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1. The Miller’s Prologue
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Here follow the words between the Host and the Miller.
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When that the Knight had thus his tale told,
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2
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In all our company was nor young nor old
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3
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Who did not claim it as a noble story
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And worthy to be stored in memory,
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Especially the well-born, every one.
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Our Host laughed, and swore: ‘We go on,
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7
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All goes aright; we’ve unbound the bale!
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8
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Let’s see now who shall tell another tale,
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9
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For truly the game is well begun.
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10
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Now you tell, Sir Monk, if you can,
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11
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Something to repay the Knight’s tale.’
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12
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The Miller, that for drunkenness was pale,
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13
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So that with effort on his horse he sat,
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14
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He would neither doff his hood or hat,
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15
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Nor wait for any man, in courtesy,
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But in Pilate’s voice began, noisily
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To swear: ‘By arms, and by blood and bones,
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I know a noble tale I’ll tell at once,
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With which I shall requite the Knight’s tale!’
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Our Host saw that he was drunk with ale,
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21
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And said; ‘Wait now, Robin, dear brother;
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22
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Some fitter man shall tell us first another.
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Wait now, and let us work it all seemly.’
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‘By God’s soul,’ quoth the Miller, ‘not for me!
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For I will speak or else go on my way.’
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26
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Our Host answered: ‘Tell on, as you may!
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27
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You are a fool; your wits are overcome.’
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‘Now hearken,’ quoth the Miller, ‘all and some!
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29
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But first I’ll make a protestation
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That I am drunk – I know it by my tongue.
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31
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And therefore, if that I misspeak or say,
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Blame then the ale of Southwark, I pray.
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33
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For I will tell a legend from the life,
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34
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Both of a carpenter and of his wife,
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35
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How that at her a clerk set his cap.’
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36
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The Reeve answered, saying: ‘Hold your trap!
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37
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Have done with lewd drunken harlotry!
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38
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It is a sin and also greater folly
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39
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To slander any man, or him defame,
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40
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And give wives too an evil name.
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41
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There is plenty else at which to aim.’
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The drunken Miller spoke up again,
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And replied: ‘My dear brother Oswald,
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He who has no wife, he is no cuckold;
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But I say not that therefore you are one.
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There be good wives and many a one,
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And ever a thousand good for every bad;
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48
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You know it yourself unless you’re mad.
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49
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Why are you angry with my tale now?
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50
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I have a wife, indeed, as well as thou,
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51
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Yet not for the oxen in my plough,
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Would I take it upon me for an hour
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To believe it of myself that I was one.
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54
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I will believe indeed that I am none.
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55
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A husband should not be too inquisitive
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56
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Of God’s affairs, or how his wife live.
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57
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If he shares God’s abundance entire,
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Of the rest he need not then enquire.’
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What more can I say, the Miller there
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His words for no man would forbear,
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But told his churl’s tale in his own manner.
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And I regret I must repeat it here;
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And therefore every gentle soul I pray
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Deem it not, for God’s sake, that I say
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Ought by evil intent, but must rehearse
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All their tales, for better or for worse,
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Or else be somewhat false to the matter.
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68
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Therefore whoever thinks it idle chatter
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Turn to another page, and choose a tale,
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For you shall find enough, never fail,
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71
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Great and small, stories of genteelness,
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72
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And morality as well, and holiness.
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73
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Blame not me, if you choose amiss.
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74
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The Miller is a churl; you all know this.
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75
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So was the Reeve also, and others too,
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76
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And harlotry they told of, both the two.
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77
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Take thought, and hold me free of blame –
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Man should not treat in earnest what’s a game.
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2. The Miller’s Tale
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Here begins the Miller’s Tale.
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Once upon a time there dwelt in Oxford
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A rich churl, that took in guests to board,
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And for his craft he was a carpenter.
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With him there was dwelling a poor scholar
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Who had learned the arts, but all his fancy
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Was set on studying astrology,
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And he could judge certain propositions
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By the course of his investigations,
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Should men ask of him at certain hours
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If there would be drought or else showers,
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Or if they should ask what might befall
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Of sundry things – I could not tell them all.
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This clerk was called courtly Nicholas.
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Skilled in secret love affairs, and solace,
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And withal was clever and discreet,
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And to see was like a maiden meek.
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A chamber had he in that hostelry,
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Alone, without any company,
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Elegantly garnished with herbs sweet;
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And he himself as sweet as root may be
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Of liquorice, or any zedoary.
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His Almagest, and his library,
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His astrolabe, belonging to his art,
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His counters for arithmetic, laid apart
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On shelves that stood at his bed’s head;
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His cupboard covered with a cloth of red.
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And above all a showy psaltery
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On which at night he made melody
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So sweetly that all the chamber rang;
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And Angelus ad virginem he sang,
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And after that he sang The King’s Note.
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Full often blessed, was his merry throat.
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And thus this sweet clerk his time spent,
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With what his friends provided, and the rent.
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This carpenter had wedded a new wife,
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Whom he loved far more than his life.
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Of eighteen years she was of age.
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Jealous he was, and kept her in a cage,
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For she was young and wild, and he was old,
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40
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And thought himself a likely cuckold.
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He knew not Cato – his learning was crude –
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Who advised a man to wed his similitude.
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Men should wed according to their state,
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For youth and age, at odds, end in debate.
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But since he had fallen in the snare,
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He must endure, as we, the weight of care.
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Fair was this young wife, and then withal
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Like a weasel’s her body, shapely, small.
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A belt she wore, one all barred with silk;
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An apron too, as white as morning milk,
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Upon her hips, full of many a gusset.
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White was her smock, embroidery set
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Before, behind, on the collar all about,
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Of coal-black silk, within and without.
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The tapes of her white cap all together
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Were of the same cloth as her collar;
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Her broad headband of silk, and set full high.
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And she had surely a flirtatious eye.
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Plucked very fine were her eyebrows two,
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And arched and black as any sloe too.
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She was much more beautiful to see
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That is the early blossoming pear-tree,
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And softer than the wool on a wether;
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And by her girdle hung a purse of leather,
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Tasselled with green and pearled with brass,
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In al this world, in seeking of a lass,
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There’s no man with fancy so intense
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Could dream of such a poppet, such a wench.
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Full brighter was the shining of her hue
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Than in the Mint a noble forged anew.
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And for her singing, lively, voiced afar,
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Like any swallow flitting through a barn.
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73
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Then she could skip and gambol, as I am
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Assured, as any kid or calf behind its dam.
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Her mouth was sweet as honeyed mead I’d say,
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Or a hoard of apples swathed in heath or hay.
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Skittish she was, as is a frisky colt,
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Tall as a mast, and straight as a bolt.
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A brooch she wore upon her low collar,
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As broad as is the boss of a buckler.
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Her shoes were laced on her legs high.
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82
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She was a primrose, lovely to the eye,
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For any lord to take into his bed,
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84
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Or yet for any good yeoman to wed.
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85
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Now sirs, now, so things came to pass,
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86
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That one day this handsome Nicholas
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87
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Began with this young wife to fool and play,
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88
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While her husband was down Osney way –
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89
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As clerks are full of subtlety and tricks.
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90
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And covertly he caught her by the sex,
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91
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And said: ‘Sweetheart, unless I have my will
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92
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For secret love of you, then die I will!’
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93
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And held her hard by the haunch bones,
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94
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And: ‘Sweetheart, love me, now,’ he moans,
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95
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‘Or I will die, as God shall me save!’
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96
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And she leapt as a colt does, in the way
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97
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Of being shod, and turned her head away.
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98
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She said: ‘I will not kiss you, by my faith!
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99
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Why, let be’ quoth she, ‘let be, Nicholas!
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100
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Or I will cry “Now, help” and shout “Alas!”
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101
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Remove your hands, by every courtesy!’
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102
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Then Nicholas began to cry for mercy,
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103
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And spoke so fair, so earnestly did cast,
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104
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That she was hooked, and pledged her love at last,
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105
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And swore an oath, by Thomas, Saint of Kent,
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106
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That she would be at his commandment,
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107
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When she could find an opportunity.
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108
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‘My husband is so filled with jealousy
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109
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That unless you’re patient, secretive,
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110
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Quoth she, ‘I know for sure I shall not live.
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111
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You must be wholly secret in this house.’
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112
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‘Nay, give that not a thought,’ quoth Nicholas,
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113
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‘A scholar would have wasted a good while
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114
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If he could not a carpenter beguile.’
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115
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And so they were agreed and both swore
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116
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To wait awhile, as I have said before.
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117
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When Nicholas had done so, as I tell,
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118
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And patted her about the buttocks well,
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119
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He kissed her sweet, and took his psaltery
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120
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And played away, and plucked a melody.
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121
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Then it befell, that to the parish church,
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122
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There to perform Christ’s own works,
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123
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This good wife went, on a holy day.
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124
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Her forehead shone as bright as any day,
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125
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So shiny was it when she left her work.
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126
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Now there was a parish clerk of that church,
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127
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And this clerk’s name was Absolon.
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128
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Curly was his hair, and as the gold it shone,
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129
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And stuck out in a fan wide and broad.
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130
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Full straight and even his parting showed;
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131
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His face was red, his eyes grey as a goose.
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132
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With St Paul’s tracery carved in his shoes,
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133
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In red hose he dressed elegantly.
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134
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He was clothed neatly and properly
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135
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Adorned with a light-blue cloth jacket,
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136
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Full fair and densely were the laces set.
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137
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And over it he wore a fine surplice
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138
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As white as the blossom on the spray is.
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139
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A merry youth he was, so God me save!
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140
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Well knew he how to let blood, clip and shave,
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141
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And draw up deeds of land or quittance.
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142
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In twenty manners he could trip and dance,
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143
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After the true school of Oxford though,
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144
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And with his legs leaping to and fro,
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145
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And playing songs on a two-stringed fiddle;
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146
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Thereto he sometimes sang a high treble,
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147
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And he could play as well on a cithern.
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148
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In all the town no brew-house nor tavern
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149
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He did not visit with his power to solace,
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150
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Where any gaily-dressed barmaid was.
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151
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But truth to tell, quite squeamish he was
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152
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About farting, and in speech fastidious.
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153
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Absolon, who was gallant in his way,
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154
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Would bear the censer round on holy days,
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155
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Censing the parish wives whom he passed;
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156
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And many a fond look on them he cast,
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157
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And especially on the carpenter’s wife.
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158
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To look at her brightened up his life,
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159
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She was so trim and sweet and amorous.
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160
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I dare well say, if she had been a mouse,
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161
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And he a cat, she’d have been leapt upon.
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162
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This parish clerk, this gallant Absolon,
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163
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Has in his heart such a love-longing
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164
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That from no wife would he take offerings;
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165
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For courtesy, he said, he would take none.
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166
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The moon, when it was night, full bright shone,
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167
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And Absalon his cithern did take;
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168
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For love indeed he thought to wake.
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169
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And off he went, lively and amorous,
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170
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Till he came to the carpenter’s house,
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171
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Arriving there a little after cock-crow,
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172
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And placed himself by a casement window,
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173
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That was let into the carpenter’s wall.
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174
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He sings in a voice, graceful and small:
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175
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‘Now dear lady, if your wish it be,
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176
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I pray you to have mercy upon me’,
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177
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In harmony with his music-making.
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178
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The carpenter awoke and heard him singing,
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179
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And spoke to his wife and said anon,
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180
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‘What Alison, do you hear Absalon,
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181
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Singing thus under our bedroom wall?’
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182
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And she answering her husband’s call:
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183
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‘Yes, God knows John, I hear it very well.’
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184
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And so it goes; what more must I tell?
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185
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From day to day this lively Absalon
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186
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So woos her that he is woebegone.
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187
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He lay awake all night, and then daily
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He combed his curling locks and gaily,
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189
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He wooed by go-betweens, and brokerage,
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190
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And swore he would be her own true page;
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191
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He sang and warbled like a nightingale;
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He sent her mead, sweet wine, and spiced ale,
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And flat cakes, piping hot from the oven,
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And as she lived in town, coins to spend.
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195
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For some folk are conquered by riches,
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196
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And some by blows, and some by kindness.
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Sometimes, to show skill and agility,
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He played Herod in the Mysteries.
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199
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But what good did it do him, alas?
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200
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She so loves the handsome Nicholas
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201
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That Absalon might go blow his horn;
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For all his labour there was only scorn.
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And thus she made Absalon her dupe,
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And of all his eager wooing a joke.
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True indeed the proverb, and no lie,
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That men repeat: ‘Ever the sly, nearby,
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Makes the distant lover out of favour.’
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Though Absalon knew madness or anger,
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Because he was further from her sight,
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Nicholas nearby stood in his light.
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Now do well, you handsome Nicholas!
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212
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For Absalon must wail and sing ‘alas!’
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And so it befell, on a Saturday
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The carpenter had gone down to Osney;
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And handsome Nicholas and Alison
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Both agreed regarding this decision,
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That Nicholas shall devise some wile
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This jealous foolish husband to beguile.
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And if the game turned out alright,
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She would sleep in his arms all night;
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For this was her desire and his too.
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And straight away, without more ado,
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This Nicholas wishing not to tarry,
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But quietly to his room does carry
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225
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Both meat and drink, to last a day
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Or two, and told Alison to say,
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227
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If her husband asked for Nicholas,
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That she had no idea where he was;
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229
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That all the day of him she’d had no sight;
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She thought he might be ill, so he might,
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For he had not answered the maid’s call;
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232
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Gave no reply, whatever might befall.
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233
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This continued all that Saturday,
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And Nicholas still in his chamber lay,
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And eat and slept, as pleased him best,
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236
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Till Sunday, when the sun went to its rest.
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237
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The foolish carpenter wondered without fail
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238
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About our Nicholas, why he should ail,
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239
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And said: ‘I fear by Saint Thomas,
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240
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That all is not well with Nicholas.
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241
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God forbid that he die suddenly!
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242
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This world is now so fickle indeed;
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243
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I saw a corpse today borne to church
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244
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That only Monday last I saw at work.
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245
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‘Go up,’ quoth he to his lad anon,
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246
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‘Call at the door, or tap it with a spoon.
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247
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See how things are, and tell me swiftly.’
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248
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The serving-boy climbed up sturdily,
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249
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And at the chamber door a while the lad,
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250
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Called and knocked, as though he were mad.
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251
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‘What how! What do you, Master Nicholay?
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252
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How can you lie asleep the livelong day?’
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253
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– But all for naught; he heard not a word.
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254
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A hole he found, down by the skirting-board,
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255
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Through which the cat was wont to creep,
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256
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And into that hole he gazed full deep,
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257
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And at last a glimpse met his sight
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Of Nicholas lying gaping there upright,
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As if he had caught sight of the new moon.
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260
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Down he goes, to tell his master, soon
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261
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Of the state in which he found the man.
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The carpenter to bless himself began,
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263
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And said: ‘Help us, Saint Frideswide!
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264
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A man little knows what shall betide.
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265
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This man has fallen, through astronomy,
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266
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Into some madness, or some agony.
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267
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I always thought that’s how it would be;
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268
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Men should know what God meant us to see.
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269
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Yes, blessed always is the simple man,
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270
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With nothing but his faith to understand!
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271
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So fared another clerk’s astronomy;
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272
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He walked, in the fields, into the starry
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273
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Sky to pry, and see what should befall,
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274
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Till into the marl-pit he took a fall;
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275
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He saw not that! But yet, by Saint Thomas,
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276
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I’m truly worried for poor Nicholas.
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277
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He shall be scolded for his studying,
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278
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If scold I may, by Jesus, Heaven’s king!
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279
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Get me a stave to work against the floor,
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280
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While you, Robin, heave at the door.
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281
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He’ll wake from his studying, I guess.’
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|
282
|
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And to the chamber door he gave address.
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283
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His lad was a fellow big and strong,
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284
|
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And heaved it off its hinges at once;
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285
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Onto the floor the door fell anon.
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| |
|
286
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Nicholas sat there yet, still as stone,
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287
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And kept on gaping up into the air.
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288
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The carpenter thought him in despair,
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|
289
|
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And grasped him by the shoulders mightily
|
|
290
|
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And shook him hard, and shouted loudly.
|
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291
|
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‘What, Nicholas, what ho! What, look down!
|
|
292
|
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Awake, and think you of Christ’s passion!
|
|
293
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|
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I guard you with the cross from elf and sprite.’
|
|
294
|
|
|
– With that the night-spell he said outright
|
|
295
|
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|
On all the four sides of the house about,
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296
|
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And on the threshold of the door without.
|
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297
|
|
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‘Jesus Christ, and Saint Benedict,
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|
298
|
|
|
Guard this house from all things wicked,
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299
|
|
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All night through, white Pater noster!
|
|
300
|
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|
Where went thou, Saint Peter’s sister?’
|
| |
|
301
|
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|
And at last our handsome Nicholas
|
|
302
|
|
|
Began to sigh deeply, and said: ‘Alas!
|
|
303
|
|
|
Shall the world be lost and doomed now?
|
|
304
|
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|
The carpenter replied: ‘What say thou?
|
|
305
|
|
|
What, think on God, as we do, working men!’
|
|
306
|
|
|
And Nicholas answered: ‘Fetch me drink then,
|
|
307
|
|
|
And afterwards I’ll speak, in privacy,
|
|
308
|
|
|
Of certain things regarding you and me;
|
|
309
|
|
|
I will tell them to no other man, that’s certain.’
|
| |
|
310
|
|
|
The carpenter went down, and back again
|
|
311
|
|
|
Brought of powerful ale a large quart.
|
|
312
|
|
|
And when each of them had drunk his part,
|
|
313
|
|
|
Nicholas went swift to his door and shut it,
|
|
314
|
|
|
And made the carpenter beside him sit,
|
|
315
|
|
|
And said: ‘John, my good host and dear,
|
|
316
|
|
|
You shall upon your oath swear me here
|
|
317
|
|
|
That to no man this secret you’ll betray;
|
|
318
|
|
|
For it is Christ’s counsel that I say,
|
|
319
|
|
|
And if you tell it man, you are no more,
|
|
320
|
|
|
For this vengeance fall on you therefore,
|
|
321
|
|
|
You will be mad, let that be understood’
|
|
322
|
|
|
‘Nay, Christ forbid it, for his holy blood!’
|
|
323
|
|
|
Quoth then this foolish man: ‘I’ll not blab,
|
|
324
|
|
|
No, though it’s I who say it, I never gab.
|
|
325
|
|
|
Say what you will: I shall never tell
|
|
326
|
|
|
Child nor wife, by him that harrowed Hell!’
|
| |
|
327
|
|
|
‘Now John,’ quoth Nicholas, ‘No lies from me;
|
|
328
|
|
|
I have found through my astrology,
|
|
329
|
|
|
As I gazed into the moon so bright,
|
|
330
|
|
|
That Monday next, a fourth part of the night,
|
|
331
|
|
|
A rain shall fall, as wild, as mad, as could
|
|
332
|
|
|
That half so great was never Noah’s flood.
|
|
333
|
|
|
This world,’ said he, ‘in less than an hour
|
|
334
|
|
|
Shall all be drowned, so hideous the shower.
|
|
335
|
|
|
Thus shall all mortals drown and lose their life’
|
| |
|
336
|
|
|
The carpenter replied: ‘Alas, my wife!
|
|
337
|
|
|
And shall she drown? Alas, my Alison!’
|
|
338
|
|
|
For sorrow of this he almost fell, anon
|
|
339
|
|
|
He said: ‘Is there no remedy in this pass?’
|
|
340
|
|
|
‘Why yes, by God!’ quoth handsome Nicholas.
|
|
341
|
|
|
– If you will act on wise advice indeed.
|
|
342
|
|
|
You mustn’t follow where your own thoughts lead;
|
|
343
|
|
|
For thus says Solomon, who speaks the truth:
|
|
344
|
|
|
‘Act on advice, and you shall nothing rue.’
|
|
345
|
|
|
And if you will act on good counsel,
|
|
346
|
|
|
I undertake, without a mast or sail,
|
|
347
|
|
|
That I shall save her, and you, and me, for
|
|
348
|
|
|
Have you not heard how saved was Noah,
|
|
349
|
|
|
When that our Lord had warned him before
|
|
350
|
|
|
That all the world with water should be o’er?
|
|
351
|
|
|
‘Yes,’ quoth the carpenter, ‘long long ago.’
|
| |
|
352
|
|
|
‘Have you not heard,’ quoth Nicholas, ‘also
|
|
353
|
|
|
The sorrow of Noah, with his fellowship,
|
|
354
|
|
|
Before he could get his wife to ship?
|
|
355
|
|
|
He’d have preferred, I dare well say, alack,
|
|
356
|
|
|
At that time, rather than his wethers black
|
|
357
|
|
|
That she had had a ship to herself alone!
|
|
358
|
|
|
And therefore know you what must be done?
|
|
359
|
|
|
This demands haste, and of a hasty thing
|
|
360
|
|
|
Men may not preach or ask for tarrying;
|
| |
|
361
|
|
|
Anon and quickly get, and bring us in
|
|
362
|
|
|
A kneading trough, or that for brewing,
|
|
363
|
|
|
One for each of us – but see they’re large –
|
|
364
|
|
|
In which we can sail as in a barge,
|
|
365
|
|
|
And have in there victuals sufficient
|
|
366
|
|
|
For a day – and never mind the remnant!
|
|
367
|
|
|
The water shall abate and drain away
|
|
368
|
|
|
About nine in the morning, the next day.
|
|
369
|
|
|
But Robin, must not know of this, your knave,
|
|
370
|
|
|
Nor your maid Jill, her too I cannot save.
|
|
371
|
|
|
Ask not why, for though you ask of me,
|
|
372
|
|
|
I will not tell God’s secret as must be.
|
|
373
|
|
|
Let that suffice, and unless you’re mad
|
|
374
|
|
|
Accept as great a grace as Noah had.
|
|
375
|
|
|
Your wife I shall save without a doubt.
|
|
376
|
|
|
Go now your ways, and speed hereabout.
|
| |
|
377
|
|
|
And when you have for her, and you and me,
|
|
378
|
|
|
Brought in these kneading-tubs, all three,
|
|
379
|
|
|
Then shall you hang them in the attic high,
|
|
380
|
|
|
That no man may our preparations spy.
|
|
381
|
|
|
And when you thus have done as I have said,
|
|
382
|
|
|
And have placed in them our meat and bread,
|
|
383
|
|
|
And an axe to smite the rope in two also,
|
|
384
|
|
|
When the water comes, we may go
|
|
385
|
|
|
And break a hole up high, in the gable,
|
|
386
|
|
|
On the garden side above the stable,
|
|
387
|
|
|
So we can pass freely on our way,
|
|
388
|
|
|
When the great shower has gone away.
|
|
389
|
|
|
Then shall you swim as merry, I undertake,
|
|
390
|
|
|
As does the white duck following her drake.
|
|
391
|
|
|
Then will I call: ‘Now, Alison, Now John!
|
|
392
|
|
|
Be merry for the flood will soon be gone!’
|
|
393
|
|
|
And you will say: ‘Hail, Master Nicholay!
|
|
394
|
|
|
Good morrow, I see you well, for it is day.’
|
|
395
|
|
|
And then shall we be lords all our life
|
|
396
|
|
|
Of all the world, as Noah and his wife.
|
| |
|
397
|
|
|
But of one thing I warn you of right:
|
|
398
|
|
|
Be well advised, on that same night
|
|
399
|
|
|
That we take ship, and go on board,
|
|
400
|
|
|
None of must speak or say a word,
|
|
401
|
|
|
Nor call out, nor cry, but fall to prayer,
|
|
402
|
|
|
For it is God’s own command clear.
|
|
403
|
|
|
Your wife and you must far apart begin,
|
|
404
|
|
|
So that betwixt you there shall be no sin,
|
|
405
|
|
|
No more in looking than there is in deed.
|
| |
|
406
|
|
|
This decree is made; go, and God speed!
|
|
407
|
|
|
Tomorrow at night when folk are all asleep,
|
|
408
|
|
|
Into our kneading-tubs shall we creep,
|
|
409
|
|
|
And there we’ll sit, abiding God’s grace.
|
|
410
|
|
|
Go now your way; I have no more space
|
|
411
|
|
|
To make of this a longer sermoning.
|
|
412
|
|
|
Men say thus: ‘Send the wise, say nothing.’
|
|
413
|
|
|
You are so wise I have no need to preach.
|
|
414
|
|
|
Go, save our lives, and do as I beseech!’
|
| |
|
415
|
|
|
This foolish carpenter goes on his way;
|
|
416
|
|
|
Full often says: ‘Alas!’ and Well-away!’
|
|
417
|
|
|
And to his wife he told it secretly;
|
|
418
|
|
|
And she already knew as well as he
|
|
419
|
|
|
What this ingenious plan might signify.
|
|
420
|
|
|
But nonetheless she made as if to die,
|
|
421
|
|
|
And said: ‘Alas, be on your way anon!
|
|
422
|
|
|
Help us escape, or we be dead each one!
|
|
423
|
|
|
I am your true and very wedded wife;
|
|
424
|
|
|
Go dear spouse, and help to save my life.’
|
| |
|
425
|
|
|
Lo, what a great thing is emotion!
|
|
426
|
|
|
Men may die of imagination,
|
|
427
|
|
|
So deep the impression it may make.
|
|
428
|
|
|
This foolish carpenter began to quake;
|
|
429
|
|
|
He truly thought that he could see
|
|
430
|
|
|
Noah’s flood come surging like the sea
|
|
431
|
|
|
To drown Alison, his honey dear.
|
|
432
|
|
|
He weeps and wails, with sorry fear;
|
|
433
|
|
|
He sighs with sorrowful groan enough;
|
|
434
|
|
|
He goes to fetch a kneading-trough,
|
|
435
|
|
|
And after a tub, and one for brewing;
|
|
436
|
|
|
And secretly he carried them in,
|
|
437
|
|
|
And hung them from the roof in secrecy.
|
|
438
|
|
|
With his own hands he made ladders three
|
|
439
|
|
|
To climb up by the rungs and so after
|
|
440
|
|
|
Reach the tubs hanging in the rafters,
|
|
441
|
|
|
And victualled them both trough and tub,
|
|
442
|
|
|
With bread and cheese, and good ale in a jug,
|
|
443
|
|
|
Sufficient right enough to last a day.
|
| |
|
444
|
|
|
But ere he had made all this array,
|
|
445
|
|
|
He sent his lad and the wench also
|
|
446
|
|
|
On business to London for to go.
|
|
447
|
|
|
And on the Monday, as it drew to night,
|
|
448
|
|
|
He shut his door, without a candle bright,
|
|
449
|
|
|
And readied everything as it should be;
|
|
450
|
|
|
And shortly up they climbed all three.
|
|
451
|
|
|
They sat still, some little time it was.
|
|
452
|
|
|
‘Pater noster, and be mum!’ said Nicholas,
|
|
453
|
|
|
And ‘mum’ said John, and ‘mum’ quoth Alison.
|
| |
|
454
|
|
|
The carpenter completed his devotion,
|
|
455
|
|
|
And sat quite still, and said his prayer,
|
|
456
|
|
|
Awaiting rain, and tried if he could hear.
|
|
457
|
|
|
A dead sleep, from all this business,
|
|
458
|
|
|
Fell now on the carpenter (as I guess)
|
|
459
|
|
|
About curfew time, or a little more.
|
|
460
|
|
|
With troubling of his spirit he groaned sore,
|
|
461
|
|
|
And often snored, his head awry was.
|
|
462
|
|
|
Down the ladder steals our Nicholas,
|
|
463
|
|
|
And Alison, full softly down she sped.
|
|
464
|
|
|
Without more words they slip into the bed
|
|
465
|
|
|
Where the carpenter was wont to be;
|
|
466
|
|
|
There was the revel and the melody.
|
|
467
|
|
|
And thus lie Alison and Nicholas
|
|
468
|
|
|
At the affair of mirth and solace,
|
|
469
|
|
|
Till the bell for lauds began to ring,
|
|
470
|
|
|
And the friars in the chancel to sing.
|
| |
|
471
|
|
|
The parish clerk, the amorous Absolon,
|
|
472
|
|
|
Who for love was always woebegone,
|
|
473
|
|
|
Upon the Monday was down at Osney
|
|
474
|
|
|
To disport and play, in company,
|
|
475
|
|
|
And chanced to ask a fellow cloisterer,
|
|
476
|
|
|
Privately, of John the carpenter.
|
|
477
|
|
|
The fellow drew him outside the church,
|
|
478
|
|
|
And said: ‘I know not; he’s not been at work
|
|
479
|
|
|
Since Saturday. I think that he went
|
|
480
|
|
|
For timber, where our Abbot had him sent;
|
|
481
|
|
|
For he for timber frequently will go
|
|
482
|
|
|
And stay at the grange a day or so –
|
|
483
|
|
|
Or else he at his house, I would maintain.
|
|
484
|
|
|
Where exactly, I could not be sure again.’
|
| |
|
485
|
|
|
Now Absalon full jolly was and light
|
|
486
|
|
|
Of heart and thought: ‘I’ll wake tonight,
|
|
487
|
|
|
For certainly I’ve not seen him stirring
|
|
488
|
|
|
About his door since day began to spring.
|
|
489
|
|
|
So might I thrive, I shall at cock’s crow
|
|
490
|
|
|
Knock all secretly at his window,
|
|
491
|
|
|
That’s placed low upon his chamber wall.
|
|
492
|
|
|
And Alison now I will tell of all
|
|
493
|
|
|
My love-longing, and will scarcely miss
|
|
494
|
|
|
At least from her the favour of a kiss.
|
|
495
|
|
|
Some sort of comfort I’ll have, by faith.
|
|
496
|
|
|
My mouth has itched all this long day;
|
|
497
|
|
|
That is a sign of kissing at the least.
|
|
498
|
|
|
All night I dreamed that I was at a feast.
|
|
499
|
|
|
Therefore I’ll go and sleep an hour say,
|
|
500
|
|
|
And then all night will I wake and play.’
|
| |
|
501
|
|
|
When the first cock had crowed, anon
|
|
502
|
|
|
Up rose this jolly lover, Absalon,
|
|
503
|
|
|
And gaily dressed to perfection is,
|
|
504
|
|
|
But first chews cardamom and liquorice,
|
|
505
|
|
|
To smell sweet, before he combs his hair.
|
|
506
|
|
|
Under his tongue true-love (Herb Paris) there,
|
|
507
|
|
|
And in that way to be gracious he set out.
|
|
508
|
|
|
He wanders off to the carpenter’s house,
|
|
509
|
|
|
And stood there still under the casement window –
|
|
510
|
|
|
Until it touched his breast it was so low –
|
|
511
|
|
|
And soft he coughed with a gentle sound:
|
|
512
|
|
|
‘What do you, honeycomb, sweet Alison?
|
|
513
|
|
|
My fair bride, my sweet cinnamon!
|
|
514
|
|
|
Awake, my lover, speak to me, come!
|
|
515
|
|
|
So little you think upon my woe,
|
|
516
|
|
|
That for love I faint wherever I go.
|
|
517
|
|
|
No wonder is it that I faint and sweat;
|
|
518
|
|
|
I pine just as a lamb does for the teat,
|
|
519
|
|
|
Surely, darling, I have such love-longing
|
|
520
|
|
|
That like a turtle-dove is my pining;
|
|
521
|
|
|
I scarcely eat as little as does a maid.’
|
| |
|
522
|
|
|
‘Away from the window, Jack fool,’ she said.
|
|
523
|
|
|
‘So help me God, there’s no “come up and kiss me”!
|
|
524
|
|
|
I love another – and unless I mistake me –
|
|
525
|
|
|
A better than you, by Jesus, Absalon.
|
|
526
|
|
|
Go on your way, or I will hurl a stone,
|
|
527
|
|
|
And let me sleep, in the devil’s name, away!’
|
| |
|
528
|
|
|
‘Alas,’ quoth Absalon, ‘and well-away,
|
|
529
|
|
|
That true love was ever so ill bestowed!
|
|
530
|
|
|
Then kiss me, if that’s the most you owe,
|
|
531
|
|
|
For Jesus love, and for the love of me.’
|
| |
|
532
|
|
|
‘Will you go your way with it?’ quoth she.
|
|
533
|
|
|
‘Yes, darling, certainly,’ quoth Absalon.
|
|
534
|
|
|
‘Then be ready,’ quoth she, ‘I come anon.’
|
|
535
|
|
|
And to Nicholas she said: Be still!
|
|
536
|
|
|
Now hush, and you can laugh your fill!’
|
| |
|
537
|
|
|
Then Absalon went down on his knees,
|
|
538
|
|
|
And said: ‘I am a lord in every degree,
|
|
539
|
|
|
For after this I hope for more hereafter.
|
|
540
|
|
|
Lover your grace, and sweet bride your favour!’
|
| |
|
541
|
|
|
The window she undoes and that in haste.
|
|
542
|
|
|
‘Now do,’ quoth she, ‘come on, no time to waste,
|
|
543
|
|
|
Lest that our neighbours should you espy.’
|
| |
|
544
|
|
|
Then Absalon first wiped his mouth full dry.
|
|
545
|
|
|
Dark was the night like to pitch or coal,
|
|
546
|
|
|
And at the window out she put her hole,
|
|
547
|
|
|
And Absalon, had better nor worse than this,
|
|
548
|
|
|
That with his mouth her naked arse he kissed
|
|
549
|
|
|
Before he was aware, had savoured it.
|
|
550
|
|
|
Back he started, something was amiss,
|
|
551
|
|
|
For well he knew a woman has no beard.
|
|
552
|
|
|
He felt something rough, and long-haired,
|
|
553
|
|
|
And said: ‘Fie, alas, what have I done?’
|
|
554
|
|
|
‘Tee-hee!’ quoth she, and clapped the window shut,
|
|
555
|
|
|
And Absolon goes off with saddened pace.
|
|
556
|
|
|
‘A beard, a beard!’ quoth spritely Nicholas,
|
|
557
|
|
|
‘By God’s body, that went fair and well!’
|
| |
|
558
|
|
|
Now Absolon heard every word himself,
|
|
559
|
|
|
And began his lip in anger to bite,
|
|
560
|
|
|
And to himself he said: ‘I’ll you requite!’
|
|
561
|
|
|
Who rubs himself, who scrubs at his mouth,
|
|
562
|
|
|
With dust, sand, chippings, straw and cloth
|
|
563
|
|
|
But Absolon, who often cries: ‘Alas!
|
|
564
|
|
|
My soul consign to Satan, if I’d have
|
|
565
|
|
|
This town before my vengeance,’ quoth he,
|
|
566
|
|
|
‘For this humiliation well repaid I’ll be.
|
|
567
|
|
|
Alas,’ quoth he, ‘that I never blenched!’
|
|
568
|
|
|
His hot love was cold and all quenched,
|
|
569
|
|
|
For from the time that her arse he kissed
|
|
570
|
|
|
Love he valued less than a stalk of cress,
|
|
571
|
|
|
For he was healed of his malady.
|
|
572
|
|
|
And love he did defy eternally.
|
|
573
|
|
|
And weeping like a child they look to beat,
|
|
574
|
|
|
At gentle pace he slowly crossed the street,
|
|
575
|
|
|
To a smith, and he called Gervase is,
|
|
576
|
|
|
Who forges on his anvil harnesses;
|
|
577
|
|
|
He sharpens shares and coulters busily.
|
|
578
|
|
|
Absalon knocked on the doors all easily,
|
|
579
|
|
|
And said: Open, Gervase, and quick anon!’
|
|
580
|
|
|
‘What, who is that? ‘It’s me, Absalon.’
|
|
581
|
|
|
‘What, Absalon! Christ’s blessed tree, I say,
|
|
582
|
|
|
Why up so early? Benedicite,
|
|
583
|
|
|
What ails you? Some fine girl, at a glance,
|
|
584
|
|
|
Has brought you out on reconnaissance;
|
|
585
|
|
|
By St Neot, you know well what I mean!’
|
| |
|
586
|
|
|
But Absalon, he gave never a bean
|
|
587
|
|
|
For all the jesting; silently did stand.
|
|
588
|
|
|
He had a deal more business on hand
|
|
589
|
|
|
Than Gervase knew, and said: ‘Friend, so dear,
|
|
590
|
|
|
That hot coulter in the chimney there,
|
|
591
|
|
|
Please lend it me; I’ve something needs doing,
|
|
592
|
|
|
And full soon to you again it I’ll bring.’
|
|
593
|
|
|
Gervase answered: ‘Even if it were gold,
|
|
594
|
|
|
Or a bag full of nobles, all untold,
|
|
595
|
|
|
You should have it, as I’m a true smith!
|
|
596
|
|
|
Now, Christ’s foe, what would you do with it?’
|
|
597
|
|
|
‘Let that, ‘quoth Absalon, ‘be it as it may;
|
|
598
|
|
|
I’ll tell you of it all another day’ –
|
|
599
|
|
|
And caught the coulter by the cold steel.
|
| |
|
600
|
|
|
Softly out the door he began to steal,
|
|
601
|
|
|
And then went off to the carpenter’s wall.
|
|
602
|
|
|
First he coughed then he knocked withal
|
|
603
|
|
|
On the window, as loud as he dared
|
|
604
|
|
|
Then Alison answered: ‘Who’s there,
|
|
605
|
|
|
That knocks so? I warrant it’s a thief!’
|
|
606
|
|
|
‘Why no’ quoth he, ‘Not so, by my faith;
|
|
607
|
|
|
I am your Absalon, my sweet darling.
|
|
608
|
|
|
‘Of gold, quoth he, ‘I’ve brought you a ring.
|
|
609
|
|
|
My mother gave it me, so God me save.
|
|
610
|
|
|
Full fine it is, and carefully engraved;
|
|
611
|
|
|
This will I give you, if you will me kiss.’
|
| |
|
612
|
|
|
Now Nicholas had risen for a piss,
|
|
613
|
|
|
And thought he would improve the jape:
|
|
614
|
|
|
He should kiss his arse ere he escape.
|
|
615
|
|
|
And he raised the window hastily,
|
|
616
|
|
|
And put his arse outside covertly,
|
|
617
|
|
|
Beyond the buttock, to the haunch-bone.
|
|
618
|
|
|
And then spoke up the clerk, Absalon:
|
|
619
|
|
|
‘Speak, sweet bird; I know not where you art.’
|
| |
|
620
|
|
|
Then Nicholas at once let fly a fart,
|
|
621
|
|
|
As great as if it were a thunder-clap,
|
|
622
|
|
|
The clerk was nearly blinded with the blast;
|
|
623
|
|
|
Yet he was ready with his iron hot,
|
|
624
|
|
|
And Nicholas right in the arse he smote.
|
|
625
|
|
|
Off went the skin a hand’s breadth round and some;
|
|
626
|
|
|
The coulter had so burnt him on his bum,
|
|
627
|
|
|
That for the pain he thought he would die.
|
|
628
|
|
|
As if he were mad, he began to cry:
|
|
629
|
|
|
‘Help! Water, water, help, for God’s heart!’
|
|
630
|
|
|
The carpenter out of his slumber starts,
|
|
631
|
|
|
Hears him cry: ‘Water’ loud as ever he could,
|
|
632
|
|
|
And thought: ‘Alas, now here comes Noah’s flood!’
|
|
633
|
|
|
Up he sat at once, no more ado,
|
|
634
|
|
|
And with his axe he smote the cord in two,
|
|
635
|
|
|
And down he went – He had no time to sell
|
|
636
|
|
|
His bread or ale at all, but straight he fell
|
|
637
|
|
|
On to the floor, and there a-swooning was.
|
| |
|
638
|
|
|
Up start our Alison and Nicholas,
|
|
639
|
|
|
And cry ‘Help!’ and ‘Succour!’ in the street.
|
|
640
|
|
|
The neighbours, the lesser and the great,
|
|
641
|
|
|
Came running in to gaze at this man,
|
|
642
|
|
|
Who swooning lay, both pale and wan,
|
|
643
|
|
|
For in the fall he broken had his arm.
|
|
644
|
|
|
But he had still to suffer all the harm,
|
|
645
|
|
|
For when he spoke, he was borne down,
|
|
646
|
|
|
By handsome Nicholas and Alison.
|
|
647
|
|
|
They told everyone that he was mad;
|
|
648
|
|
|
Afraid so, in a fantasy he had
|
|
649
|
|
|
Of Noah’s flood, that in his deep folly
|
|
650
|
|
|
He had bought him kneading-tubs three,
|
|
651
|
|
|
And had hung them from the roof above,
|
|
652
|
|
|
And had begged them, for God’s love,
|
|
653
|
|
|
To sit there in the roof for company.
|
| |
|
654
|
|
|
The folk begin to mock his fantasy;
|
|
655
|
|
|
Up into the roof they gaze and stare;
|
|
656
|
|
|
And turn all his hurt to jest right there.
|
|
657
|
|
|
For whatsoever the carpenter averred
|
|
658
|
|
|
It was for naught; no man his story heard.
|
|
659
|
|
|
And with great oaths he was so put down
|
|
660
|
|
|
He was considered mad throughout the town,
|
|
661
|
|
|
For the clerks all said to one another.
|
|
662
|
|
|
‘The man is mad, for sure, my dear brother!’
|
|
663
|
|
|
And everybody laughed at all this strife.
|
| |
|
664
|
|
|
And thus was had the carpenter’s wife,
|
|
665
|
|
|
For all his jealousy and keeping by;
|
|
666
|
|
|
And Absalon has kissed his nether-eye,
|
|
667
|
|
|
And Nicholas is scalded on the bum.
|
|
668
|
|
|
God save us all, and now this tale is done!
|
| |
