres in the chauncel gonne singe. 

  This parish-clerk, this amorous Absolon,

That is for love alwey so wo bigon,

Up-on the Monday was at Oseneye

With companye, him to disporte and pleye, 

And axed up-on cas a cloisterer

Ful prively after Iohn the carpenter;

And he drough him a-part out of the chirche,

And seyde, I noot, I saugh him here nat wirche

Sin Saterday; I trow that he be went

For timber, ther our abbot hath him sent; 

For he is wont for timber for to go,

And dwellen at the grange a day or two;

Or elles he is at his hous, certeyn;

Wher that he be, I can nat sothly seyn.’ 

  This Absolon ful Ioly was and light,

And thoghte, now is tyme wake al night;

For sikirly I saugh him nat stiringe

Aboute his dore sin day bigan to springe.

So moot I thryve, I shal, at cokkes crowe, 

Ful prively knokken at his windowe 

That stant ful lowe up-on his boures wal.

To Alison now wol I tellen al

My love-longing, for yet I shal nat misse

That at the leste wey I shal hir kisse. 

Som maner confort shal I have, parfay,

My mouth hath icched al this longe day;

That is a signe of kissing atte leste.

Al night me mette eek, I was at a feste.

Therfor I wol gon slepe an houre or tweye, 

And al the night than wol I wake and pleye.’ 

  Whan that the firste cok hath crowe, anon

Up rist this Ioly lover Absolon,

And him arrayeth gay, at point-devys.

But first he cheweth greyn and lycorys, 

To smellen swete, er he had kembd his heer.

Under his tonge a trewe love he beer,

For ther-by wende he to ben gracious.

He rometh to the carpenteres hous,

And stille he stant under the shot-windowe; 

Un-to his brest it raughte, it was so lowe; 

And softe he cogheth with a semi-soun—

What do ye, hony-comb, swete Alisoun?

My faire brid, my swete cinamome,

Awaketh, lemman myn, and speketh to me! 

Wel litel thenken ye up-on my wo,

That for your love I swete ther I go.

No wonder is thogh that I swelte and swete;

I moorne as doth a lamb after the tete.

Y-wis, lemman, I have swich love-longinge, 

That lyk a turtel trewe is my moorninge; 

I may nat ete na more than a mayde.

  ‘Go fro the window, Iakke fool,she sayde,

As help me god, it wol nat be com ba me,”

I love another, and elles I were to blame, 

Wel bet than thee, by Iesu, Absolon!

Go forth thy wey, or I wol caste a ston,

And lat me slepe, a twenty devel wey!

  ‘Allas,quod Absolon, and weylawey!

That trewe love was ever so yvel biset! 

Than kisse me, sin it may be no bet, 

For Iesus love and for the love of me.

  ‘Wiltow than go thy wey ther-with?quod she.

  ‘Ye, certes, lemman,quod this Absolon.

  ‘Thanne make thee redy,quod she, I come anon;’      

And un-to Nicholas she seyde stille, 

Now hust, and thou shall laughen al thy fille.’  

  This Absolon doun sette him on his knees,

And seyde, I am a lord at alle degrees;

For after this I hope ther cometh more!

Lemman, thy grace, and swete brid, thyn ore!’ 

  The window she undoth, and that in haste,

Have do,quod she, com of, and speed thee faste,

Lest that our neighebores thee espye.

  This Absolon gan wype his mouth ful drye; 

Derk was the night as pich, or as the cole,

And at the window out she putte hir hole,

And Absolon, him fil no bet ne wers,

But with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers

Ful savourly, er he was war of this. 

  Abak he sterte, and thoghte it was amis, 

For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd;

He felte a thing al rough and long y-herd,

And seyde, fy! allas! what have I do?

  ‘Tehee!quod she, and clapte the window to; 

And Absolon goth forth a sory pas.

  ‘A berd, a berd!quod hende Nicholas,

By goddes corpus, this goth faire and weel!

  This sely Absolon herde every deel,

And on his lippe he gan for anger byte;

And to him-self he seyde, I shal thee quyte!’    

  Who rubbeth now, who froteth now his lippes

With dust, with sond, with straw, with clooth, with chippes,

But Absolon, that seith ful ofte, allas!

My soule bitake I un-to Sathanas,

But me wer lever than al this toun,quod he,

Of this despyt awroken for to be!

Allas!quod he, allas! I ne hadde y-bleynt!

His hote love was cold and al y-queynt;

For fro that tyme that he had kiste hir ers,

Of paramours he sette nat a kers, 

For he was heled of his maladye;

Ful ofte paramours he gan deffye,

And weep as dooth a child that is y-bete.

A softe paas he wente over the strete

Un-til a smith men cleped daun Gerveys,

That in his forge smithed plough-harneys;

He sharpeth shaar and culter bisily.

This Absolon knokketh al esily,

And seyde, undo, Gerveys, and that anon.’ 

 ‘What, who artow?’ ‘It am I, Absolon.’ 

What, Absolon! for Cristes swete tree,

Why ryse ye so rathe, ey, benedicite!

What eyleth yow? som gay gerl, god it woot,

Hath broght yow thus up-on the viritoot; 

By sëynt Note, ye woot wel what I mene.

  This Absolon ne roghte nat a bene

Of al his pley, no word agayn he yaf;

He hadde more tow on his distaf

Than Gerveys knew, and seyde, freend so dere, 

That hote culter in the chimenee here, 

As lene it me, I have ther-with to done,

And I wol bringe it thee agayn ful sone.

  Gerveys answerde, certes, were it gold,

Or in a poke nobles alle untold,

Thou sholdest have, as I am trewe smith;

Ey, Cristes foo! what wol ye do ther-with?

  ‘Ther-of,quod Absolon, be as be may;

I shal wel telle it thee to-morwe day’—

And caughte the culter by the colde stele. 

Ful softe out at the dore he gan to stele, 

And wente un-to the carpenteres wal.

He cogheth first, and knokketh ther-with-al

Upon the windowe, right as he dide er.

  This Alison answerde, Who is ther

That knokketh so? I warante it a theef.

  ‘Why, nay,quod he, god woot, my swete leef,

I am thyn Absolon, my dereling!

Of gold,quod he, I have thee broght a ring;

My moder yaf it me, so god me save, 

Ful fyn it is, and ther-to wel y-grave; 

This wol I yeve thee, if thou me kisse!

  This Nicholas was risen for to pisse,

And thoghte he wolde amenden al the Iape,

He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape. 

And up the windowe dide he hastily,

And out his ers he putteth prively

Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon;

And ther-with spak this clerk, this Absolon,

Spek, swete brid, I noot nat wher thou art.’ 

  This Nicholas anon leet flee a fart, 

As greet as it had been a thonder-dent,

That with the strook he was almost y-blent;

And he was redy with his iren hoot,

And Nicholas amidde the ers he smoot. 

  Of gooth the skin an hande-brede aboute,

The hote culter brende so his toute,

And for the smert he wende for to dye.

As he were wood, for wo he gan to crye—

Help! water! water! help, for goddes herte!’ 

  This carpenter out of his slomber sterte, 

And herde oon cryen wateras he were wood,

And thoghte, Allas! now comth Nowelis flood!

He sit him up with-outen wordes mo,

And with his ax he smoot the corde a-two, 

And doun goth al; he fond neither to selle,

Ne breed ne ale, til he cam to the selle

Up-on the floor; and ther aswowne he lay.

  Up sterte hir Alison, and Nicholay,

And cryden outand harrowin the strete. 

The neighebores, bothe smale and grete, 

In ronnen, for to gauren on this man,

That yet aswowne he lay, bothe pale and wan;

For with the fal he brosten hadde his arm;

But stonde he moste un-to his owne harm. 

For whan he spak, he was anon bore doun

With hende Nicholas and Alisoun.

They tolden every man that he was wood,

He was agast so of Nowelis flood

Thurgh fantasye, that of his vanitee 

He hadde y-boght him kneding-tubbes three, 

And hadde hem hanged in the roof above;

And that he preyed hem, for goddes love,

To sitten in the roof, par companye.

  The folk gan laughen at his fantasye; 

In-to the roof they kyken and they gape,

And turned al his harm un-to a Iape.

For what so that this carpenter answerde,

It was for noght, no man his reson herde;

With othes grete he was so sworn adoun, 

That he was holden wood in al the toun; 

For every clerk anon-right heeld with other.

They seyde, the man is wood, my leve brother;

And every wight gan laughen of this stryf.

  Thus swyved was the carpenteres wyf, 

For al his keping and his Ialousye;

And Absolon hath kist hir nether yë;

And Nicholas is scalded in the toute. 

This tale is doon, and god save al the route!

Here endeth the Millere his tale.

Here beginneth the Miller his tale.

  Whilom there was dwelling at Oxford

A rich gnoff, that guests held to board,

And of his craft he was a Carpenter.

With him there was dwelling a povre scholar, 

Had learned art, but all his fantasy

Was turned for to learn astrology,

And could ascertain of conclusions

To deemen by interrogations,

If that men asked him in certain hours,

When that men should have drought or else showers,

Or if men asked him what should befall

Of every thing, I may not reckon ’em all.

  This clerk was cleped hend Nicholas; 

Of dern love he could and of solace

And thereto he was sly and full privy,

And like a maiden meek for to see.

A chamber had he in that hostelry

Alone, withouten any company,

Full featously y-dight with herbs sweet;

And he himself as sweet as is the root

Of liquorice, or any setwall

His Almagest and books great and small,

His astrolabe, longing for his art,

His augrim stones layen far apart 

On shelves couched at his bed’s head:

His press y-covered with a falding red.

And all above there lay a gay psaltery,

On which he made a night’s melody

So sweetly, that all the chamber rung;

And Angelus ad virginem he sung; 

And after that he sung the king’s note;

Full often blessed was his merry throat.

And thus this sweet clerk his time spent

After his friends’ funding and his rent.

  This Carpenter had wedded new a wife

Which that he loved more than his life;

Of eighteen year she was of age.

Jealous he was, and held her narrow in cage,

For she was wild and young, and he was old

And deemed himself been like a cuckold.

He knew not Cato, for his wit was rude,

That bade man should wed his similitude.

Men should wedden after their estate,

For youth and eld is often at debate.

But sith that he had fallen in the snare, 

He must endure, as other folk, his care.

Fair was this young wife, and therewithal

As any weasel her body gent and small.

seynt she weared barred all of silk, 

barmcloth eke as white as morn milk

Upon her lends, full of many a gore

White was her smock and ‘broidered all before

And eke behind, on her collar about,

Of coal black silk, within and eke without.

The tapes of her white voluper

Were of the same suit of her collar;

Her filet broad of silk, and set full high:

And sickerly she had a lickerous eye.

Full small y-pulled were her brows two,

And those were bent, and black as any sloe.

She was full more blissful on to see

Than is the new pear-jonette tree; 

And softer than the wool is of a wether.

And by her girdle hung a purse of leather

Tasselled with silk, and pearled with latten.

In all this world, to seeken up and down,

There nis no man so wise, that could thench

So gay a popelot, or such a wench.

Full brighter was the shining of her hue

Than in the tower the noble y-forged new. 

But of her song, it was as loud and yearn

As any swallow sitting on a barn.

Thereto she could skip and make game,

As any kid or calf following his dame.

Her mouth was sweet as bragget or the meeth,

Or hoard of apples laid in hay or heath.

Wincing she was, as is a jolly colt, 

Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.

A brooch she bear upon her low collar,

As broad as is the boss of a buckler.

Her shoes were laced on her legs high;

She was a primrose, a pigsney,

For any lord to leggen in his bed 

Or yet for any good yeoman to wed.

  Now sire, and eft sire, so befell the case, 

That on a day this hend Nicholas 

Fell with this young wife to rage and play,

While that her husband was at Osney,

As clerks been full subtle and full quaint

And privily he caught her by the quaint,

And said, “y-wis, but if I have my will,

For dern love of thee, leman, I spill.” 

And held her hard by the haunchbones,

And said , “leman, love me all at once,

Or I will dien, all so god me save!”

And she sprung as a colt does in the trave,

And with her head she wryed fast away,

And said, “I will not kiss thee, by my fay,

Why, let be,” quoth she, “let be, Nicholas,

Or I will cry out ‘harrow’ and ‘alas’!

Do ’way your hands for your courtesy!”

  This Nicholas ’gan mercy for to cry,

And spake so fair, and proffered her so fast,

That she her love him granted at last,

And swore her oath, by saint Thomas of Kent,

That she will be at his commandment,

When that she may her leisure well espy.

“Mine husband is so full of jealousy

But that you wait well and been privy,

wot right well I nam but dead,” quoth she. 

“You must be full dern, as in this case.”

  “Nay, thereof care thee naught,” quoth Nicholas.

“A clerk had litherly beset his wile, 

But if he could a Carpenter beguile.”

And thus they been accorded and y-sworn

To wait a time, as I have told beforn.

When Nicholas had done thus everydeal

And thacked her about the lends well, 

He kissed her sweet, and taketh his psaltery,

And playeth fast, and maketh melody.

  Then fell it thus, that to the parish church,

Christ’s own works for to wirche,

This good wife went on an holy day;

Her forehead shone as bright as any day,

So was it washen when she left her work.

  Now was there of that church a parish clerk,

The which that was y-clept Absolon.

Crull was his hair, and as the gold it shone,

And sprouted as a fan large and broad;

Full straight and even lay his jolly shode.

His rode was red, his eyen grey as goose;

With Paul’s window carven on his shoes,

In hoses red he went featously.

Y-clad he was full small and properly,

All in a kirtle of a light watchet;

Full fair and thick been the points set.

And thereupon he had a gay surplice

As white as is the blossom upon the ris.

A merry child he was, so god me save,

Well could he letten blood and clip and shave,

And maken a charter of land or a-quittance.

In twenty manner could he trip and dance

After the school of Oxford tho,

And with his legs casten to and fro,

And playen songs on a small rubible;

Thereto he sung sometime a loud quinible;

And as well could he play on a cittern.

In all the town nas brewhouse ne tavern

That he ne visited with his solace,

There any galliard tapster was. 

But sooth to sayn, he was somedeal squeamous

Of farting, and of speech dangerous.

  This Absolon, that jolly was and gay,

Goeth with a censer on the holy day,

Censing the wives of the parish fast;

And many a lovely look on ’em he cast,

And namely on this carpenter’s wife.

To look on her him thought a merry life,

She was so proper and sweet and lickerous.

I dare well sayn, if she had been a mouse,

And he a cat, he would her hent anon

  This parish clerk, this jolly Absolon,

Hath in his heart such a love-longing,

That of no wife ne took he no offering;

For courtesy, he said, he would none.

The moon, when it was night, full bright shone,

And Absolon his cittern hath y-take;

For paramours, he thought for to wake.

And forth he goeth, jolly and amorous,

Till he came to the carpenter’s house

A little after cocks had y-crow;

And ’dressed him up by a shot-window

That was upon the carpenter’s wall.

He singeth in his voice gentil and small,

“Now, dear lady, if thy will be,

I pray you that ye will rue on me,”

Full well accordant to his citterning.

This carpenter awoke, and heard him sing,

And spake unto his wife, and said anon,

“What! Alison! hearest thou not Absolon

That chanteth thus under our bower’s wall?”

And she answered her husband therewithal,

“Yes, god wot, John, I hear it every deal.”

  This passeth forth; what will ye bet than well?

From day to day this jolly Absolon

So wooeth her, that him is woe begone.

He waketh all the night and all the day;

He kempt his locks broad, and made him gay;

He wooeth her by means and brocage,

And swore he would be her own page;

He singeth, trilling as a nightingale;

He sent her payment, meeth, and spiced ale,

And wafers, piping hot out of the gleed;

And for she was out of town, he proffered meed.

For some folk will been wonnen for richesse,

And some for strokes, and some for gentilesse.

  Sometime, to show his lightness and mastery,

He playeth Herod upon a scaffold high.

But what availeth him as in this case?

She loveth so this hend Nicholas,

That Absolon may blow the buck’s horn;

He ne had for his labour but a scorn;

And thus she maketh Absolon her ape,

And all his earnest turneth to a jape.

For sooth is this proverb, it is no lie,

Men sayn right thus: “alway the nigh sly

Maketh the far lief to be loath.”

For though that Absolon be wood or wroth,

Because that he far was from her sight,

This nigh Nicholas stood in his light.

  Now bear thee well, thou hend Nicholas!

For Absolon may wail and sing “alas.”

And so befell it on a Saturday,

This carpenter was gone to Osney;

And hend Nicholas and Alison

Accorded been to this conclusion,

That Nicholas shall shapen him a wile

This seely jealous husband to beguile;

And if so be the game went a-right,

She should sleepen in his arm all night,

For this was his desire and her also.

And right anon, withouten words mo’,

This Nicholas no longer would tarry,

But doth full soft unto his chamber carry

Both meat and drink for a day or tway,

And to her husband bade her for to say,

If that he asked after Nicholas,

She should say she nist where he was,

Of all that day she saw him not with eye;

She trowed that he was in malady

For, for no cry, her maid could him call;

He nould answer, for nothing that might ’fall.

  This passeth forth all thilk Saturday,

That Nicholas still in his chamber lay,

And eat and sleep, or did what him lest,

Till Sunday, that the sun goeth to rest.

  This seely carpenter hath great marvel

Of Nicholas, or what thing might him ail,

And said, “I am a-dread, by saint Thomas,

It standeth not a-right with Nicholas.

God shield that he died suddenly!

This world is now full tickle, sickerly;

saw today a corpse y-born to church

That now, on Monday last, I saw him wirche.

  Go up,” quoth he unto his knave anon,

Clepe at his door, or knock with a stone. 

Look how it is, and tell me boldly.”

  This knave goeth him up full sturdily,

And at the chamber door, while that he stood,

He cried and knocked as that he were wood:— 

“What! how! what do ye, master Nicholay?

How may ye sleepen all the long day?”

But all for nought; he heard not a word;

An hole he found, full low upon a board,

There as the cat was wont in for to creep;

And at that hole he looked in full deep,

And at the last he had of him a sight.

This Nicholas sat gaping ever upright,

As he had keeked on the new moon.

A-down he goeth, and told his master soon,

In what array he saw this ilk man.

  This carpenter to blessen him began,

And said, “help us saint Frideswide!

A man wot little what him shall betide.

This man is fall, with his astronomy,

In some woodness or in some agony;

I thought aye well how that it should be! 

Men should not know of god’s privity.

Yea, blessed be alway a lewd man,

That nought but only his belief can!

So faired another clerk with astronomy;

He walked in the fields for to pry

Upon the stars, what there should befall,

Till he was in a marl-pit y-fall;

He saw not that.  But yet, by saint Thomas,

Me rueth sore of hend Nicholas. 

He shall be rated of his studying,

If that I may, by Jesus, heaven king!

  Get me a staff, that I may underspore,

While that thou, Robin, heavest up the door.

He shall out of his studying, as I guess.”—

And to the chamber door he ’gan him ’dress.

His knave was a strong carl for the nones,

And by the hasp he have it off at once;

Into the floor the door fell anon.

This Nicholas sat aye as still as stone,  

And ever gaped upward into the air.

This carpenter wend he were in despair,

And hent him by the shoulders mightily,

And shook him hard, and cried spitously,

“What! Nicholay! what, how! what! look a-down!

Awake and think on Christ’s passion;

I crouch thee from elves and from wights!”

Therewith the night-spell said he anon rights

On four halves of the house about,

And on the threshold of the door without:—

Jesus Christ, and saint Benedite,

Bless this house from every wicked wight.

For night’s very, the white paternoster! 

Where wentest thou, saint Peter’s sister?”

  And at last this hend Nicholas

’Gan for to sigh sore, and said, “alas!

Shall all the world be lost eft soon as now?”

  This carpenter answered, “What sayest thou?

What! think on god, as we do, men that swink.” 

  This Nicholas answered “fetch me drink,

And after will I speak in privity

Of certain thing that toucheth me and thee;

I will tell it no other man, certain.”

  This carpenter goeth down, and cometh again,

And brought of mighty ale a large quart;

And when that each of ’em had drunk his part,

This Nicholas his door fast shut,

And down the carpenter by him he sat.

He said, “John, mine host lief and dear,

Thou shalt upon thy truth swear me here,

That to no wight thou shalt this counsel ’ray;

For it is Christ’s counsel that I say,

And if thou tell it man, thou art forlorn;

For this vengeance thou shalt have therefore,

That if thou ’ray me, thou shalt be wood!” 

“Nay, Christ forbid it, for his holy blood!”

Quoth tho this seely man, “I nam no blab,

Ne, though I say, I am not lief to gab.

Say what thou wilt, I shall it never tell

To child ne wife, by him that harrowed hell!”

  “Now John,” quoth Nicholas, “I will not lie;

I have y-found in mine astrology,

As I have looked in the moon bright,

That now, a Monday next, at quarter-night,

Shall fall a rain and that so wild and wood,

That half so great was never Noah’s flood.

This world,” he said, “in less than in an hour

Shall all be drenched, so hideous is the shower;

Thus shall mankind drown and lose their life.”

  This carpenter answered, “alas, my wife!

And shall she drown? alas, mine Alison!”

For sorrow of this he fell almost a-down,

And said, “is there no remedy in this case?”

  “Why, yes, for god,” quoth hend Nicholas,

“If thou wilt worken after lore and rede;

Thou mayst not worken after thine own heed.

For thus saith Solomon, that was full true,

‘Work all by counsel, and thou shalt not rue.’

And if thou worken wilt by good counsel,

I undertake, withouten mast and sail,

Yet shall I saven her and thee and me

Hast thou not heard how saved was Noë,

When that our Lord had warned him beforn

That all the world with water should be lorn?”

  “Yes,” quoth this carpenter, “full yore ago.”

  “Hast thou not heard,” quoth Nicholas, “also

The sorrow of Noah with his fellowship,

Ere that he might get his wife to ship?

Him had he liefer, I dare well undertake,

At thilk time, than all his wethers black,

That she had had a ship herself alone.

And therefore, wist thou what is best to do?

This asketh haste, and of an hasty thing

Men may not preach or maken tarrying.

  Anon go get as fast into this inn

A kneading trough, or else a kimelyn,

For each of us, but look that they be large,

In which we may swim as in a barge,

And have therein victual sufficient

But for a day; fie on the remnant!

The water shall a-slake and go away

About prime upon the next day. 

But Robin may not wit of this, thy knave,

Ne eke thy maid Jill I may not save;

Ask not why, for though thou ask me,

I will not tellen god’s privity.

Sufficeth thee, but if thy wit’s mad,

To have as great a grace as Noë had.

Thy wife shall I well saven, out of doubt.

Go now thy way, and speed thee here-about.

  But when thou hast, for her and thee and me,

Y-geten us these kneading tubs three

Then shalt thou hang ’em in the roof full high,

That no man of our purveyance spy.

And when thou thus hast done as I have said,

And hast our victual fair in ’em y-laid,

And eke an axe, to smite the cord a-two,

When that the water cometh, that we may go,

And broke an hole up high, upon the gable,

Unto the garden-ward, over the stable,

That we may freely passen forth our way

When that this great shower is gone away—

Then shalt thou swim as merry, I undertake,

As doth the white duck after her drake.

Then will I clepe, ‘how! Alison! how! John!

Be merry, for the flood will pass anon.’

And thou wilt sayn, ‘hail, master Nicholay!

Good morrow, I see thee well, for it is day.’

And then shall we be lords all our life

Of all the world, as Noë and his wife.

  But of one thing I warn thee full right,

Be well advised, on that ilk night

That we been entered into ship’s board,

That none of us ne speak not a word,

Ne clepe, ne cry, but be in his prayer;

For it is god’s own hest dear.

  Thy wife and thou mote hang far a-twin,

For that betwixt you shall be no sin

No more in looking than there shall in deed;

This ordinance is said, go, god thee speed!

Tomorrow at night, when men been all asleep,

Into our kneading tubs will we creep,

And sitten there, abiding god’s grace.

Go now thy way; I have no longer space

To make of this no longer sermoning.

Men sayn thus, ‘send the wise, and say nothing;’

Thou art so wise, it needeth thee not teach;

Go, save our life, and that I thee beseech.”

  This seely carpenter goeth forth his way.  

Full oft he saith “alas” and “waylaway,”

And to his wife he told his privity;

And she was ware, and knew it bet than he,

What all this quaint cast was for to say.  

But natheless she faired as she would die,

And said, “alas! go forth thy way anon,

Help us to ’scape, or we been lost each one;

I am thy true very wedded wife;

Go, dear spouse, and help to save our life.”

  Lo! what a great thing is affection!

Men may die of imagination,

So deep may impression be take.

This seely carpenter beginneth quake;

Him thinketh verily that he may see

Noah’s flood come wallowing as the sea

To drownen Alison, his honey dear.

He weepeth, waileth, maketh sorry cheer;

He sigheth with full many a sorry sough.

He goeth and getteth him a kneading trough,

And after that a tub and a kimelyn,

And privily he sent ’em to his inn,

And hung ’em in the roof in privity.

His own hand he made ladders three,

To climben by the rungs and the stalks

Unto the tubs hanging in the baulks,

And ’em victualed, both trough and tub,

With bread and cheese, and good ale in a jub,

Sufficing right enough as for a day.

But ere that he had made all this array,

He sent his knave, and eke his wench also,

Upon his need to London for to go.

And on the Monday, when it drew to night,

He shut his door without candle-light,

And dressed all thing as it should be.

And shortly, up they climben all three;

They sitten still well a furlong way.

“Now, Paternoster, clom!” said Nicholay,

And “clom!” quoth John, and “clom!” said Alison.

This carpenter said his devotion,

And still he sit, and biddeth his prayer,

Awaiting on the rain, if he it hear.

  The dead sleep, for weary busyness,

Fell on this carpenter right, as I guess,

About curfew-time, or little more;

For travail of his ghost he groaneth sore,

And eft he routeth, for his head mislay. 

Down of the ladder stalketh Nicholay,

And Alison, full soft a-down she sped;

Withouten words mo’, they gon to bed

There as the carpenter is wont to lie.

There was the revel and the melody;

And thus lieth Alison and Nicholas,

In business of mirth and of solace,

Till that the bell of lauds ’gan to ring,

And friars in the chancel gon sing.

This parish clerk, this amorous Absolon,

That is for love alway so woe begun,

Upon that Monday was at Osney

With company, him to disport and play,

And asked upon case a cloisterer

Full privily after John the carpenter;

And he drew him apart out of the church,

And said, “I not, I saw him here not wirche

Since Saturday; I trow that he be went

For timber, there our abbot hath him sent;

For he is wont for timber for to go,

And dwellen at the grange a day or two;

Or else he is at his house, certain;

Where that he be, I cannot soothly sayn.”

  This Absolon full jolly was and light,

And thought, “Now is time wake all night;

For certainly I saw him not stirring,

About his door since day began to spring.

So mote I thrive, I shall, at cocks’ crow,

Full privily knocken at his window

That stands full low upon his bower’s wall.

To Alison now will I tellen all

My love longing, for yet I shall not miss

That at the least way I shall her kiss.

Some manner comfort shall I have, parfay.

My mouth hath itched all this long day;

That is a sign of kissing at least.

All night me dreamed eke, I was at a feast.

Therefore I will go sleep an hour or tway,

And all the night then will I wake and play.”

  When that the first cock hath crow, anon

Up rose this jolly lover Absolon,

And him arrayeth gay, at point-devise.

But first he cheweth grain and liquorice,

To smellen sweet, ere he had combed his hair.

Under his tongue a true-love he bear,

For thereby wend he to be gracious.

He roameth to the carpenter’s house,

And still he stand under the shot-window;

Unto his breast it raught, it was so low;

And soft he cougheth with a semi-soun’—

“What do ye, honey-comb, sweet Alison?

My fair bird, my sweet cinnamon,

Awaketh, leman mine, and speaketh to me!

Well little thinken ye upon my woe,

That for your love I sweat there I go.

No wonder is though that I swelt and sweat;

I mourn as doth a lamb after the teat.

Y-wis, leman, I have such love-longing,

That like a turtle true is my mourning; 

I may not eat no more than a maid.”

  “Go from the window, jack fool,” she said,

“As help me god, it will not be ‘come ba me,’

I love another, and else I were to blame,

Well bet than thee, by Jesus, Absolon!

Go forth thy way, or I will cast a stone,

And let me sleep, a twenty devil way!”

  “Alas,” quoth Absolon, “and waylaway!

That true love was ever so evil beset!

Then kiss me, since it may be no bet,

For Jesus’ love and for the love of me.”

  “Wilt thou then go thy way therewith?” quoth she.

  “Yea, certes, leman,” quoth this Absolon.

  “Then make thee ready,” quoth she, “I come anon;”

And unto Nicholas she said still,

“Now hurst, and thou shalt laughen all thy fill.” 

  This Absolon down set him on his knees,

And said, “I am a lord at all degrees;

For after this I hope there cometh more!

Leman, thy grace, and sweet bird, thine ore!”

  The window she undoeth, and that in haste,

“Have do,” quoth she, “come of, and speed thee fast,

Lest that our neighbours thee espy.”

  This Absolon ’gan wipe his mouth full dry;

Dark was the night as pitch, or as the coal,

And at the window out she put her hole,

And Absolon, him feel no bet ne worse,

But with his mouth he kissed her naked arse

Full savourly, ere he were ware of this.

A-back he start, and thought it was amiss,

For well he wist a woman hath no beard.

He felt a thing all rough and long y-haired,

And said “fie! alas! what have I to do?”

  “Tehee!” quoth she and clapped the window to,

And Absolon goeth forth a sorry pace.

  “A beard, a beard!” quoth hend Nicholas, 

“By god’s corpus, this goeth fair and well.”

  This seely Absolon heard every deal,

And on his lip he ’gan for anger bite;

And to himself he said, “I shall thee quite!”

  Who rubbeth now, who frotheth now his lips

With dust, with sand, with straw, with cloth, with chips,

But Absolon, that saith full oft, “alas!”

“My soul betake I unto Sathanas,

But me were liefer than all this town,” quoth he,

“Of this despite a-reckon for to be.

Alas,” quoth he, “alas, I ne had y-blaint!”

His hot love was cold and all y-quaint;

For from that time that he had kissed her arse,

Of paramours he set not a cerse,

For he was healed of his malady;

Full oft paramours he ’gan defy,

And weep as doth a child that is y-beat.

A soft pace he went over the street

Unto a smith men cleped dan Gervais,

That in his forge smithed plough harness;

He sharpeth ’share and colter busily, 

This Absolon knocketh all easily,

And said, “undo, Gervais, and that anon.”

“What, who art thou?” “It am I, Absolon.”

“What, Absolon! for Christ’s sweet tree,

Why rise ye so rathe, ey, benedicite! 

What aileth you? some gay girl, god it wot,

Hath brought you thus upon the viritoot,

By saint Neot, ye wot well what I mean.”

  This Absolon ne raught not a bean

Of all his play; no word again he gave;

He had more tow on his distaff

Than Gervais knew, and said, “friend so dear,

That hot colter in the chimney here, 

As lend it me, I have therewith to do,

And I will bring it thee again full soon.”

  Gervais answered, “certes, were it gold,

Or in a poke nobles all untold,

Thou shouldest have, as I am true smith;

Ey, Christ’s foe! what will ye do therewith?”

  “Thereof,” quoth Absolon, “be as be may;

I shall well tell it thee tomorrow day”—

And caught the colter by the cold steel.

Full soft out at the door he ’gan to steal,

And went unto the carpenter’s wall.

He cougheth first, and knocketh therewithal,

Unto the window, right as he did ere.

  This Alison answered, “who is there

That knocketh so? I warrant it a thief.”

  “Why, nay,” quoth he, “god wot, my sweet lief,

I am thine Absolon, my darling!

Of gold,” quoth he, “I have thee brought a ring;

My mother gave it me, so god me save,

Full fine it is, and thereto well y-grave;

This will I give thee, if thou me kiss.

  This Nicholas was risen for to piss,

And thought he would amenden all the jape,

He should kiss his arse ere that he ’scape.

And up the window did he hastily,

And out his arse he putteth privily

Over the buttock, to the haunchbone;

And therewith spake this clerk, this Absolon,

“Speak sweet bird, I not not where thou art.”

  This Nicholas anon let flee a fart,

As great as it had been a thunder dent,

That with the stroke he was almost y-blent;

And he was ready with his iron hot,

And Nicholas amid the arse he smote.

  Off goeth the skin an hand-breadth about,

The hot colter brand so his tout,

And for the smart he wend for to die.

As he were wood, for woe he ’gan to cry—

“Help! water! water! help, for god’s heart!”

  This carpenter out of his slumber start,

And heard one cryen “water” as he were wood,

And thought “Alas! now cometh Noah’s flood!”

He sit him up withouten words mo’,

And with his axe he smote the cord a-two,

And down goeth all, he found neither to sell,

Ne bread ne ale, till he came to the cell

Upon the floor; and there a-swoon he lay.

  Up start her Alison, and Nicholay,

And crieden “out” and “harrow” in the street.

The neighbours, both small and great,

In runnen, for to gauren on this man,

That yet a-swoon lay, both pale and wan;

For with the fall he busten had his arm;

But stand he most unto his own harm.

For when he spake, he was anon bore down

With hend Nicholas and Alison.

They tolden every man that he was wood,

He was aghast so of “Noah’s flood”

Through fantasy, that of his vanity

He had y-bought him kneading tubs three,

And had ’em hanged in the roof above;

And that he prayed ’em, for god’s love,

To sitten in the roof, par company.

  The folk ’gan laughen at his fantasy;

Into the roof they keeken and they gape,

And turned all his harm into a jape.

For what so that this carpenter answered,

It was for nought, no man his reason heard;

With oaths great he was so sworn a-down,

That he was helden wood in all the town;

For every clerk anonright held with other.

They said, “the man is wood, my lief brother;”

And every wight ’gan laughen of this strife.

  Thus swived was this carpenter’s wife,

For all his keeping and his jealousy;

And Absolon hath kissed her nether eye;

And Nicholas is scalded in the tout.

This tale is done, and god save all the rout!

Here endeth the Miller his tale.