1
Here follow the words between the Host and the Miller.
2
When that the Knight had thus his tale told,
3
In all our company was nor young nor old
4
Who did not claim it as a noble story
5
And worthy to be stored in memory,
6
Especially the well-born, every one.
7
Our Host laughed, and swore: ‘We go on,
8
All goes aright; we’ve unbound the bale!
9
Let’s see now who shall tell another tale,
10
For truly the game is well begun.
11
Now you tell, Sir Monk, if you can,
12
Something to repay the Knight’s tale.’
13
The Miller, that for drunkenness was pale,
14
So that with effort on his horse he sat,
15
He would neither doff his hood or hat,
16
Nor wait for any man, in courtesy,
17
But in Pilate’s voice began, noisily
18
To swear: ‘By arms, and by blood and bones,
19
I know a noble tale I’ll tell at once,
20
With which I shall requite the Knight’s tale!’
21
Our Host saw that he was drunk with ale,
22
And said; ‘Wait now, Robin, dear brother;
23
Some fitter man shall tell us first another.
24
Wait now, and let us work it all seemly.’
25
‘By God’s soul,’ quoth the Miller, ‘not for me!
26
For I will speak or else go on my way.’
27
Our Host answered: ‘Tell on, as you may!
28
You are a fool; your wits are overcome.’
29
‘Now hearken,’ quoth the Miller, ‘all and some!
30
But first I’ll make a protestation
31
That I am drunk – I know it by my tongue.
32
And therefore, if that I misspeak or say,
33
Blame then the ale of Southwark, I pray.
34
For I will tell a legend from the life,
35
Both of a carpenter and of his wife,
36
How that at her a clerk set his cap.’
37
The Reeve answered, saying: ‘Hold your trap!
38
Have done with lewd drunken harlotry!
39
It is a sin and also greater folly
40
To slander any man, or him defame,
41
And give wives too an evil name.
42
There is plenty else at which to aim.’
43
The drunken Miller spoke up again,
44
And replied: ‘My dear brother Oswald,
45
He who has no wife, he is no cuckold;
46
But I say not that therefore you are one.
47
There be good wives and many a one,
48
And ever a thousand good for every bad;
49
You know it yourself unless you’re mad.
50
Why are you angry with my tale now?
51
I have a wife, indeed, as well as thou,
52
Yet not for the oxen in my plough,
53
Would I take it upon me for an hour
54
To believe it of myself that I was one.
55
I will believe indeed that I am none.
56
A husband should not be too inquisitive
57
Of God’s affairs, or how his wife live.
58
If he shares God’s abundance entire,
59
Of the rest he need not then enquire.’
60
What more can I say, the Miller there
61
His words for no man would forbear,
62
But told his churl’s tale in his own manner.
63
And I regret I must repeat it here;
64
And therefore every gentle soul I pray
65
Deem it not, for God’s sake, that I say
66
Ought by evil intent, but must rehearse
67
All their tales, for better or for worse,
68
Or else be somewhat false to the matter.
69
Therefore whoever thinks it idle chatter
70
Turn to another page, and choose a tale,
71
For you shall find enough, never fail,
72
Great and small, stories of genteelness,
73
And morality as well, and holiness.
74
Blame not me, if you choose amiss.
75
The Miller is a churl; you all know this.
76
So was the Reeve also, and others too,
77
And harlotry they told of, both the two.
78
Take thought, and hold me free of blame –
79
Man should not treat in earnest what’s a game.
1
Here begins the Miller’s Tale.
2
Once upon a time there dwelt in Oxford
3
A rich churl, that took in guests to board,
4
And for his craft he was a carpenter.
5
With him there was dwelling a poor scholar
6
Who had learned the arts, but all his fancy
7
Was set on studying astrology,
8
And he could judge certain propositions
9
By the course of his investigations,
10
Should men ask of him at certain hours
11
If there would be drought or else showers,
12
Or if they should ask what might befall
13
Of sundry things – I could not tell them all.
14
This clerk was called courtly Nicholas.
15
Skilled in secret love affairs, and solace,
16
And withal was clever and discreet,
17
And to see was like a maiden meek.
18
A chamber had he in that hostelry,
19
Alone, without any company,
20
Elegantly garnished with herbs sweet;
21
And he himself as sweet as root may be
22
Of liquorice, or any zedoary.
23
His Almagest, and his library,
24
His astrolabe, belonging to his art,
25
His counters for arithmetic, laid apart
26
On shelves that stood at his bed’s head;
27
His cupboard covered with a cloth of red.
28
And above all a showy psaltery
29
On which at night he made melody
30
So sweetly that all the chamber rang;
31
And Angelus ad virginem he sang,
32
And after that he sang The King’s Note.
33
Full often blessed, was his merry throat.
34
And thus this sweet clerk his time spent,
35
With what his friends provided, and the rent.
36
This carpenter had wedded a new wife,
37
Whom he loved far more than his life.
38
Of eighteen years she was of age.
39
Jealous he was, and kept her in a cage,
40
For she was young and wild, and he was old,
41
And thought himself a likely cuckold.
42
He knew not Cato – his learning was crude –
43
Who advised a man to wed his similitude.
44
Men should wed according to their state,
45
For youth and age, at odds, end in debate.
46
But since he had fallen in the snare,
47
He must endure, as we, the weight of care.
48
Fair was this young wife, and then withal
49
Like a weasel’s her body, shapely, small.
50
A belt she wore, one all barred with silk;
51
An apron too, as white as morning milk,
52
Upon her hips, full of many a gusset.
53
White was her smock, embroidery set
54
Before, behind, on the collar all about,
55
Of coal-black silk, within and without.
56
The tapes of her white cap all together
57
Were of the same cloth as her collar;
58
Her broad headband of silk, and set full high.
59
And she had surely a flirtatious eye.
60
Plucked very fine were her eyebrows two,
61
And arched and black as any sloe too.
62
She was much more beautiful to see
63
That is the early blossoming pear-tree,
64
And softer than the wool on a wether;
65
And by her girdle hung a purse of leather,
66
Tasselled with green and pearled with brass,
67
In al this world, in seeking of a lass,
68
There’s no man with fancy so intense
69
Could dream of such a poppet, such a wench.
70
Full brighter was the shining of her hue
71
Than in the Mint a noble forged anew.
72
And for her singing, lively, voiced afar,
73
Like any swallow flitting through a barn.
74
Then she could skip and gambol, as I am
75
Assured, as any kid or calf behind its dam.
76
Her mouth was sweet as honeyed mead I’d say,
77
Or a hoard of apples swathed in heath or hay.
78
Skittish she was, as is a frisky colt,
79
Tall as a mast, and straight as a bolt.
80
A brooch she wore upon her low collar,
81
As broad as is the boss of a buckler.
82
Her shoes were laced on her legs high.
83
She was a primrose, lovely to the eye,
84
For any lord to take into his bed,
85
Or yet for any good yeoman to wed.
86
Now sirs, now, so things came to pass,
87
That one day this handsome Nicholas
88
Began with this young wife to fool and play,
89
While her husband was down Osney way –
90
As clerks are full of subtlety and tricks.
91
And covertly he caught her by the sex,
92
And said: ‘Sweetheart, unless I have my will
93
For secret love of you, then die I will!’
94
And held her hard by the haunch bones,
95
And: ‘Sweetheart, love me, now,’ he moans,
96
‘Or I will die, as God shall me save!’
97
And she leapt as a colt does, in the way
98
Of being shod, and turned her head away.
99
She said: ‘I will not kiss you, by my faith!
100
Why, let be’ quoth she, ‘let be, Nicholas!
101
Or I will cry “Now, help” and shout “Alas!”
102
Remove your hands, by every courtesy!’
103
Then Nicholas began to cry for mercy,
104
And spoke so fair, so earnestly did cast,
105
That she was hooked, and pledged her love at last,
106
And swore an oath, by Thomas, Saint of Kent,
107
That she would be at his commandment,
108
When she could find an opportunity.
109
‘My husband is so filled with jealousy
110
That unless you’re patient, secretive,
111
Quoth she, ‘I know for sure I shall not live.
112
You must be wholly secret in this house.’
113
‘Nay, give that not a thought,’ quoth Nicholas,
114
‘A scholar would have wasted a good while
115
If he could not a carpenter beguile.’
116
And so they were agreed and both swore
117
To wait awhile, as I have said before.
118
When Nicholas had done so, as I tell,
119
And patted her about the buttocks well,
120
He kissed her sweet, and took his psaltery
121
And played away, and plucked a melody.
122
Then it befell, that to the parish church,
123
There to perform Christ’s own works,
124
This good wife went, on a holy day.
125
Her forehead shone as bright as any day,
126
So shiny was it when she left her work.
127
Now there was a parish clerk of that church,
128
And this clerk’s name was Absolon.
129
Curly was his hair, and as the gold it shone,
130
And stuck out in a fan wide and broad.
131
Full straight and even his parting showed;
132
His face was red, his eyes grey as a goose.
133
With St Paul’s tracery carved in his shoes,
134
In red hose he dressed elegantly.
135
He was clothed neatly and properly
136
Adorned with a light-blue cloth jacket,
137
Full fair and densely were the laces set.
138
And over it he wore a fine surplice
139
As white as the blossom on the spray is.
140
A merry youth he was, so God me save!
141
Well knew he how to let blood, clip and shave,
142
And draw up deeds of land or quittance.
143
In twenty manners he could trip and dance,
144
After the true school of Oxford though,
145
And with his legs leaping to and fro,
146
And playing songs on a two-stringed fiddle;
147
Thereto he sometimes sang a high treble,
148
And he could play as well on a cithern.
149
In all the town no brew-house nor tavern
150
He did not visit with his power to solace,
151
Where any gaily-dressed barmaid was.
152
But truth to tell, quite squeamish he was
153
About farting, and in speech fastidious.
154
Absolon, who was gallant in his way,
155
Would bear the censer round on holy days,
156
Censing the parish wives whom he passed;
157
And many a fond look on them he cast,
158
And especially on the carpenter’s wife.
159
To look at her brightened up his life,
160
She was so trim and sweet and amorous.
161
I dare well say, if she had been a mouse,
162
And he a cat, she’d have been leapt upon.
163
This parish clerk, this gallant Absolon,
164
Has in his heart such a love-longing
165
That from no wife would he take offerings;
166
For courtesy, he said, he would take none.
167
The moon, when it was night, full bright shone,
168
And Absalon his cithern did take;
169
For love indeed he thought to wake.
170
And off he went, lively and amorous,
171
Till he came to the carpenter’s house,
172
Arriving there a little after cock-crow,
173
And placed himself by a casement window,
174
That was let into the carpenter’s wall.
175
He sings in a voice, graceful and small:
176
‘Now dear lady, if your wish it be,
177
I pray you to have mercy upon me’,
178
In harmony with his music-making.
179
The carpenter awoke and heard him singing,
180
And spoke to his wife and said anon,
181
‘What Alison, do you hear Absalon,
182
Singing thus under our bedroom wall?’
183
And she answering her husband’s call:
184
‘Yes, God knows John, I hear it very well.’
185
And so it goes; what more must I tell?
186
From day to day this lively Absalon
187
So woos her that he is woebegone.
188
He lay awake all night, and then daily
189
He combed his curling locks and gaily,
190
He wooed by go-betweens, and brokerage,
191
And swore he would be her own true page;
192
He sang and warbled like a nightingale;
193
He sent her mead, sweet wine, and spiced ale,
194
And flat cakes, piping hot from the oven,
195
And as she lived in town, coins to spend.
196
For some folk are conquered by riches,
197
And some by blows, and some by kindness.
198
Sometimes, to show skill and agility,
199
He played Herod in the Mysteries.
200
But what good did it do him, alas?
201
She so loves the handsome Nicholas
202
That Absalon might go blow his horn;
203
For all his labour there was only scorn.
204
And thus she made Absalon her dupe,
205
And of all his eager wooing a joke.
206
True indeed the proverb, and no lie,
207
That men repeat: ‘Ever the sly, nearby,
208
Makes the distant lover out of favour.’
209
Though Absalon knew madness or anger,
210
Because he was further from her sight,
211
Nicholas nearby stood in his light.
212
Now do well, you handsome Nicholas!
213
For Absalon must wail and sing ‘alas!’
214
And so it befell, on a Saturday
215
The carpenter had gone down to Osney;
216
And handsome Nicholas and Alison
217
Both agreed regarding this decision,
218
That Nicholas shall devise some wile
219
This jealous foolish husband to beguile.
220
And if the game turned out alright,
221
She would sleep in his arms all night;
222
For this was her desire and his too.
223
And straight away, without more ado,
224
This Nicholas wishing not to tarry,
225
But quietly to his room does carry
226
Both meat and drink, to last a day
227
Or two, and told Alison to say,
228
If her husband asked for Nicholas,
229
That she had no idea where he was;
230
That all the day of him she’d had no sight;
231
She thought he might be ill, so he might,
232
For he had not answered the maid’s call;
233
Gave no reply, whatever might befall.
234
This continued all that Saturday,
235
And Nicholas still in his chamber lay,
236
And eat and slept, as pleased him best,
237
Till Sunday, when the sun went to its rest.
238
The foolish carpenter wondered without fail
239
About our Nicholas, why he should ail,
240
And said: ‘I fear by Saint Thomas,
241
That all is not well with Nicholas.
242
God forbid that he die suddenly!
243
This world is now so fickle indeed;
244
I saw a corpse today borne to church
245
That only Monday last I saw at work.
246
‘Go up,’ quoth he to his lad anon,
247
‘Call at the door, or tap it with a spoon.
248
See how things are, and tell me swiftly.’
249
The serving-boy climbed up sturdily,
250
And at the chamber door a while the lad,
251
Called and knocked, as though he were mad.
252
‘What how! What do you, Master Nicholay?
253
How can you lie asleep the livelong day?’
254
– But all for naught; he heard not a word.
255
A hole he found, down by the skirting-board,
256
Through which the cat was wont to creep,
257
And into that hole he gazed full deep,
258
And at last a glimpse met his sight
259
Of Nicholas lying gaping there upright,
260
As if he had caught sight of the new moon.
261
Down he goes, to tell his master, soon
262
Of the state in which he found the man.
263
The carpenter to bless himself began,
264
And said: ‘Help us, Saint Frideswide!
265
A man little knows what shall betide.
266
This man has fallen, through astronomy,
267
Into some madness, or some agony.
268
I always thought that’s how it would be;
269
Men should know what God meant us to see.
270
Yes, blessed always is the simple man,
271
With nothing but his faith to understand!
272
So fared another clerk’s astronomy;
273
He walked, in the fields, into the starry
274
Sky to pry, and see what should befall,
275
Till into the marl-pit he took a fall;
276
He saw not that! But yet, by Saint Thomas,
277
I’m truly worried for poor Nicholas.
278
He shall be scolded for his studying,
279
If scold I may, by Jesus, Heaven’s king!
280
Get me a stave to work against the floor,
281
While you, Robin, heave at the door.
282
He’ll wake from his studying, I guess.’
283
And to the chamber door he gave address.
284
His lad was a fellow big and strong,
285
And heaved it off its hinges at once;
286
Onto the floor the door fell anon.
287
Nicholas sat there yet, still as stone,
288
And kept on gaping up into the air.
289
The carpenter thought him in despair,
290
And grasped him by the shoulders mightily
291
And shook him hard, and shouted loudly.
292
‘What, Nicholas, what ho! What, look down!
293
Awake, and think you of Christ’s passion!
294
I guard you with the cross from elf and sprite.’
295
– With that the night-spell he said outright
296
On all the four sides of the house about,
297
And on the threshold of the door without.
298
‘Jesus Christ, and Saint Benedict,
299
Guard this house from all things wicked,
300
All night through, white Pater noster!
301
Where went thou, Saint Peter’s sister?’
302
And at last our handsome Nicholas
303
Began to sigh deeply, and said: ‘Alas!
304
Shall the world be lost and doomed now?
305
The carpenter replied: ‘What say thou?
306
What, think on God, as we do, working men!’
307
And Nicholas answered: ‘Fetch me drink then,
308
And afterwards I’ll speak, in privacy,
309
Of certain things regarding you and me;
310
I will tell them to no other man, that’s certain.’
311
The carpenter went down, and back again
312
Brought of powerful ale a large quart.
313
And when each of them had drunk his part,
314
Nicholas went swift to his door and shut it,
315
And made the carpenter beside him sit,
316
And said: ‘John, my good host and dear,
317
You shall upon your oath swear me here
318
That to no man this secret you’ll betray;
319
For it is Christ’s counsel that I say,
320
And if you tell it man, you are no more,
321
For this vengeance fall on you therefore,
322
You will be mad, let that be understood’
323
‘Nay, Christ forbid it, for his holy blood!’
324
Quoth then this foolish man: ‘I’ll not blab,
325
No, though it’s I who say it, I never gab.
326
Say what you will: I shall never tell
327
Child nor wife, by him that harrowed Hell!’
328
‘Now John,’ quoth Nicholas, ‘No lies from me;
329
I have found through my astrology,
330
As I gazed into the moon so bright,
331
That Monday next, a fourth part of the night,
332
A rain shall fall, as wild, as mad, as could
333
That half so great was never Noah’s flood.
334
This world,’ said he, ‘in less than an hour
335
Shall all be drowned, so hideous the shower.
336
Thus shall all mortals drown and lose their life’
337
The carpenter replied: ‘Alas, my wife!
338
And shall she drown? Alas, my Alison!’
339
For sorrow of this he almost fell, anon
340
He said: ‘Is there no remedy in this pass?’
341
‘Why yes, by God!’ quoth handsome Nicholas.
342
– If you will act on wise advice indeed.
343
You mustn’t follow where your own thoughts lead;
344
For thus says Solomon, who speaks the truth:
345
‘Act on advice, and you shall nothing rue.’
346
And if you will act on good counsel,
347
I undertake, without a mast or sail,
348
That I shall save her, and you, and me, for
349
Have you not heard how saved was Noah,
350
When that our Lord had warned him before
351
That all the world with water should be o’er?
352
‘Yes,’ quoth the carpenter, ‘long long ago.’
353
‘Have you not heard,’ quoth Nicholas, ‘also
354
The sorrow of Noah, with his fellowship,
355
Before he could get his wife to ship?
356
He’d have preferred, I dare well say, alack,
357
At that time, rather than his wethers black
358
That she had had a ship to herself alone!
359
And therefore know you what must be done?
360
This demands haste, and of a hasty thing
361
Men may not preach or ask for tarrying;
362
Anon and quickly get, and bring us in
363
A kneading trough, or that for brewing,
364
One for each of us – but see they’re large –
365
In which we can sail as in a barge,
366
And have in there victuals sufficient
367
For a day – and never mind the remnant!
368
The water shall abate and drain away
369
About nine in the morning, the next day.
370
But Robin, must not know of this, your knave,
371
Nor your maid Jill, her too I cannot save.
372
Ask not why, for though you ask of me,
373
I will not tell God’s secret as must be.
374
Let that suffice, and unless you’re mad
375
Accept as great a grace as Noah had.
376
Your wife I shall save without a doubt.
377
Go now your ways, and speed hereabout.
378
And when you have for her, and you and me,
379
Brought in these kneading-tubs, all three,
380
Then shall you hang them in the attic high,
381
That no man may our preparations spy.
382
And when you thus have done as I have said,
383
And have placed in them our meat and bread,
384
And an axe to smite the rope in two also,
385
When the water comes, we may go
386
And break a hole up high, in the gable,
387
On the garden side above the stable,
388
So we can pass freely on our way,
389
When the great shower has gone away.
390
Then shall you swim as merry, I undertake,
391
As does the white duck following her drake.
392
Then will I call: ‘Now, Alison, Now John!
393
Be merry for the flood will soon be gone!’
394
And you will say: ‘Hail, Master Nicholay!
395
Good morrow, I see you well, for it is day.’
396
And then shall we be lords all our life
397
Of all the world, as Noah and his wife.
398
But of one thing I warn you of right:
399
Be well advised, on that same night
400
That we take ship, and go on board,
401
None of must speak or say a word,
402
Nor call out, nor cry, but fall to prayer,
403
For it is God’s own command clear.
404
Your wife and you must far apart begin,
405
So that betwixt you there shall be no sin,
406
No more in looking than there is in deed.
407
This decree is made; go, and God speed!
408
Tomorrow at night when folk are all asleep,
409
Into our kneading-tubs shall we creep,
410
And there we’ll sit, abiding God’s grace.
411
Go now your way; I have no more space
412
To make of this a longer sermoning.
413
Men say thus: ‘Send the wise, say nothing.’
414
You are so wise I have no need to preach.
415
Go, save our lives, and do as I beseech!’
416
This foolish carpenter goes on his way;
417
Full often says: ‘Alas!’ and Well-away!’
418
And to his wife he told it secretly;
419
And she already knew as well as he
420
What this ingenious plan might signify.
421
But nonetheless she made as if to die,
422
And said: ‘Alas, be on your way anon!
423
Help us escape, or we be dead each one!
424
I am your true and very wedded wife;
425
Go dear spouse, and help to save my life.’
426
Lo, what a great thing is emotion!
427
Men may die of imagination,
428
So deep the impression it may make.
429
This foolish carpenter began to quake;
430
He truly thought that he could see
431
Noah’s flood come surging like the sea
432
To drown Alison, his honey dear.
433
He weeps and wails, with sorry fear;
434
He sighs with sorrowful groan enough;
435
He goes to fetch a kneading-trough,
436
And after a tub, and one for brewing;
437
And secretly he carried them in,
438
And hung them from the roof in secrecy.
439
With his own hands he made ladders three
440
To climb up by the rungs and so after
441
Reach the tubs hanging in the rafters,
442
And victualled them both trough and tub,
443
With bread and cheese, and good ale in a jug,
444
Sufficient right enough to last a day.
445
But ere he had made all this array,
446
He sent his lad and the wench also
447
On business to London for to go.
448
And on the Monday, as it drew to night,
449
He shut his door, without a candle bright,
450
And readied everything as it should be;
451
And shortly up they climbed all three.
452
They sat still, some little time it was.
453
‘Pater noster, and be mum!’ said Nicholas,
454
And ‘mum’ said John, and ‘mum’ quoth Alison.
455
The carpenter completed his devotion,
456
And sat quite still, and said his prayer,
457
Awaiting rain, and tried if he could hear.
458
A dead sleep, from all this business,
459
Fell now on the carpenter (as I guess)
460
About curfew time, or a little more.
461
With troubling of his spirit he groaned sore,
462
And often snored, his head awry was.
463
Down the ladder steals our Nicholas,
464
And Alison, full softly down she sped.
465
Without more words they slip into the bed
466
Where the carpenter was wont to be;
467
There was the revel and the melody.
468
And thus lie Alison and Nicholas
469
At the affair of mirth and solace,
470
Till the bell for lauds began to ring,
471
And the friars in the chancel to sing.
472
The parish clerk, the amorous Absolon,
473
Who for love was always woebegone,
474
Upon the Monday was down at Osney
475
To disport and play, in company,
476
And chanced to ask a fellow cloisterer,
477
Privately, of John the carpenter.
478
The fellow drew him outside the church,
479
And said: ‘I know not; he’s not been at work
480
Since Saturday. I think that he went
481
For timber, where our Abbot had him sent;
482
For he for timber frequently will go
483
And stay at the grange a day or so –
484
Or else he at his house, I would maintain.
485
Where exactly, I could not be sure again.’
486
Now Absalon full jolly was and light
487
Of heart and thought: ‘I’ll wake tonight,
488
For certainly I’ve not seen him stirring
489
About his door since day began to spring.
490
So might I thrive, I shall at cock’s crow
491
Knock all secretly at his window,
492
That’s placed low upon his chamber wall.
493
And Alison now I will tell of all
494
My love-longing, and will scarcely miss
495
At least from her the favour of a kiss.
496
Some sort of comfort I’ll have, by faith.
497
My mouth has itched all this long day;
498
That is a sign of kissing at the least.
499
All night I dreamed that I was at a feast.
500
Therefore I’ll go and sleep an hour say,
501
And then all night will I wake and play.’
502
When the first cock had crowed, anon
503
Up rose this jolly lover, Absalon,
504
And gaily dressed to perfection is,
505
But first chews cardamom and liquorice,
506
To smell sweet, before he combs his hair.
507
Under his tongue true-love (Herb Paris) there,
508
And in that way to be gracious he set out.
509
He wanders off to the carpenter’s house,
510
And stood there still under the casement window –
511
Until it touched his breast it was so low –
512
And soft he coughed with a gentle sound:
513
‘What do you, honeycomb, sweet Alison?
514
My fair bride, my sweet cinnamon!
515
Awake, my lover, speak to me, come!
516
So little you think upon my woe,
517
That for love I faint wherever I go.
518
No wonder is it that I faint and sweat;
519
I pine just as a lamb does for the teat,
520
Surely, darling, I have such love-longing
521
That like a turtle-dove is my pining;
522
I scarcely eat as little as does a maid.’
523
‘Away from the window, Jack fool,’ she said.
524
‘So help me God, there’s no “come up and kiss me”!
525
I love another – and unless I mistake me –
526
A better than you, by Jesus, Absalon.
527
Go on your way, or I will hurl a stone,
528
And let me sleep, in the devil’s name, away!’
529
‘Alas,’ quoth Absalon, ‘and well-away,
530
That true love was ever so ill bestowed!
531
Then kiss me, if that’s the most you owe,
532
For Jesus love, and for the love of me.’
533
‘Will you go your way with it?’ quoth she.
534
‘Yes, darling, certainly,’ quoth Absalon.
535
‘Then be ready,’ quoth she, ‘I come anon.’
536
And to Nicholas she said: Be still!
537
Now hush, and you can laugh your fill!’
538
Then Absalon went down on his knees,
539
And said: ‘I am a lord in every degree,
540
For after this I hope for more hereafter.
541
Lover your grace, and sweet bride your favour!’
542
The window she undoes and that in haste.
543
‘Now do,’ quoth she, ‘come on, no time to waste,
544
Lest that our neighbours should you espy.’
545
Then Absalon first wiped his mouth full dry.
546
Dark was the night like to pitch or coal,
547
And at the window out she put her hole,
548
And Absalon, had better nor worse than this,
549
That with his mouth her naked arse he kissed
550
Before he was aware, had savoured it.
551
Back he started, something was amiss,
552
For well he knew a woman has no beard.
553
He felt something rough, and long-haired,
554
And said: ‘Fie, alas, what have I done?’
555
‘Tee-hee!’ quoth she, and clapped the window shut,
556
And Absolon goes off with saddened pace.
557
‘A beard, a beard!’ quoth spritely Nicholas,
558
‘By God’s body, that went fair and well!’
559
Now Absolon heard every word himself,
560
And began his lip in anger to bite,
561
And to himself he said: ‘I’ll you requite!’
562
Who rubs himself, who scrubs at his mouth,
563
With dust, sand, chippings, straw and cloth
564
But Absolon, who often cries: ‘Alas!
565
My soul consign to Satan, if I’d have
566
This town before my vengeance,’ quoth he,
567
‘For this humiliation well repaid I’ll be.
568
Alas,’ quoth he, ‘that I never blenched!’
569
His hot love was cold and all quenched,
570
For from the time that her arse he kissed
571
Love he valued less than a stalk of cress,
572
For he was healed of his malady.
573
And love he did defy eternally.
574
And weeping like a child they look to beat,
575
At gentle pace he slowly crossed the street,
576
To a smith, and he called Gervase is,
577
Who forges on his anvil harnesses;
578
He sharpens shares and coulters busily.
579
Absalon knocked on the doors all easily,
580
And said: Open, Gervase, and quick anon!’
581
‘What, who is that? ‘It’s me, Absalon.’
582
‘What, Absalon! Christ’s blessed tree, I say,
583
Why up so early? Benedicite,
584
What ails you? Some fine girl, at a glance,
585
Has brought you out on reconnaissance;
586
By St Neot, you know well what I mean!’
587
But Absalon, he gave never a bean
588
For all the jesting; silently did stand.
589
He had a deal more business on hand
590
Than Gervase knew, and said: ‘Friend, so dear,
591
That hot coulter in the chimney there,
592
Please lend it me; I’ve something needs doing,
593
And full soon to you again it I’ll bring.’
594
Gervase answered: ‘Even if it were gold,
595
Or a bag full of nobles, all untold,
596
You should have it, as I’m a true smith!
597
Now, Christ’s foe, what would you do with it?’
598
‘Let that, ‘quoth Absalon, ‘be it as it may;
599
I’ll tell you of it all another day’ –
600
And caught the coulter by the cold steel.
601
Softly out the door he began to steal,
602
And then went off to the carpenter’s wall.
603
First he coughed then he knocked withal
604
On the window, as loud as he dared
605
Then Alison answered: ‘Who’s there,
606
That knocks so? I warrant it’s a thief!’
607
‘Why no’ quoth he, ‘Not so, by my faith;
608
I am your Absalon, my sweet darling.
609
‘Of gold, quoth he, ‘I’ve brought you a ring.
610
My mother gave it me, so God me save.
611
Full fine it is, and carefully engraved;
612
This will I give you, if you will me kiss.’
613
Now Nicholas had risen for a piss,
614
And thought he would improve the jape:
615
He should kiss his arse ere he escape.
616
And he raised the window hastily,
617
And put his arse outside covertly,
618
Beyond the buttock, to the haunch-bone.
619
And then spoke up the clerk, Absalon:
620
‘Speak, sweet bird; I know not where you art.’
621
Then Nicholas at once let fly a fart,
622
As great as if it were a thunder-clap,
623
The clerk was nearly blinded with the blast;
624
Yet he was ready with his iron hot,
625
And Nicholas right in the arse he smote.
626
Off went the skin a hand’s breadth round and some;
627
The coulter had so burnt him on his bum,
628
That for the pain he thought he would die.
629
As if he were mad, he began to cry:
630
‘Help! Water, water, help, for God’s heart!’
631
The carpenter out of his slumber starts,
632
Hears him cry: ‘Water’ loud as ever he could,
633
And thought: ‘Alas, now here comes Noah’s flood!’
634
Up he sat at once, no more ado,
635
And with his axe he smote the cord in two,
636
And down he went – He had no time to sell
637
His bread or ale at all, but straight he fell
638
On to the floor, and there a-swooning was.
639
Up start our Alison and Nicholas,
640
And cry ‘Help!’ and ‘Succour!’ in the street.
641
The neighbours, the lesser and the great,
642
Came running in to gaze at this man,
643
Who swooning lay, both pale and wan,
644
For in the fall he broken had his arm.
645
But he had still to suffer all the harm,
646
For when he spoke, he was borne down,
647
By handsome Nicholas and Alison.
648
They told everyone that he was mad;
649
Afraid so, in a fantasy he had
650
Of Noah’s flood, that in his deep folly
651
He had bought him kneading-tubs three,
652
And had hung them from the roof above,
653
And had begged them, for God’s love,
654
To sit there in the roof for company.
655
The folk begin to mock his fantasy;
656
Up into the roof they gaze and stare;
657
And turn all his hurt to jest right there.
658
For whatsoever the carpenter averred
659
It was for naught; no man his story heard.
660
And with great oaths he was so put down
661
He was considered mad throughout the town,
662
For the clerks all said to one another.
663
‘The man is mad, for sure, my dear brother!’
664
And everybody laughed at all this strife.
665
And thus was had the carpenter’s wife,
666
For all his jealousy and keeping by;
667
And Absalon has kissed his nether-eye,
668
And Nicholas is scalded on the bum.
669
God save us all, and now this tale is done!
670
Here Ends the Miller’s Tale
|
