Verse > Geoffrey Chaucer > Complete Poetical Works
Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1340–1400).  The Complete Poetical Works.  1894.
The Canterbury Tales
The Milleres 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        5
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,        10
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 he was sleigh and ful privee,        15
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        20
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:        25
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;        30
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        35
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.        40
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,        45
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        50
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        55
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.        60
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.        65
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.        70
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,        75
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.        80
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,        85
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,        90
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!’        95
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.”        100
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,        105
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.        110
‘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        115
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.        120
  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.        125
  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.        130
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;        135
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,        140
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;        145
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.        150
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;        155
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,        160
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.        165
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        170
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,        175
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        180
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        185
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;        190
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,        195
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,        200
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,        205
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.        210
  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        215
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,        220
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,        225
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,        230
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,        235
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.        240
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,        245
‘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:—        250
‘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;        255
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        260
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,        265
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!        270
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,        275
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.        280
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.        285
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,        290
‘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,        295
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?’        300
  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.’        305
  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,        310
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,        315
Thou shalt up-on thy trouthe swere me here,
That to no wight thou shalt this counseil 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,        320
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        325
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,        330
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.’        335
  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,        340
‘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,        345
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?’        350
  ‘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,        355
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.        360
  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        365
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;        370
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,        375
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.        380
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,        385
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.        390
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        395
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,        400
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;        405
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        410
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.        415
Ful ofte he seith ‘allas’ and ‘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,        420
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!        425
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        430
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,        435
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,        440
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,        445
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;        450
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,        455
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,        460
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.        465
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.        470
  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        475
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;        480
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,        485
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        490
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,        495
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.’        500
  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.        505
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;        510
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,        515
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;        520
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!        525
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,        530
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,        535
‘Now hust, and thou shalt 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!’        540
  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,        545
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,        550
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.        555
  ‘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!’        560
  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,        565
‘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,        570
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,        575
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.’        580
‘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.’        585
  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,        590
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;        595
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,        600
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.’        605
  ‘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;        610
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,        615
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,        620
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,        625
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,        630
And herde oon cryen ‘water’ as 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,        635
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 ‘out’ and ‘harrow’ in the strete.
The neighebores, bothe smale and grete,        640
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        645
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,        650
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,        655
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;        660
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;        665
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.

Shakespeare · Bible · Strunk · Anatomy · Nonfiction · Quotations · Reference · Fiction · Poetry
© 1993–2015 · [Top 150] · Subjects · Titles · Authors · World Lit.