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Here folwen the wordes bitwene the Host and the Millere.
WHAN that the Knight had thus his tale y-told, | |
| In al the route nas ther yong ne old | |
| That he ne seyde it was a noble storie, | |
| And worthy for to drawen to memorie; | |
| And namely the gentils everichoon. | 5 |
| Our Hoste lough and swoor, ‘so moot I goon, | |
| This gooth aright; unbokeled is the male; | |
| Lat see now who shal telle another tale: | |
| For trewely, the game is wel bigonne. | |
| Now telleth ye, sir Monk, if that ye conne, | 10 |
| Sumwhat, to quyte with the Knightes tale.’ | |
| The Miller, that for-dronken was al pale, | |
| So that unnethe up-on his hors he sat, | |
| He nolde avalen neither hood ne hat, | |
| Ne abyde no man for his curteisye, | 15 |
| But in Pilates vois he gan to crye, | |
| And swoor by armes and by blood and bones, | |
| ‘I can a noble tale for the nones, | |
| With which I wol now quyte the Knightes tale.’ | |
| Our Hoste saugh that he was dronke of ale, | 20 |
| And seyde: ‘abyd, Robin, my leve brother, | |
| Som bettre man shal telle us first another: | |
| Abyd, and lat us werken thriftily.’ | |
| ‘By goddes soul,’ quod he, ‘that wol nat I; | |
| For I wol speke, or elles go my wey.’ | 25 |
| Our Hoste answerde: ‘tel on, a devel wey! | |
| Thou art a fool, thy wit is overcome.’ | |
| ‘Now herkneth,’ quod the Miller, ‘alle and some! | |
| But first I make a protestacioun | |
| That I am dronke, I knowe it by my soun; | 30 |
| And therfore, if that I misspeke or seye, | |
| Wyte it the ale of Southwerk, I yow preye; | |
| For I wol telle a legende and a lyf | |
| Bothe of a Carpenter, and of his wyf, | |
| How that a clerk hath set the wrightes cappe.’ | 35 |
| The Reve answerde and seyde, ‘stint thy clappe, | |
| Lat be thy lewed dronken harlotrye. | |
| It is a sinne and eek a greet folye | |
| To apeiren any man, or him diffame, | |
| And eek to bringen wyves in swich fame. | 40 |
| Thou mayst y-nogh of othere thinges seyn.’ | |
| This dronken Miller spak ful sone ageyn, | |
| And seyde, ‘leve brother Osewold, | |
| Who hath no wyf, he is no cokewold. | |
| But I sey nat therfore that thou art oon; | 45 |
| Ther been ful gode wyves many oon, | |
| And ever a thousand gode ayeyns oon badde, | |
| That knowestow wel thy-self, but-if thou madde. | |
| Why artow angry with my tale now? | |
| I have a wyf, pardee, as well as thou, | 50 |
| Yet nolde I, for the oxen in my plogh, | |
| Taken up-on me more than y-nogh, | |
| As demen of my-self that I were oon; | |
| I wol beleve wel that I am noon. | |
| An housbond shal nat been inquisitif | 55 |
| Of goddes privetee, nor of his wyf. | |
| So he may finde goddes foyson there, | |
| Of the remenant nedeth nat enquere.’ | |
| What sholde I more seyn, but this Millere | |
| He nolde his wordes for no man forbere, | 60 |
| But tolde his cherles tale in his manere; | |
| Me thinketh that I shal reherce it here. | |
| And ther-fore every gentil wight I preye, | |
| For goddes love, demeth nat that I seye | |
| Of evel entente, but that I moot reherce | 65 |
| Hir tales alle, be they bettre or werse, | |
| Or elles falsen som of my matere. | |
| And therfore, who-so list it nat y-here, | |
| Turne over the leef, and chese another tale; | |
| For he shal finde y-nowe, grete and smale, | 70 |
| Of storial thing that toucheth gentillesse, | |
| And eek moralitee and holinesse; | |
| Blameth nat me if that ye chese amis. | |
| The Miller is a cherl, ye knowe wel this; | |
| So was the Reve, and othere many mo, | 75 |
| And harlotrye they tolden bothe two. | |
| Avyseth yow and putte me out of blame; | |
And eek men shal nat make ernest of game.
Here endeth the prologe. | |
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