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The Reeve's Tale

Here biginneth the Reves tale.

At Trumpington, nat fer fro Cantebrigge,

Ther goth a brook and over that a brigge,

Up-on the whiche brook ther stant a melle;

And this is verray soth that I yow telle.

A Miller was ther dwelling many a day; 

As eny pecok he was proud and gay.

Pypen he coude and fisshe, and nettes bete,

And turne coppes, and wel wrastle and shete;

And by his belt he baar a long panade,

And of a swerd ful trenchant was the blade. 

A Ioly popper baar he in his pouche;

Ther was no man for peril dorste him touche.

A Sheffeld thwitel baar he in his hose;

Round was his face, and camuse was his nose.

As piled as an ape was his skulle.

He was a market-beter atte fulle.

Ther dorste no wight hand up-on him legge,

That he ne swoor he sholde anon abegge.

A theef he was for sothe of corn and mele,

And that a sly, and usaunt for to stele.

His name was hoten dëynous Simkin.

A wyf he hadde, y-comen of noble kin;

The person of the toun hir fader was.

With hir he yaf ful many a panne of bras,

For that Simkin sholde in his blood allye. 

She was y-fostred in a nonnerye;

For Simkin wolde no wyf, as he sayde,

But she were wel y-norissed and a mayde,

To saven his estaat of yomanrye.

And she was proud, and pert as is a pye. 

A ful fair sighte was it on hem two;

On haly-dayes biforn hir wolde he go

With his tipet bounden about his heed,

And she cam after in a gyte of reed; 

And Simkin hadde hosen of the same.

Ther dorste no wight clepen hir but dame.

Was noon so hardy that wente by the weye

That with hir dorste rage or ones pleye,

But-if he wolde be slayn of Simkin

With panade, or with knyf, or boydekin. 

For Ialous folk ben perilous evermo, 

Algate they wolde hir wyves wenden so.

And eek, for she was somdel smoterlich,

She was as digne as water in a dich;

And ful of hoker and of bisemare. 

Hir thoughte that a lady sholde hir spare,

What for hir kinrede and hir nortelrye

That she had lerned in the nonnerye.

  A doghter hadde they bitwixe hem two

Of twenty yeer, with-outen any mo,

Savinge a child that was of half-yeer age;

In cradel it lay and was a propre page.

This wenche thikke and wel y-growen was,

With camuse nose and yën greye as glas;

With buttokes brode and brestes rounde and hye,     

But right fair was hir heer, I wol nat lye.

  The person of the toun, for she was feir,

In purpos was to maken hir his heir

Bothe of his catel and his messuage,

And straunge he made it of hir mariage. 

His purpos was for to bistowe hir hye 

In-to som worthy blood of auncetrye;

For holy chirches good moot been despended

On holy chirches blood, that is descended.

Therfore he wolde his holy blood honoure, 

Though that he holy chirche sholde devoure.

  Gret soken hath this miller, out of doute,

With whete and malt of al the land aboute;

And nameliche ther was a greet collegge,

Men clepen the Soler-halle at Cantebregge, 

Ther was hir whete and eek hir malt y-grounde.    

And on a day it happed, in a stounde,

Sik lay the maunciple on a maladye;

Men wenden wisly that he sholde dye.

For which this miller stal bothe mele and corn    

An hundred tyme more than biforn;

For ther-biforn he stal but curteisly,

But now he was a theef outrageously,

For which the wardeyn chidde and made fare.

But ther-of sette the miller nat a tare; 

He craketh boost, and swoor it was nat so.     

  Than were ther yonge povre clerkes two,

That dwelten in this halle, of which I seye.

Testif they were, and lusty for to pleye,

And, only for hir mirthe and revelrye,

Up-on the wardeyn bisily they crye,

To yeve hem leve but a litel stounde

To goon to mille and seen hir corn y-grounde;

And hardily, they dorste leye hir nekke,

The miller shold nat stele hem half a pekke 

Of corn by sleighte, ne by force hem reve; 

And at the laste the wardeyn yaf hem leve.

Iohn hight that oon, and Aleyn hight that other;

Of o toun were they born, that highte Strother,

Fer in the north, I can nat telle where.

  This Aleyn maketh redy al his gere,

And on an hors the sak he caste anon.

Forth goth Aleyn the clerk, and also Iohn,

With good swerd and with bokeler by hir syde.

Iohn knew the wey, hem nedede no gyde,

And at the mille the sak adoun he layth.

Aleyn spak first, al hayl, Symond, y-fayth;

How fares thy faire doghter and thy wyf?

  ‘Aleyn! welcome,quod Simkin, by my lyf,

And Iohn also, how now, what do ye heer?’    

  ‘Symond,quod Iohn, by god, nede has na peer;

Him boës serve him-selve that has na swayn,

Or elles he is a fool, as clerkes sayn.

Our manciple, I hope he wil be deed,

Swa werkes ay the wanges in his heed. 

And forthy is I come, and eek Alayn,  

To grinde our corn and carie it ham agayn;

I pray yow spede us hethen that ye may.

  ‘It shal be doon,quod Simkin, by my fay;

What wol ye doon whyl that it is in hande?’    

  ‘By god, right by the hoper wil I stande,

Quod Iohn, and se how that the corn gas in;

Yet saugh I never, by my fader kin,

How that the hoper wagges til and fra.

  Aleyn answerde, Iohn, and wiltow swa, 

Than wil I be bynethe, by my croun, 

And se how that the mele falles doun

In-to the trough; that sal be my disport.

For Iohn, in faith, I may been of your sort;

I is as ille a miller as are ye.’

  This miller smyled of hir nycetee,

And thoghte, al this nis doon but for a wyle;

They wene that no man may hem bigyle;

But, by my thrift, yet shal I blere hir yë

For al the sleighte in hir philosophye.

The more queynte crekes that they make, 

The more wol I stele whan I take.

In stede of flour, yet wol I yeve hem bren.

The gretteste clerkes been noght the wysest men,”

As whylom to the wolf thus spak the mare; 

Of al hir art I counte noght a tare.

  Out at the dore he gooth ful prively,

Whan that he saugh his tyme, softely;

He loketh up and doun til he hath founde

The clerkes hors, ther as it stood y-bounde 

Bihinde the mille, under a levesel;

And to the hors he gooth him faire and wel;

He strepeth of the brydel right anon.

And whan the hors was loos, he ginneth gon

Toward the fen, ther wilde mares renne, 

Forth with wehee, thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne.

  This miller gooth agayn, no word he seyde,

But dooth his note, and with the clerkes pleyde,

Til that hir corn was faire and wel y-grounde.

And whan the mele is sakked and y-bounde,   

This Iohn goth out and fynt his hors away,    

And gan to crye harrowand weylaway!

Our hors is lorn! Alayn, for goddes banes,

Step on thy feet, com out, man, al at anes!

Allas, our wardeyn has his palfrey lorn.’

This Aleyn al forgat, bothe mele and corn,

Al was out of his mynde his housbondrye.

What? whilk way is he geen?he gan to crye.

  The wyf cam leping inward with a ren,

She seyde, allas! your hors goth to the fen 

With wilde mares, as faste as he may go. 

Unthank come on his hand that bond him so,

And he that bettre sholde han knit the reyne.

  ‘Allas,quod Iohn, Aleyn, for Cristes peyne,

Lay doun thy swerd, and I wil myn alswa;    

I is ful wight, god waat, as is a raa;

By goddes herte he sal nat scape us bathe.

Why nadstow pit the capul in the lathe?

Il-hayl, by god, Aleyn, thou is a fonne!

  This sely clerkes han ful faste y-ronne

To-ward the fen, bothe Aleyn and eek Iohn. 

  And whan the miller saugh that they were gon,

He half a busshel of hir flour hath take,

And bad his wyf go knede it in a cake.

He seyde, I trowe the clerkes were aferd; 

Yet can a miller make a clerkes berd

For al his art; now lat hem goon hir weye.

Lo wher they goon, ye, lat the children pleye;

They gete him nat so lightly, by my croun!

  Thise sely clerkes rennen up and doun

With keep, keep, stand, stand, Iossa, warderere, 

Ga whistle thou, and I shal kepe him here!

But shortly, til that it was verray night,

They coude nat, though they do al hir might,

Hir capul cacche, he ran alwey so faste, 

Til in a dich they caughte him atte laste.

  Wery and weet, as beste is in the reyn,

Comth sely Iohn, and with him comth Aleyn.

Allas,quod Iohn, the day that I was born!

Now are we drive til hething and til scorn.

Our corn is stole, men wil us foles calle, 

Bathe the wardeyn and our felawes alle,

And namely the miller; weylaway!

  Thus pleyneth Iohn as he goth by the way

Toward the mille, and Bayard in his hond.    

The miller sitting by the fyr he fond,

For it was night, and forther mighte they noght;

But, for the love of god, they him bisoght

Of herberwe and of ese, as for hir peny.

  The miller seyde agayn, if ther be eny, 

Swich as it is, yet shal ye have your part. 

Myn hous is streit, but ye han lerned art;

Ye conne by argumentes make a place

A myle brood of twenty foot of space.

Lat see now if this place may suffyse, 

Or make it roum with speche, as is youre gyse.

  ‘Now, Symond,seyde Iohn, by seint Cutberd,

Ay is thou mery, and this is faire answerd.

I have herd seyd, man sal taa of twa thinges

Slyk as he fyndes, or taa slyk as he bringes. 

But specially, I pray thee, hoste dere,

Get us som mete and drinke, and make us chere,

And we wil payen trewely atte fulle.

With empty hand men may na haukes tulle;

Lo here our silver, redy for to spende.’

  This miller in-to toun his doghter sende

For ale and breed, and rosted hem a goos,

And bond hir hors, it sholde nat gon loos;

And in his owne chambre hem made a bed

With shetes and with chalons faire y-spred,    

Noght from his owne bed ten foot or twelve. 

His doghter hadde a bed, al by hir-selve,

Right in the same chambre, by and by;

It mighte be no bet, and cause why,

Ther was no roumer herberwe in the place. 

They soupen and they speke, hem to solace,

And drinken ever strong ale atte beste.

Aboute midnight wente they to reste.

  Wel hath this miller vernisshed his heed;

Ful pale he was for-dronken, and nat reed. 

He yexeth, and he speketh thurgh the nose   

As he were on the quakke, or on the pose.

To bedde he gooth, and with him goth his wyf.

As any Iay she light was and Iolyf,

So was hir Ioly whistle wel y-wet. 

The cradel at hir beddes feet is set,

To rokken, and to yeve the child to souke.

And whan that dronken al was in the crouke,

To bedde went the doghter right anon;

To bedde gooth Aleyn and also Iohn; 

Ther nas na more, hem nedede no dwale. 

This miller hath so wisly bibbed ale,

That as an hors he snorteth in his sleep,

Ne of his tayl bihinde he took no keep.

His wyf bar him a burdon, a ful strong, 

Men mighte hir routing here two furlong;

The wenche routeth eek par companye.

  Aleyn the clerk, that herd this melodye,

He poked Iohn, and seyde, slepestow?

Herdestow ever slyk a sang er now? 

Lo, whilk a compline is y-mel hem alle! 

A wilde fyr up-on thair bodyes falle!

Wha herkned ever slyk a ferly thing?

Ye, they sal have the flour of il ending.

This lange night ther tydes me na reste; 

But yet, na fors; al sal be for the beste.

For Iohn,seyde he, als ever moot I thryve,

If that I may, yon wenche wil I swyve.

Som esement has lawe y-shapen us;

For Iohn, ther is a lawe that says thus,

That gif a man in a point be y-greved,   

That in another he sal be releved.

Our corn is stoln, shortly, it is na nay,

And we han had an il fit al this day.

And sin I sal have neen amendement,

Agayn my los I wil have esement.

By goddes saule, it sal neen other be!

  This Iohn answerde, Alayn, avyse thee,

The miller is a perilous man,he seyde,

And gif that he out of his sleep abreyde, 

He mighte doon us bathe a vileinye.’

  Aleyn answerde, I count him nat a flye;

And up he rist, and by the wenche he crepte.

This wenche lay upright, and faste slepte,

Til he so ny was, er she mighte espye, 

That it had been to late for to crye,

And shortly for to seyn, they were at on;

Now pley, Aleyn! for I wol speke of Iohn.

  This Iohn lyth stille a furlong-wey or two,

And to him-self he maketh routhe and wo:    

Allas!quod he, this is a wikked Iape; 

Now may I seyn that I is but an ape.

Yet has my felawe som-what for his harm;

He has the milleris doghter in his arm.

He auntred him, and has his nedes sped, 

And I lye as a draf-sek in my bed;

And when this Iape is tald another day,

I sal been halde a daf, a cokenay!

I wil aryse, and auntre it, by my fayth!

Unhardy is unsely,” thus men sayth.’ 

And up he roos and softely he wente 

Un-to the cradel, and in his hand it hente,

And baar it softe un-to his beddes feet.

  Sone after this the wyf hir routing leet,

And gan awake, and wente hir out to pisse,    

And cam agayn, and gan hir cradel misse,

And groped heer and ther, but she fond noon.

Allas!quod she, I hadde almost misgoon;

I hadde almost gon to the clerkes bed.

By, benedicite! thanne hadde I foule y-sped:‘    

And forth she gooth til she the cradel fond.

She gropeth alwey forther with hir hond,

And fond the bed, and thoghte noght but good,

By-cause that the cradel by it stood,

And niste wher she was, for it was derk; 

But faire and wel she creep in to the clerk,

And lyth ful stille, and wolde han caught a sleep.

With-inne a whyl this Iohn the clerk up leep,

And on this gode wyf he leyth on sore.

So mery a fit ne hadde she nat ful yore; 

He priketh harde and depe as he were mad. 

This Ioly lyf han thise two clerkes lad

Til that the thridde cok bigan to singe.

  Aleyn wex wery in the daweninge,

For he had swonken al the longe night; 

And seyde, far wel, Malin, swete wight!

The day is come, I may no lenger byde;

But evermo, wher so I go or ryde,

I is thyn awen clerk, swa have I seel!

  ‘Now dere lemman,quod she, go, far weel!    

But er thou go, o thing I wol thee telle, 

Whan that thou wendest homward by the melle,

Right at the entree of the dore bihinde,

Thou shalt a cake of half a busshel finde

That was y-maked of thyn owne mele, 

Which that I heelp my fader for to stele.

And, gode lemman, god thee save and kepe!

And with that word almost she gan to wepe.

  Aleyn up-rist, and thoughte, er that it dawe,

I wol go crepen in by my felawe;’

And fond the cradel with his hand anon, 

By god,thoghte he, al wrang I have misgon;

Myn heed is toty of my swink to-night,

That maketh me that I go nat aright.

I woot wel by the cradel, I have misgo,

Heer lyth the miller and his wyf also.

And forth he goth, a twenty devel way,

Un-to the bed ther-as the miller lay.

He wende have cropen by his felawe Iohn;

And by the miller in he creep anon, 

And caughte hym by the nekke, and softe he spak:     

He seyde, thou, Iohn, thou swynes-heed, awak

For Cristes saule, and heer a noble game.

For by that lord that called is seint Iame,

As I have thryes, in this shorte night, 

Swyved the milleres doghter bolt-upright,

Whyl thow hast as a coward been agast.

  ‘Ye, false harlot,quod the miller, hast?

A! false traitour! false clerk!quod he, 

Thou shalt be deed, by goddes dignitee!

Who dorste be so bold to disparage 

My doghter, that is come of swich linage?

And by the throte-bolle he caughte Alayn.

And he hente hym despitously agayn,

And on the nose he smoot him with his fest.    

Doun ran the blody streem up-on his brest;

And in the floor, with nose and mouth to-broke,

They walwe as doon two pigges in a poke.

And up they goon, and doun agayn anon,

Til that the miller sporned at a stoon, 

And doun he fil bakward up-on his wyf, 

That wiste no-thing of this nyce stryf;

For she was falle aslepe a lyte wight

With Iohn the clerk, that waked hadde al night.

And with the fal, out of hir sleep she breyde— 

Help, holy croys of Bromeholm,she seyde,

In manus tuas! lord, to thee I calle!

Awak, Symond! the feend is on us falle,

Myn herte is broken, help, I nam but deed;

There lyth oon up my wombe and up myn heed; 

Help, Simkin, for the false clerkes fighte.’

  This Iohn sterte up as faste as ever he mighte,

And graspeth by the walles to and fro,

To finde a staf; and she sterte up also,

And knew the estres bet than dide this Iohn, 

And by the wal a staf she fond, anon,

And saugh a litel shimering of a light,

For at an hole in shoon the mone bright;

And by that light she saugh hem bothe two, 

But sikerly she niste who was who, 

But as she saugh a whyt thing in hir yë. (l)

And whan she gan the whyte thing espye,

She wende the clerk hadde wered a volupeer.

And with the staf she drough ay neer and neer,

And wende han hit this Aleyn at the fulle, 

And smoot the miller on the pyled skulle,

That doun he gooth and cryde, harrow! I dye!

Thise clerkes bete him weel and lete him lye;

And greythen hem, and toke hir hors anon,

And eek hir mele, and on hir wey they gon. 

And at the mille yet they toke hir cake 

Of half a busshel flour, ful wel y-bake.

  Thus is the proude miller wel y-bete,

And hath y-lost the grinding of the whete,

And payed for the soper every-deel 

Of Aleyn and of Iohn, that bette him weel.

His wyf is swyved, and his doghter als;

Lo, swich it is a miller to be fals!

And therfore this proverbe is seyd ful sooth,

Him thar nat wene wel that yvel dooth; 

A gylour shal him-self bigyled be.’

And God, that sitteth heighe in magestee,

Save al this companye grete and smale!

Thus have I quit the miller in my tale.

Here is ended the Reves tale.

Here beginneth the Reeve’s tale.

  At Trumpington, not far from Cambridge,

There goeth a brook and over that a bridge,

Upon the which brook there stand a mill;

And this is very sooth that I you tell.

A miller was there dwelling many a day;

As any peacock he was proud and gay.

Pipen he could and fish, and nets beet,

And turn cups, and well wrestle and shoot,

And by his belt he bear a long panade,

And of a sword full trenchant was the blade.

A jolly popper bear he in his pouch;

There was no man for peril durst him touch.

A Sheffield thwittle bear he in his hose;  

Round was his face, and camus was his nose. 

As peeled as an ape was his skull.

He was a market-beater at full.

There durst no wight hand upon him lege,

That he ne swore he should anon abegge

A thief he was for sooth of corn and meal,

And that a sly, and usuant for to steal.

His name was highten deignous Simkin. 

A wife he had, y-comen of noble kin;

The parson of the town her father was.

With her he gave full many a pan of brass,

For that Simkin should in his blood ally.

She was y-fostered in a nunnery;

For Simkin would no wife, as he said,

But she were well y-nourished and a maid,

To saven his estate of yeomanry.

And she was proud, and pert as is a ’pie.  

A full fair sight was it on ’em two;

On holy days beforn her would he go

With his tippet bounden about his head,

And she came after in a gown of red;

And Simkin had hosen of the same.

There durst no wight clepen her but “dame”;  

Was none so hardy that went by the way

That with her durst rage or once play,

But if he would be slain of Simkin

With panade, or with knife, or bodkin.

For jealous folk been perilous evermo’,

Algate they would their wives wenden so. 

And eke, for she was somedeal smoterlich,

She was as digne as water in a ditch; 

And full of hoker and of bismer

Her thought that a lady should her spare,

What for her kindred and her nortelry

That she had learned in the nunnery.

A daughter had they betwixt ’em two

Of twenty year, withouten any mo’,

Saving a child that was of half year age;

In cradle it lay and was a proper page.

This wench thick and well y-grown was,

With camus nose and eyen grey as glass;

With buttocks broad and breasts round and high,

But right fair was her hair, I will not lie.

  The parson of the town, for she was fair,

In purpose was to maken her his heir

Both of his chattel and his messuage,

And strange he made it of her marriage.

His purpose was to bestow her high

Into some worthy blood of ancestry;

For holy church’s good mote be dispended

On holy church’s blood, that is descended.

Therefore he would his holy blood honour,

Though that he holy church should devour.

  Great soken hath this miller, out of doubt,

With wheat and malt of all the land about;

And namely there was a great college

Men clepen the Soler Hall at Cambridge; 

There was their wheat and eke their malt y-ground.

And on a day it happed, in a stound,

Sick lay the manciple on a malady;

Men wenden wisely that he should die.

For which this miller stole both meal and corn

An hundred time more than beforn;

For therebeforn he stole but courteously,

But now he was a thief outrageously,

For which the warden chid and made fare.

But thereof set the miller not a tare;

He cracketh boast, and swore it was not so.

  Then were there young povre clerks two, 

That dwelten in this hall, of which I say.

Testy they were, and lusty for to play,

And, only for their mirth and revelry,

Upon the warden busily they cry

To give ’em leave but a little stound

To go to mill and see their corn y-ground;

And hardily, they durst lay their neck,

The miller should not steal ’em half a peck

Of corn by sleight, ne by force ’em reave;

And at the last the warden gave ’em leave.

John hight that one, and Alan hight that other;

Of one town were they born, that hight Strother,

Far in the north; I can not tell where.

  This Alan maketh ready all his gear,

And on an horse the sack he cast anon.

Forth goeth Alan the clerk, and also John,

With good sword and with buckler by their side.

John knew the way, ’em needed no guide,

And at the mill the sack a-down he layeth.

Alan spake first: “All hail, Symond, y-faith;

How fairs thy fair daughter and thy wife?”

  “Alan, welcome,” quoth Simkin, “by my life,

And John also, how now, what do ye here?”

  “Symond,” quoth John, “by god, need has no peer;

He boes serve himself that has no swain,

Or else he is a fool, as clerks sayn.

Our manciple, I hope he will be dead,

So works aye the wangs in his head. 

And forthy is I come, and eke Alan, 

To grind our corn and carry it home again;

I pray you speed us heathen that ye may.”

  “It shall be done,” quoth Simkin, “by my fay;

What will ye do while that it is in hand?”

  “By god, right by the hopper will I stand,”

Quoth John, “and see how that the corn goes in;

Yet saw I never, by my father’s kin,

How that the hopper wags to and fro.”

Alan answered, “John, and wilt thou so?

Then will I be beneath, by my crown,

And see how that the meal falls down

Into the trough; that shall be my disport.

For John, in faith, I may been of your sort;

I is as ill a miller as are ye.”

  This miller smiled of their nicety,

And thought, “all this nis done but for a wile;

They ween that no man may ’em beguile;

But, by my thrift, yet shall I blur their eye

For all the sleight in their philosophy.

The more quaint tricks that they make, 

The more will I steal when I take.

Instead of flour yet will I give ’em bran.

‘The greatest clerks been not the wisest men,’

As whilom to the wolf thus spake the mare;

Of all their art I count not a tare.”

  Out at the door he goeth full privily,

When that he saw his time, softly;

He looketh up and down till he hath found

The clerks’ horse, there as it stood y-bound

Behind the mill, under a levesel

And to the horse he goeth him fair and well;

He strippeth off the bridle right anon.

And when the horse was loose, he ’ginneth gon

Toward the fen, there wild mares run,

And forth with wehee, through thick and through thin.

  This miller goeth again, no word he said,

But doeth his note, and with the clerks played,

Till that their corn was fair and well y-ground.

And when the meal is sacked and y-bound

This John goeth out and find his horse away,

And ’gan to cry “harrow!” and “waylaway!

Our horse is lorn, Alan, for god’s bones,

Step on thy feet, come out, man, all at once!

Alas, our warden has his palfrey lorn.”

This Alan all forgot, both meal and corn;

All was out of his mind his husbandry.

“What? which way is he gone?” he ’gan to cry.

  The wife came leaping inward with a run,

She said, “alas! your horse goeth to the fen

With wild mares, as fast as he may go.

Unthank come on his hand that bound him so,

And he that better should have knit the rein!”

  “Alas,” quoth John, “Alan, for Christ’s pain,

Lay down thy sword, and I will mine also.

I is full wight, god wot, as is a roe; 

By god’s heart, he shall not ’scape us both.

Why nadst thou put the capul in the lathe?

Ill hail, by god, Alan, thou is a fun!”

  These seely clerks have full fast y-run  

Toward the fen, both Alan and eke John.

  And when the miller saw that they were gone,

He half a bushel of their flour hath take,

And bade his wife go knead it in a cake

He said, “I trow the clerks were a-feared;

Yet can a miller make a clerk’s beard

For all his art; now let ’em go their way!

Lo, where they gon, yea, let the children play;

They get him not so lightly, by my crown.”

  These seely clerks runnen up and down

With “keep, keep, stand, stand, jossawarderere,

Go whistle thou, and I shall keep him here!”

But shortly, till that it was very night,

They could not, though they did all their might,

Their capul catch, he ran alway so fast,  

Till in a ditch they caught him at last.

  Weary and wet, as beast is in the rain,

Cometh seely John, and with him cometh Alan.

“Alas,” quoth John, “the day that I was born!

Now are we drive to hething and to scorn.  

Our corn is stole, men will us fools call,

Both the warden and our fellows all,

And namely the miller; waylaway!”

  Thus ’plaineth John as he goeth by the way

Toward the mill, and Bayard in his hand.

The miller sitting by the fire he found,

For it was night, and further might they naught;

But for the love of god, they him besought

Of harbour and of ease, as for their pony. 

  The miller said again, “If there be any,

Such as it is, yet shall ye have your part.

Mine house is strait, but ye have learned art;

Ye can by arguments make a place

A mile broad of twenty foot of space.

Let see now if this place may suffice,

Or make it room with speech, as is your guise.” 

  “Now, Symond,” said John, “by saint Cuthbert,

Aye is thou merry, and this is fair answered.

I have heard said, man shall take of two things

Slick as he finds, or take slick as he brings.

But specially, I pray thee, host dear,

Get us some meat and drink, and make us cheer,

And we will payen truly at full.

With empty hand men may no hawks toll

Lo, here our silver, ready for to spend.”

  This miller into town his daughter send

For ale and bread, and roasted ’em a goose;

And bound their horse, it should not go loose;

And in his own chamber ’em made a bed,

With sheets and with chalons fair y-spread,

Not from his own bed ten foot or twelve.

His daughter had a bed, all by herself,

Right in the same chamber, by and by;

It might be no bet, and cause why,

There was no roomier harbour in the place.  

They suppen and they speak, ’em to solace,

And drinken ever strong ale at best.

About midnight went they to rest.

  Well hath this miller varnished his head;

Full pale he was for-drunken, and not red.

He yexeth, and he speaketh through the nose  

As he were on the quack, or on the pose. 

To bed he goeth, and with him goeth his wife.

As any jay she light was and jolly,

So was her jolly whistle well y-wet.

The cradle at her bed’s feet is set,

To rocken, and to give the child to suck.

And when that drunken all was in the crock,

To bed went the daughter right anon;

To bed goeth Alan and also John;

There nas no more, ’em needed no dwale

This miller had so wisely ’bibed ale 

That as an horse he snorteth in his sleep,

Ne of his tail behind he took no keep.

His wife bear him a bourdon, a full strong, 

Men might her routing hear two furlong; 

The wench routeth eke par company.

  Alan the clerk, that heard this melody,

He poked John, and said, “sleepest thou?

Heardest thou ever such a song ere now?

Lo, such a compline is among ’em all!

A wild fire upon their bodies fall!

Who harkened ever such a ferly thing? 

Yea, they shall have the flour of ill ending.

This long night there tides me no rest;

But yet, ne force; all shall be for the best.

For John,” said he, “als’ ever mote I thrive,

If that I may, yon wench will I swive.

Some easement has law y-shapen us;

For John, there is a law that says thus,

That if a man in a point be aggrieved,

That in another he shall be relieved.

Our corn is stolen, soothly it is no nay,

And we have had an ill fit all this day.

And since I shall have no amendment,

Against my loss I will have easement.

By god’s soul, it shall none other be!”

  This John answered, “Alan, advise thee,

The miller is a perilous man,” he said,

“And if that he out of his sleep abraid,

He might do us both a villainy.”

Alan answered, “I count him not a fly;”

And up he rist, and by the wench he crept.

This wench lay upright, and fast slept,

Till he so nigh was, ere she might espy,

That it had been too late for to cry,

And shortly for to sayn, they were at one;

Now play, Alan! for I will speak of John.

  This John lieth still a furlong way or two,

And to himself he maketh ruth and woe.

“Alas!” quoth he, “this is a wicked jape;

Now may I sayn that I is but an ape.

Yet has my fellow somewhat for his harm;

He has the miller’s daughter in his arm.

He auntred him, and has his needs sped, 

And I lie as a chaff-sack in my bed;

And when this jape is told another day,

I shall be held a daf, a cockney!

I will arise, and auntre it, by my faith!  

‘Unhardy is unseely,’ thus men saith.” 

And up he rose and softly he went

Unto the cradle, and in his hand it hent,

And bear it soft unto his bed’s feet.

  Soon after this the wife her routing let,

And ’gan awake, and went her out to piss,

And came again, and ’gan her cradle miss,

And groped here and there, but she found none.

“Alas!” quoth she, “I had almost misgone;

I had almost gone to the clerks’ bed.

By, benedicite! then had I foul y-sped!”

And forth she goeth till she the cradle found.

She gropeth alway further with her hand,

And found the bed, and thought naught but good,

By cause that the cradle by it stood,

And nist where she was, for it was dark;

But fair and well she creep in to the clerk,

And lieth full still, and would have caught a sleep.

Within a while this John the clerk up leap,

And on this good wife he layeth on sore.

So merry a fit ne had she not full yore;

He pricketh hard and deep as he were mad.

This jolly life have these two clerks led

Till that the third cock began to sing.

  Alan was weary in the dawning,

For he had swunken all the long night; 

And said, “farewell, Malin, sweet wight!

The day is come; I may no longer bide;

But evermo’, where so I go or ride,

I is thine own clerk, swear have I seal!”

  “Now, dear leman,” quoth she, “go, farewell!

But ere thou go, one thing I will thee tell,

When that thou wendest homeward by the mill,

Right at the entrance of the door behind,

Thou shalt a cake of half a bushel find

That was y-maked of thine own meal,

Which that I help my father for to steal.

And, good leman, god thee save and keep!”

And with that word almost she ’gan to weep.

  Alan up rist, and thought, “ere that it dawn,

I will go creepen in by my fellow;”

And found the cradle with his hand anon.

“By God,” thought he, “all wrong I have misgone;

Mine head is toty of my swink tonight, 

That makes me that I go not a-right.

wot well by the cradle, I have misgo’,

Here lieth the miller and his wife also.”

And forth he goeth, a twenty devil way,

Unto the bed there as the miller lay.

He wend have creepen by his fellow John,

And by the miller in he creep anon,

And caught him by the neck, and soft he spake,

He said, “thou, John, thou swine’s-head, awake

For Christ’s soul, and hear a noble game.

For by that lord that called is saint Jame,

As I have thrice, in this short night,

Swived the miller’s daughter bolt upright,

While thou hast as a coward been aghast.”

  “Yea, false harlot,” quoth the miller, “hast?

A! false traitor! false clerk!” quoth he,

“Thou shalt be dead, by god’s dignity!

Who durst be so bold to disparage

My daughter, that is come of such lineage?”

And by the throat-ball he caught Alan.

And he hent him despitously again,

And on the nose he smote him with his fist.

Down ran the bloody stream upon his breast;

And in the floor, with nose and mouth to-broke,

They wallow as do two pigs in a poke;

And up they go, and down again anon,

Till that the miller spurned at a stone, 

And down he fell backward upon his wife,

That wist nothing of this nice strife;

For she was fall asleep a lite wight 

With John the clerk, that waked had all night.

And with the fall out of her sleep she ‘braid— 

“Help! holy cross of Bromholm,” she said,

“In manus tuas! lord, to thee I call!  

Awake, Symond! the fiend is on us fall.

Mine heart is broken, help, I nam but dead; 

There lieth one on my womb and on mine head. 

Help, Simkin, for the false clerks fight.”

  This John start up as fast as ever he might,

And graspeth by the walls to and fro,

To find a staff; and she start up also,

And knew the estres bet than did this John,

And by the wall a staff she found, anon,

And saw a little shimmering of a light,

For at an hole in shone the moon bright;

And by that light she saw ’em both two,

But sickerly she nist who was who, 

But as she saw a white thing in her eye.

And when she ’gan this white thing espy,

She wend the clerk had weared a voluper,

And with the staff she drew aye near and near, 

And would have hit this Alan at the full,

And smote the miller on the peeled skull,

That down he goeth, and cried “harrow! I die!”

These clerks beat him well and let him lie;

And graithen ’em, and took their horse anon

And eke their meal, and on their way they gon.

And at the mill yet they took their cake

Of half a bushel flour, full well y-bake.

  Thus is the proud miller well y-beat,

And hath y-lost the grinding of the wheat,

And payed for the supper everydeal

Of Alan and of John, that beat him well.

His wife is swived, and his daughter als’;

Lo, such it is a miller to be false!

And therefore this proverb is said full sooth,

“Him tharf not ween well that evil doeth; 

A ’guiler shall himself beguiled be.”

And God, that sitteth high in majesty,

Save all this company great and small!

Thus have I quit the miller in my tale.

Here is ended the Reeve’s tale.