‘THE MINOR POEMS’ IN VOL. I. (continued 3)

This Carpenter had wedded newe a wyf Which that he lovede more than his lyf; Of eightetene yeer she was of age. Ialous he was, and heeld hir narwe in cage, 3225 For she was wilde and yong, and he was old (40) And demed him-self ben lyk a cokewold. He knew nat Catoun, for his wit was rude, That bad man sholde wedde his similitude. Men sholde wedden after hir estaat, 3230 For youthe and elde is often at debaat. But sith that he was fallen in the snare, He moste endure, as other folk, his care.

Fair was this yonge wyf, and ther-with-al As any wesele hir body gent and smal. 3235 A ceynt she werede barred al of silk, (50) A barmclooth eek as whyt as morne milk Up-on hir lendes, ful of many a gore. Whyt was hir smok, and brouded al bifore And eek bihinde, on hir coler aboute, 3240 Of col-blak silk, with-inne and eek with-oute. The tapes of hir whyte voluper Were of the same suyte of hir coler; Hir filet brood of silk, and set ful hye: And sikerly she hadde a likerous yë. 3245 Ful smale y-pulled were hir browes two, (60) And tho were bent, and blake as any sloo. She was ful more blisful on to see Than is the newe pere-ionette tree; And softer than the wolle is of a wether. 3250 And by hir girdel heeng a purs of lether Tasseld with silk, and perled with latoun. In al this world, to seken up and doun, There nis no man so wys, that coude thenche So gay a popelote, or swich a wenche. 3255 Ful brighter was the shyning of hir hewe (70) Than in the tour the noble y-forged newe. But of hir song, it was as loude and yerne As any swalwe sittinge on a berne. Ther-to she coude skippe and make game, 3260 As any kide or calf folwinge his dame. Hir mouth was swete as bragot or the meeth, Or hord of apples leyd in hey or heeth. Winsinge she was, as is a Ioly colt, Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt. 3265 A brooch she baar up-on hir lowe coler, (80) As brood as is the bos of a bocler. Hir shoes were laced on hir legges hye; She was a prymerole, a pigges-nye For any lord to leggen in his bedde, 3270 Or yet for any good yeman to wedde.

Now sire, and eft sire, so bifel the cas, That on a day this hende Nicholas Fil with this yonge wyf to rage and pleye, Whyl that hir housbond was at Oseneye, 3275 As clerkes ben ful subtile and ful queynte; (90) And prively he caughte hir by the queynte, And seyde, ‘y-wis, but if ich have my wille, For derne love of thee, lemman, I spille.’ And heeld hir harde by the haunche-bones, 3280 And seyde, ‘lemman, love me al at-ones, Or I wol dyen, also god me save!’ And she sprong as a colt doth in the trave, And with hir heed she wryed faste awey, And seyde, ‘I wol nat kisse thee, by my fey, 3285 Why, lat be,’ quod she, ‘lat be, Nicholas, (100) Or I wol crye out “harrow” and “allas.” Do wey your handes for your curteisye!’

This Nicholas gan mercy for to crye, And spak so faire, and profred hir so faste, 3290 That she hir love him graunted atte laste, And swoor hir ooth, by seint Thomas of Kent, That she wol been at his comandement, Whan that she may hir leyser wel espye. ‘Myn housbond is so ful of Ialousye, 3295 That but ye wayte wel and been privee, (110) I woot right wel I nam but deed,’ quod she. ‘Ye moste been ful derne, as in this cas.’ ‘Nay ther-of care thee noght,’ quod Nicholas, ‘A clerk had litherly biset his whyle, 3300 But-if he coude a Carpenter bigyle.’ And thus they been acorded and y-sworn To wayte a tyme, as I have told biforn. Whan Nicholas had doon thus everydeel, And thakked hir aboute the lendes weel, 3305 He kist hir swete, and taketh his sautrye, (120) And pleyeth faste, and maketh melodye.

Than fil it thus, that to the parish-chirche, Cristes owne werkes for to wirche, This gode wyf wente on an haliday; 3310 Hir forheed shoon as bright as any day, So was it wasshen whan she leet hir werk. Now was ther of that chirche a parish-clerk, The which that was y-cleped Absolon. Crul was his heer, and as the gold it shoon, 3315 And strouted as a fanne large and brode; (130) Ful streight and even lay his Ioly shode. His rode was reed, his eyen greye as goos; With Powles window corven on his shoos, In hoses rede he wente fetisly. 3320 Y-clad he was ful smal and proprely, Al in a kirtel of a light wachet; Ful faire and thikke been the poyntes set. And ther-up-on he hadde a gay surplys As whyt as is the blosme up-on the rys. 3325 A mery child he was, so god me save, (140) Wel coude he laten blood and clippe and shave, And make a chartre of lond or acquitaunce. In twenty manere coude he trippe and daunce After the scole of Oxenforde tho, 3330 And with his legges casten to and fro, And pleyen songes on a small rubible; Ther-to he song som-tyme a loud quinible; And as wel coude he pleye on his giterne. In al the toun nas brewhous ne taverne 3335 That he ne visited with his solas, (150) Ther any gaylard tappestere was. But sooth to seyn, he was somdel squaymous Of farting, and of speche daungerous.

This Absolon, that Iolif was and gay, 3340 Gooth with a sencer on the haliday, Sensinge the wyves of the parish faste; And many a lovely look on hem he caste, And namely on this carpenteres wyf. To loke on hir him thoughte a mery lyf, 3345 She was so propre and swete and likerous. (160) I dar wel seyn, if she had been a mous, And he a cat, he wolde hir hente anon.

This parish-clerk, this Ioly Absolon, Hath in his herte swich a love-longinge, 3350 That of no wyf ne took he noon offringe; For curteisye, he seyde, he wolde noon. The mone, whan it was night, ful brighte shoon, And Absolon his giterne hath y-take, For paramours, he thoghte for to wake. 3353 And forth he gooth, Iolif and amorous, (170) Til he cam to the carpenteres hous A litel after cokkes hadde y-crowe; And dressed him up by a shot-windowe That was up-on the carpenteres wal. 3360 He singeth in his vois gentil and smal, ‘Now, dere lady, if thy wille be, I preye yow that ye wol rewe on me,’ Ful wel acordaunt to his giterninge. This carpenter awook, and herde him singe, 3365 And spak un-to his wyf, and seyde anon, (180) ‘What! Alison! herestow nat Absolon That chaunteth thus under our boures wal?’ And she answerde hir housbond ther-with-al, ‘Yis, god wot, Iohn, I here it every-del.’

3370 This passeth forth; what wol ye bet than wel? Fro day to day this Ioly Absolon So woweth hir, that him is wo bigon. He waketh al the night and al the day; He kempte hise lokkes brode, and made him gay; 3375 He woweth hir by menes and brocage, (190) And swoor he wolde been hir owne page; He singeth, brokkinge as a nightingale; He sente hir piment, meeth, and spyced ale, And wafres, pyping hote out of the glede; 3380 And for she was of toune, he profred mede. For som folk wol ben wonnen for richesse, And som for strokes, and som for gentillesse.

Somtyme, to shewe his lightnesse and maistrye, He pleyeth Herodes on a scaffold hye. 3385 But what availleth him as in this cas? (200) She loveth so this hende Nicholas, That Absolon may blowe the bukkes horn; He ne hadde for his labour but a scorn; And thus she maketh Absolon hir ape, 3390 And al his ernest turneth til a Iape. Ful sooth is this proverbe, it is no lye, Men seyn right thus, ‘alwey the nye slye Maketh the ferre leve to be looth.’ For though that Absolon be wood or wrooth, 3395 By-cause that he fer was from hir sighte, (210) This nye Nicholas stood in his lighte.

Now bere thee wel, thou hende Nicholas! For Absolon may waille and singe ‘allas.’ And so bifel it on a Saterday, 3400 This carpenter was goon til Osenay; And hende Nicholas and Alisoun Acorded been to this conclusioun, That Nicholas shal shapen him a wyle This sely Ialous housbond to bigyle; 3405 And if so be the game wente aright, (220) She sholde slepen in his arm al night, For this was his desyr and hir also. And right anon, with-outen wordes mo, This Nicholas no lenger wolde tarie, 3410 But doth ful softe un-to his chambre carie Bothe mete and drinke for a day or tweye, And to hir housbonde bad hir for to seye, If that he axed after Nicholas, She sholde seye she niste where he was, 3415 Of al that day she saugh him nat with yë; (230) She trowed that he was in maladye, For, for no cry, hir mayde coude him calle; He nolde answere, for no-thing that mighte falle.

This passeth forth al thilke Saterday, 3420 That Nicholas stille in his chambre lay, And eet and sleep, or dide what him leste, Til Sonday, that the sonne gooth to reste. This sely carpenter hath greet merveyle Of Nicholas, or what thing mighte him eyle, 3425 And seyde, ‘I am adrad, by seint Thomas, (240) It stondeth nat aright with Nicholas. God shilde that he deyde sodeynly! This world is now ful tikel, sikerly; I saugh to-day a cors y-born to chirche 3430 That now, on Monday last, I saugh him wirche. Go up,’ quod he un-to his knave anoon, ‘Clepe at his dore, or knokke with a stoon, Loke how it is, and tel me boldely.’ This knave gooth him up ful sturdily, 3435 And at the chambre-dore, whyl that he stood, (250) He cryde and knokked as that he were wood:— ‘What! how! what do ye, maister Nicholay? How may ye slepen al the longe day?’ But al for noght, he herde nat a word; 3440 An hole he fond, ful lowe up-on a bord, Ther as the cat was wont in for to crepe; And at that hole he looked in ful depe, And at the laste he hadde of him a sighte. This Nicholas sat gaping ever up-righte, 3445 As he had kyked on the newe mone. (260) Adoun he gooth, and tolde his maister sone In what array he saugh this ilke man.

This carpenter to blessen him bigan, And seyde, ‘help us, seinte Frideswyde! 3450 A man woot litel what him shal bityde. This man is falle, with his astromye, In som woodnesse or in som agonye; I thoghte ay wel how that it sholde be! Men sholde nat knowe of goddes privetee. 3455 Ye, blessed be alwey a lewed man, (270) That noght but oonly his bileve can! So ferde another clerk with astromye; He walked in the feeldes for to prye Up-on the sterres, what ther sholde bifalle, 3460 Til he was in a marle-pit y-falle; He saugh nat that. But yet, by seint Thomas, Me reweth sore of hende Nicholas. He shal be rated of his studying, If that I may, by Iesus, hevene king!

3465 Get me a staf, that I may underspore, (280) Whyl that thou, Robin, hevest up the dore. He shal out of his studying, as I gesse’— And to the chambre-dore he gan him dresse. His knave was a strong carl for the nones, 3470 And by the haspe he haf it up atones; In-to the floor the dore fil anon. This Nicholas sat ay as stille as stoon, And ever gaped upward in-to the eir. This carpenter wende he were in despeir, 3475 And hente him by the sholdres mightily, (290) And shook him harde, and cryde spitously, ‘What! Nicholay! what, how! what! loke adoun! Awake, and thenk on Cristes passioun; I crouche thee from elves and fro wightes!’ 3480 Ther-with the night-spel seyde he anon-rightes On foure halves of the hous aboute, And on the threshfold of the dore with-oute:— ‘Iesu Crist, and seynt Benedight, Blesse this hous from every wikked wight, 3485 For nightes verye, the white pater-noster! (300) Where wentestow, seynt Petres soster?’

And atte laste this hende Nicholas Gan for to syke sore, and seyde, ‘allas! Shal al the world be lost eftsones now?’

3490 This carpenter answerde, ‘what seystow? What! thenk on god, as we don, men that swinke.’

This Nicholas answerde, ‘fecche me drinke; And after wol I speke in privetee Of certeyn thing that toucheth me and thee; 3495 I wol telle it non other man, certeyn.’ (310) This carpenter goth doun, and comth ageyn, And broghte of mighty ale a large quart; And whan that ech of hem had dronke his part, This Nicholas his dore faste shette, 3500 And doun the carpenter by him he sette. He seyde, ‘Iohn, myn hoste lief and dere, Thou shall up-on thy trouthe swere me here, That to no wight thou shalt this conseil wreye; For it is Cristes conseil that I seye, 3505 And if thou telle it man, thou are forlore; (320) For this vengaunce thou shalt han therfore, That if thou wreye me, thou shalt be wood!’ ‘Nay, Crist forbede it, for his holy blood!’ Quod tho this sely man, ‘I nam no labbe, 3510 Ne, though I seye, I nam nat lief to gabbe. Sey what thou wolt, I shal it never telle To child ne wyf, by him that harwed helle!’

‘Now John,’ quod Nicholas, ‘I wol nat lye; I have y-founde in myn astrologye, 3515 As I have loked in the mone bright, (330) That now, a Monday next, at quarter-night, Shal falle a reyn and that so wilde and wood, That half so greet was never Noës flood. This world,’ he seyde, ‘in lasse than in an hour 3520 Shal al be dreynt, so hidous is the shour; Thus shal mankynde drenche and lese hir lyf.’

This carpenter answerde, ‘allas, my wyf! And shal she drenche? allas! myn Alisoun!’ For sorwe of this he fil almost adoun, 3525 And seyde, ‘is ther no remedie in this cas?’

(340) ‘Why, yis, for gode,’ quod hende Nicholas, ‘If thou wolt werken after lore and reed; Thou mayst nat werken after thyn owene heed. For thus seith Salomon, that was ful trewe, 3530 “Werk al by conseil, and thou shalt nat rewe.” And if thou werken wolt by good conseil, I undertake, with-outen mast and seyl, Yet shal I saven hir and thee and me Hastow nat herd how saved was Noë, 3535 Whan that our lord had warned him biforn (350) That al the world with water sholde be lorn?’

‘Yis,’ quod this carpenter, ‘ful yore ago.’ ‘Hastow nat herd,’ quod Nicholas, ‘also The sorwe of Noë with his felawshipe, 3540 Er that he mighte gete his wyf to shipe? Him had be lever, I dar wel undertake, At thilke tyme, than alle hise wetheres blake, That she hadde had a ship hir-self allone. And ther-fore, wostou what is best to done? 3545 This asketh haste, and of an hastif thing (360) Men may nat preche or maken tarying.

Anon go gete us faste in-to this in A kneding-trogh, or elles a kimelin, For ech of us, but loke that they be large, 3550 In whiche we mowe swimme as in a barge, And han ther-inne vitaille suffisant But for a day; fy on the remenant! The water shal aslake and goon away Aboute pryme up-on the nexte day. 3555 But Robin may nat wite of this, thy knave, (370) Ne eek thy mayde Gille I may nat save; Axe nat why, for though thou aske me, I wol nat tellen goddes privetee. Suffiseth thee, but if thy wittes madde, 3560 To han as greet a grace as Noë hadde. Thy wyf shal I wel saven, out of doute, Go now thy wey, and speed thee heer-aboute.

But whan thou hast, for hir and thee and me, Y-geten us thise kneding-tubbes three, 3565 Than shaltow hange hem in the roof ful hye, (380) That no man of our purveyaunce spye. And whan thou thus hast doon as I have seyd, And hast our vitaille faire in hem y-leyd, And eek an ax, to smyte the corde atwo 3570 When that the water comth, that we may go, And broke an hole an heigh, up-on the gable, Unto the gardin-ward, over the stable, That we may frely passen forth our way Whan that the grete shour is goon away— 3575 Than shaltow swimme as myrie, I undertake, (390) As doth the whyte doke after hir drake. Than wol I clepe, “how! Alison! how! John! Be myrie, for the flood wol passe anon.” And thou wolt seyn, “hayl, maister Nicholay! 3580 Good morwe, I se thee wel, for it is day.” And than shul we be lordes al our lyf Of al the world, as Noë and his wyf.

But of o thyng I warne thee ful right, Be wel avysed, on that ilke night 3585 That we ben entred in-to shippes bord, (400) That noon of us ne speke nat a word, Ne clepe, ne crye, but been in his preyere; For it is goddes owne heste dere.

Thy wyf and thou mote hange fer a-twinne, 3590 For that bitwixe yow shal be no sinne No more in looking than ther shal in dede; This ordinance is seyd, go, god thee spede! Tomorwe at night, whan men ben alle aslepe, In-to our kneding-tubbes wol we crepe, 3595 And sitten ther, abyding goddes grace. (410) Go now thy wey, I have no lenger space To make of this no lenger sermoning. Men seyn thus, “send the wyse, and sey no-thing;” Thou art so wys, it nedeth thee nat teche; 3600 Go, save our lyf, and that I thee biseche.’

This sely carpenter goth forth his wey. Ful ofte he seith ‘allas’ and ‘weylawey,’ And to his wyf he tolde his privetee; And she was war, and knew it bet than he, 3605 What al this queynte cast was for to seye. (420) But nathelees she ferde as she wolde deye, And seyde, ‘allas! go forth thy wey anon, Help us to scape, or we ben lost echon; I am thy trewe verray wedded wyf; 3610 Go, dere spouse, and help to save our lyf.’

Lo! which a greet thyng is affeccioun! Men may dye of imaginacioun, So depe may impressioun be take. This sely carpenter biginneth quake; 3615 Him thinketh verraily that he may see (430) Noës flood come walwing as the see To drenchen Alisoun, his hony dere. He wepeth, weyleth, maketh sory chere, He syketh with ful many a sory swogh. 3620 He gooth and geteth him a kneding-trogh, And after that a tubbe and a kimelin, And prively he sente hem to his in, And heng hem in the roof in privetee. His owne hand he made laddres three, 3625 To climben by the ronges and the stalkes (440) Un-to the tubbes hanginge in the balkes, And hem vitailled, bothe trogh and tubbe, With breed and chese, and good ale in a Iubbe, Suffysinge right y-nogh as for a day. 3630 But er that he had maad al this array, He sente his knave, and eek his wenche also, Up-on his nede to London for to go. And on the Monday, whan it drow to night, He shette his dore with-oute candel-light, 3635 And dressed al thing as it sholde be. (450) And shortly, up they clomben alle three; They sitten stille wel a furlong-way.

‘Now, Pater-noster, clom!’ seyde Nicholay, And ‘clom,’ quod John, and ‘clom,’ seyde Alisoun. 3640 This carpenter seyde his devocioun, And stille he sit, and biddeth his preyere, Awaytinge on the reyn, if he it here. The dede sleep, for wery bisinesse, Fil on this carpenter right, as I gesse, 3645 Aboute corfew-tyme, or litel more; (460) For travail of his goost he groneth sore, And eft he routeth, for his heed mislay. Doun of the laddre stalketh Nicholay, And Alisoun, ful softe adoun she spedde; 3650 With-outen wordes mo, they goon to bedde Ther-as the carpenter is wont to lye. Ther was the revel and the melodye; And thus lyth Alison and Nicholas, In bisinesse of mirthe and of solas, 3655 Til that the belle of laudes gan to ringe, (470) And freres in the chauncel gonne singe.

This parish-clerk, this amorous Absolon, That is for love alwey so wo bigon, Up-on the Monday was at Oseneye 3660 With companye, him to disporte and pleye, And axed up-on cas a cloisterer Ful prively after Iohn the carpenter; And he drough him a-part out of the chirche, And seyde, ‘I noot, I saugh him here nat wirche 3665 Sin Saterday; I trow that he be went (480) For timber, ther our abbot hath him sent; For he is wont for timber for to go, And dwellen at the grange a day or two; Or elles he is at his hous, certeyn; 3670 Wher that he be, I can nat sothly seyn.’

This Absolon ful Ioly was and light, And thoghte, ‘now is tyme wake al night; For sikirly I saugh him nat stiringe Aboute his dore sin day bigan to springe. 3675 So moot I thryve, I shal, at cokkes crowe, (490) Ful prively knokken at his windowe That stant ful lowe up-on his boures wal. To Alison now wol I tellen al My love-longing, for yet I shal nat misse 3680 That at the leste wey I shal hir kisse. Som maner confort shal I have, parfay, My mouth hath icched al this longe day; That is a signe of kissing atte leste. Al night me mette eek, I was at a feste. 3685 Therfor I wol gon slepe an houre or tweye, (500) And al the night than wol I wake and pleye.’

Whan that the firste cok hath crowe, anon Up rist this Ioly lover Absolon, And him arrayeth gay, at point-devys. 3690 But first he cheweth greyn and lycorys, To smellen swete, er he had kembd his heer. Under his tonge a trewe love he beer, For ther-by wende he to ben gracious. He rometh to the carpenteres hous, 3695 And stille he stant under the shot-windowe; (510) Un-to his brest it raughte, it was so lowe; And softe he cogheth with a semi-soun— ‘What do ye, hony-comb, swete Alisoun? My faire brid, my swete cinamome, 3700 Awaketh, lemman myn, and speketh to me! Wel litel thenken ye up-on my wo, That for your love I swete ther I go. No wonder is thogh that I swelte and swete; I moorne as doth a lamb after the tete. 3705 Y-wis, lemman, I have swich love-longinge, (520) That lyk a turtel trewe is my moorninge; I may nat ete na more than a mayde.’

‘Go fro the window, Iakke fool,’ she sayde, ‘As help me god, it wol nat be “com ba me,” 3710 I love another, and elles I were to blame, Wel bet than thee, by Iesu, Absolon! Go forth thy wey, or I wol caste a ston, And lat me slepe, a twenty devel wey!’

‘Allas,’ quod Absolon, ‘and weylawey! 3715 That trewe love was ever so yvel biset! (530) Than kisse me, sin it may be no bet, For Iesus love and for the love of me.’

‘Wiltow than go thy wey ther-with?’ quod she.

‘Ye, certes, lemman,’ quod this Absolon. 3720 ‘Thanne make thee redy,’ quod she, ‘I come anon;’ [T. om. And un-to Nicholas she seyde stille, [T. om. ‘Now hust, and thou shall laughen al thy fille.’

This Absolon doun sette him on his knees, And seyde, ‘I am a lord at alle degrees; 3725 For after this I hope ther cometh more! (540) Lemman, thy grace, and swete brid, thyn ore!’

The window she undoth, and that in haste, ‘Have do,’ quod she, ‘com of, and speed thee faste, Lest that our neighebores thee espye.’

3730 This Absolon gan wype his mouth ful drye; Derk was the night as pich, or as the cole, And at the window out she putte hir hole, And Absolon, him fil no bet ne wers, But with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers 3735 Ful savourly, er he was war of this.

(550) Abak he sterte, and thoghte it was amis, For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd; He felte a thing al rough and long y-herd, And seyde, ‘fy! allas! what have I do?’

3740 ‘Tehee!’ quod she, and clapte the window to; And Absolon goth forth a sory pas. ‘A berd, a berd!’ quod hende Nicholas, ‘By goddes corpus, this goth faire and weel!’ This sely Absolon herde every deel, 3745 And on his lippe he gan for anger byte; (560) And to him-self he seyde, ‘I shal thee quyte!’

Who rubbeth now, who froteth now his lippes With dust, with sond, with straw, with clooth, with chippes, But Absolon, that seith ful ofte, ‘allas! 3750 My soule bitake I un-to Sathanas, But me wer lever than al this toun,’ quod he, ‘Of this despyt awroken for to be! Allas!’ quod he, ‘allas! I ne hadde y-bleynt!’ His hote love was cold and al y-queynt; 3755 For fro that tyme that he had kiste hir ers, (570) Of paramours he sette nat a kers, For he was heled of his maladye; Ful ofte paramours he gan deffye, And weep as dooth a child that is y-bete. 3760 A softe paas he wente over the strete Un-til a smith men cleped daun Gerveys, That in his forge smithed plough-harneys; He sharpeth shaar and culter bisily. This Absolon knokketh al esily, 3765 And seyde, ‘undo, Gerveys, and that anon.’

(580) ‘What, who artow?’ ‘It am I, Absolon.’ ‘What, Absolon! for Cristes swete tree, Why ryse ye so rathe, ey, benedicite! What eyleth yow? som gay gerl, god it woot, 3770 Hath broght yow thus up-on the viritoot; By sëynt Note, ye woot wel what I mene.’

This Absolon ne roghte nat a bene Of al his pley, no word agayn he yaf; He hadde more tow on his distaf 3775 Than Gerveys knew, and seyde, ‘freend so dere, (590) That hote culter in the chimenee here, As lene it me, I have ther-with to done, And I wol bringe it thee agayn ful sone.’

Gerveys answerde, ‘certes, were it gold, 3780 Or in a poke nobles alle untold, Thou sholdest have, as I am trewe smith; Ey, Cristes foo! what wol ye do ther-with?’

‘Ther-of,’ quod Absolon, ‘be as be may; I shal wel telle it thee to-morwe day’— 3785 And caughte the culter by the colde stele. (600) Ful softe out at the dore he gan to stele, And wente un-to the carpenteres wal. He cogheth first, and knokketh ther-with-al Upon the windowe, right as he dide er.

3790 This Alison answerde, ‘Who is ther That knokketh so? I warante it a theef.’ ‘Why, nay,’ quod he, ‘god woot, my swete leef, I am thyn Absolon, my dereling! Of gold,’ quod he, ‘I have thee broght a ring; 3795 My moder yaf it me, so god me save, (610) Ful fyn it is, and ther-to wel y-grave; This wol I yeve thee, if thou me kisse!’

This Nicholas was risen for to pisse, And thoghte he wolde amenden al the Iape, 3800 He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape. And up the windowe dide he hastily, And out his ers he putteth prively Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon; And ther-with spak this clerk, this Absolon, 3805 ‘Spek, swete brid, I noot nat wher thou art.’

(620) This Nicholas anon leet flee a fart, As greet as it had been a thonder-dent, That with the strook he was almost y-blent; And he was redy with his iren hoot, 3810 And Nicholas amidde the ers he smoot.

Of gooth the skin an hande-brede aboute, The hole culter brende so his toute, And for the smert he wende for to dye. As he were wood, for wo he gan to crye— 3815 Help! water! water! help, for goddes herte!’

(630) This carpenter out of his slomber sterte, And herde oon cryen ‘water’ as he were wood, And thoghte, ‘Allas! now comth Nowelis flood!’ He sit him up with-outen wordes mo, 3820 And with his ax he smoot the corde a-two, And doun goth al; he fond neither to selle, Ne breed ne ale, til he cam to the celle Up-on the floor; and ther aswowne he lay.

Up sterte hir Alison, and Nicholay, 3835 And cryden ‘out’ and ‘harrow’ in the strete. (640) The neighebores, bothe smale and grete, In ronnen, for to gauren on this man, That yet aswowne he lay, bothe pale and wan; For with the fal he brosten hadde his arm; 3830 But stonde he moste un-to his owne harm. For whan he spak, he was anon bore doun With hende Nicholas and Alisoun. They tolden every man that he was wood, He was agast so of ‘Nowelis flood’ 3835 Thurgh fantasye, that of his vanitee (650) He hadde y-boght him kneding-tubbes three, And hadde hem hanged in the roof above; And that he preyed hem, for goddes love, To sitten in the roof, par companye.

3840 The folk gan laughen at his fantasye; In-to the roof they kyken and they gape, And turned al his harm un-to a Iape. For what so that this carpenter answerde, It was for noght, no man his reson herde; 3845 With othes grete he was so sworn adoun, (660) That he was holden wood in al the toun; For every clerk anon-right heeld with other. They seyde, ‘the man is wood, my leve brother;’ And every wight gan laughen of this stryf.

3850 Thus swyved was the carpenteres wyf, For al his keping and his Ialousye; And Absolon hath kist hir nether yë; (667) And Nicholas is scalded in the toute. 3854 This tale is doon, and god save al the route! Here endeth the Millere his tale.

The prologe of the Reves tale. 3855 Whan folk had laughen at this nyce cas Of Absolon and hende Nicholas, Diverse folk diversely they seyde; But, for the more part, they loughe and pleyde, Ne at this tale I saugh no man him greve, 3860 But it were only Osewold the Reve, By-cause he was of carpenteres craft. A litel ire is in his herte y-laft, He gan to grucche and blamed it a lyte.

(10) ‘So theek,’ quod he, ‘ful wel coude I yow quyte 3865 With blering of a proud milleres yë, If that me liste speke of ribaudye. But ik am old, me list not pley for age; Gras-tyme is doon, my fodder is now forage, This whyte top wryteth myne olde yeres, 3870 Myn herte is al-so mowled as myne heres, But-if I fare as dooth an open-ers; That ilke fruit is ever leng the wers, Til it be roten in mullok or in stree. (20) We olde men, I drede, so fare we; 3875 Til we be roten, can we nat be rype; We hoppen ay, whyl that the world wol pype. For in oure wil ther stiketh ever a nayl, To have an hoor heed and a grene tayl, As hath a leek; for thogh our might be goon, 3880 Our wil desireth folie ever in oon. For whan we may nat doon, than wol we speke; Yet in our asshen olde is fyr y-reke.

Foure gledes han we, whiche I shal devyse, (30) Avaunting, lying, anger, coveityse; 3885 Thise foure sparkles longen un-to elde. Our olde lemes mowe wel been unwelde, But wil ne shal nat faillen, that is sooth. And yet ik have alwey a coltes tooth, As many a yeer as it is passed henne 3890 Sin that my tappe of lyf bigan to renne. For sikerly, whan I was bore, anon Deeth drogh the tappe of lyf and leet it gon; And ever sith hath so the tappe y-ronne, (40) Til that almost al empty is the tonne. 3895 The streem of lyf now droppeth on the chimbe; The sely tonge may wel ringe and chimbe Of wrecchednesse that passed is ful yore; With olde folk, save dotage, is namore.’

Whan that our host hadde herd this sermoning, 3900 He gan to speke as lordly as a king; He seide, ‘what amounteth al this wit? What shul we speke alday of holy writ? The devel made a reve for to preche, (50) And of a souter a shipman or a leche. 3905 Sey forth thy tale, and tarie nat the tyme, Lo, Depeford! and it is half-way pryme. Lo, Grenewich, ther many a shrewe is inne; It were al tyme thy tale to biginne.’

‘Now, sires,’ quod this Osewold the Reve, 3910 ‘I pray yow alle that ye nat yow greve, Thogh I answere and somdel sette his howve; For leveful is with force force of-showve.

This dronke millere hath y-told us heer, (60) How that bigyled was a carpenteer, 3915 Peraventure in scorn, for I am oon. And, by your leve, I shal him quyte anoon; Right in his cherles termes wol I speke. I pray to god his nekke mote breke; He can wel in myn yë seen a stalke, 3920 But in his owne he can nat seen a balke.

Here biginneth the Reves tale. At Trumpington, nat fer fro Cantebrigge, Ther goth a brook and over that a brigge, Up-on the whiche brook ther stant a melle; And this is verray soth that I yow telle. 3925 A Miller was ther dwelling many a day; As eny pecok he was proud and gay. Pypen he coude and fisshe, and nettes bete, And turne coppes, and wel wrastle and shete; And by his belt he baar a long panade, 3930 And of a swerd ful trenchant was the blade. (11) A Ioly popper baar he in his pouche; Ther was no man for peril dorste him touche. A Sheffeld thwitel baar he in his hose; Round was his face, and camuse was his nose. 3935 As piled as an ape was his skulle. He was a market-beter atte fulle. Ther dorste no wight hand up-on him legge, That he ne swoor he sholde anon abegge. A theef he was for sothe of corn and mele, 3940 And that a sly, and usaunt for to stele. (21) His name was hoten dëynous Simkin. A wyf he hadde, y-comen of noble kin; The person of the toun hir fader was. With hir he yaf ful many a panne of bras, 3945 For that Simkin sholde in his blood allye. She was y-fostred in a nonnerye; For Simkin wolde no wyf, as he sayde, But she were wel y-norissed and a mayde, To saven his estaat of yomanrye. 3950 And she was proud, and pert as is a pye. (31) A ful fair sighte was it on hem two; On haly-dayes biforn hir wolde he go With his tipet bounden about his heed, And she cam after in a gyte of reed; 3955 And Simkin hadde hosen of the same. Ther dorste no wight clepen hir but ‘dame.’ Was noon so hardy that wente by the weye That with hir dorste rage or ones pleye, But-if he wolde be slayn of Simkin 3960 With panade, or with knyf, or boydekin. (41) For Ialous folk ben perilous evermo, Algate they wolde hir wyves wenden so. And eek, for she was somdel smoterlich, She was as digne as water in a dich; 3965 And ful of hoker and of bisemare. Hir thoughte that a lady sholde hir spare, What for hir kinrede and hir nortelrye That she had lerned in the nonnerye.

A doghter hadde they bitwixe hem two 3970 Of twenty yeer, with-outen any mo, (51) Savinge a child that was of half-yeer age; In cradel it lay and was a propre page. This wenche thikke and wel y-growen was, With camuse nose and yën greye as glas; 3975 With buttokes brode and brestes rounde and hye, But right fair was hir heer, I wol nat lye.

The person of the toun, for she was feir, In purpos was to maken hir his heir Bothe of his catel and his messuage, 3980 And straunge he made it of hir mariage. (61) His purpos was for to bistowe hir hye In-to som worthy blood of auncetrye; For holy chirches good moot been despended On holy chirches blood, that is descended. 3985 Therfore he wolde his holy blood honoure, Though that he holy chirche sholde devoure.

Gret soken hath this miller, out of doute, With whete and malt of al the land aboute; And nameliche ther was a greet collegge, 3990 Men clepen the Soler-halle at Cantebregge, (71) Ther was hir whete and eek hir malt y-grounde. And on a day it happed, in a stounde, Sik lay the maunciple on a maladye; Men wenden wisly that he sholde dye. 3995 For which this miller stal bothe mele and corn An hundred tyme more than biforn; For ther-biforn he stal but curteisly, But now he was a theef outrageously, For which the wardeyn chidde and made fare. 4000 But ther-of sette the miller nat a tare; (81) He craketh boost, and swoor it was nat so.

Than were ther yonge povre clerkes two, That dwelten in this halle, of which I seye. Testif they were, and lusty for to pleye, 4005 And, only for hir mirthe and revelrye, Up-on the wardeyn bisily they crye, To yeve hem leve but a litel stounde To goon to mille and seen hir corn y-grounde; And hardily, they dorste leye hir nekke, 4010 The miller shold nat stele hem half a pekke (91) Of corn by sleighte, ne by force hem reve; And at the laste the wardeyn yaf hem leve. Iohn hight that oon, and Aleyn hight that other; Of o toun were they born, that highte Strother, 4015 Fer in the north, I can nat telle where.

This Aleyn maketh redy al his gere, And on an hors the sak he caste anon. Forth goth Aleyn the clerk, and also Iohn, With good swerd and with bokeler by hir syde. 4020 Iohn knew the wey, hem nedede no gyde, (101) And at the mille the sak adoun he layth. Aleyn spak first, ‘al hayl, Symond, y-fayth; How fares thy faire doghter and thy wyf?’

‘Aleyn! welcome,’ quod Simkin, ‘by my lyf, 4025 And Iohn also, how now, what do ye heer?’ ‘Symond,’ quod Iohn, ‘by god, nede has na peer; Him boës serve him-selve that has na swayn, Or elles he is a fool, as clerkes sayn. Our manciple, I hope he wil be deed, 4030 Swa werkes ay the wanges in his heed. (111) And forthy is I come, and eek Alayn, To grinde our corn and carie it ham agayn; I pray yow spede us hethen that ye may.’

‘It shal be doon,’ quod Simkin, ‘by my fay; 4035 What wol ye doon whyl that it is in hande?’ ‘By god, right by the hoper wil I stande,’ Quod Iohn, ‘and se how that the corn gas in; Yet saugh I never, by my fader kin, How that the hoper wagges til and fra.’

4040 Aleyn answerde, ‘Iohn, and wiltow swa, (121) Than wil I be bynethe, by my croun, And se how that the mele falles doun In-to the trough; that sal be my disport. For Iohn, in faith, I may been of your sort; 4045 I is as ille a miller as are ye.’

This miller smyled of hir nycetee, And thoghte, ‘al this nis doon but for a wyle; They wene that no man may hem bigyle; But, by my thrift, yet shal I blere hir yë 4050 For al the sleighte in hir philosophye. (131) The more queynte crekes that they make, The more wol I stele whan I take. In stede of flour, yet wol I yeve hem bren. “The gretteste clerkes been noght the wysest men,” 4055 As whylom to the wolf thus spak the mare; Of al hir art I counte noght a tare.’

Out at the dore he gooth ful prively, Whan that he saugh his tyme, softely; He loketh up and doun til he hath founde 4060 The clerkes hors, ther as it stood y-bounde (141) Bihinde the mille, under a levesel; And to the hors he gooth him faire and wel; He strepeth of the brydel right anon. And whan the hors was loos, he ginneth gon 4065 Toward the fen, ther wilde mares renne, Forth with wehee, thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne.

This miller gooth agayn, no word he seyde, But dooth his note, and with the clerkes pleyde, Til that hir corn was faire and wel y-grounde. 4070 And whan the mele is sakked and y-bounde, (151) This Iohn goth out and fynt his hors away, And gan to crye ‘harrow’ and ‘weylaway! Our hors is lorn! Alayn, for goddes banes, Step on thy feet, com out, man, al at anes! 4075 Allas, our wardeyn has his palfrey lorn.’ This Aleyn al forgat, bothe mele and corn, Al was out of his mynde his housbondrye. ‘What? whilk way is he geen?’ he gan to crye.

The wyf cam leping inward with a ren, 4080 She seyde, ‘allas! your hors goth to the fen (161) With wilde mares, as faste as he may go. Unthank come on his hand that bond him so, And he that bettre sholde han knit the reyne.’

‘Allas,’ quod Iohn, ‘Aleyn, for Cristes peyne, 4085 Lay doun thy swerd, and I wil myn alswa; I is ful wight, god waat, as is a raa; By goddes herte he sal nat scape us bathe. Why nadstow pit the capul in the lathe? Il-hayl, by god, Aleyn, thou is a fonne!’

4090 This sely clerkes han ful faste y-ronne (171) To-ward the fen, bothe Aleyn and eek Iohn. And whan the miller saugh that they were gon, He half a busshel of hir flour hath take, And bad his wyf go knede it in a cake. 4095 He seyde, ‘I trowe the clerkes were aferd; Yet can a miller make a clerkes berd For al his art; now lat hem goon hir weye. Lo wher they goon, ye, lat the children pleye; They gete him nat so lightly, by my croun!’

4100 Thise sely clerkes rennen up and doun (181) With ‘keep, keep, stand, stand, Iossa, warderere, Ga whistle thou, and I shal kepe him here!’ But shortly, til that it was verray night, They coude nat, though they do al hir might, 4105 Hir capul cacche, he ran alwey so faste, Til in a dich they caughte him atte laste.

Wery and weet, as beste is in the reyn, Comth sely Iohn, and with him comth Aleyn. ‘Allas,’ quod Iohn, ‘the day that I was born! 4110 Now are we drive til hething and til scorn. (191) Our corn is stole, men wil us foles calle, Bathe the wardeyn and our felawes alle, And namely the miller; weylaway!’

Thus pleyneth Iohn as he goth by the way 4115 Toward the mille, and Bayard in his hond. The miller sitting by the fyr he fond, For it was night, and forther mighte they noght; But, for the love of god, they him bisoght Of herberwe and of ese, as for hir peny. 4120 The miller seyde agayn, ‘if ther be eny, (201) Swich as it is, yet shal ye have your part. Myn hous is streit, but ye han lerned art; Ye conne by argumentes make a place A myle brood of twenty foot of space. 4125 Lat see now if this place may suffyse, Or make it roum with speche, as is youre gyse.’

‘Now, Symond,’ seyde Iohn, ‘by seint Cutberd, Ay is thou mery, and this is faire answerd. I have herd seyd, man sal taa of twa thinges 4130 Slyk as he fyndes, or taa slyk as he bringes. (211) But specially, I pray thee, hoste dere, Get us som mete and drinke, and make us chere, And we wil payen trewely atte fulle. With empty hand men may na haukes tulle; 4135 Lo here our silver, redy for to spende.’

This miller in-to toun his doghter sende For ale and breed, and rosted hem a goos, And bond hir hors, it sholde nat gon loos; And in his owne chambre hem made a bed 4140 With shetes and with chalons faire y-spred, (221) Noght from his owne bed ten foot or twelve. His doghter hadde a bed, al by hir-selve, Right in the same chambre, by and by; It mighte be no bet, and cause why, 4145 Ther was no roumer herberwe in the place. They soupen and they speke, hem to solace, And drinken ever strong ale atte beste. Aboute midnight wente they to reste.

Wel hath this miller vernisshed his heed; 4150 Ful pale he was for-dronken, and nat reed. (231) He yexeth, and he speketh thurgh the nose As he were on the quakke, or on the pose. To bedde he gooth, and with him goth his wyf. As any Iay she light was and Iolyf, 4155 So was hir Ioly whistle wel y-wet. The cradel at hir beddes feet is set, To rokken, and to yeve the child to souke. And whan that dronken al was in the crouke, To bedde went the doghter right anon; 4160 To bedde gooth Aleyn and also Iohn; (241) Ther nas na more, hem nedede no dwale. This miller hath so wisly bibbed ale, That as an hors he snorteth in his sleep, Ne of his tayl bihinde he took no keep. 4165 His wyf bar him a burdon, a ful strong, Men mighte hir routing here two furlong; The wenche routeth eek par companye.

Aleyn the clerk, that herd this melodye, He poked Iohn, and seyde, ‘slepestow? 4170 Herdestow ever slyk a sang er now? (251) Lo, whilk a compline is y-mel hem alle! A wilde fyr up-on thair bodyes falle! Wha herkned ever slyk a ferly thing? Ye, they sal have the flour of il ending. 4175 This lange night ther tydes me na reste; But yet, na fors; al sal be for the beste. For Iohn,’ seyde he, ‘als ever moot I thryve, If that I may, yon wenche wil I swyve. Som esement has lawe y-shapen us; 4180 For Iohn, ther is a lawe that says thus, (261) That gif a man in a point be y-greved, That in another he sal be releved. Our corn is stoln, shortly, it is na nay, And we han had an il fit al this day. 4185 And sin I sal have neen amendement, Agayn my los I wil have esement. By goddes saule, it sal neen other be!’

This Iohn answerde, ‘Alayn, avyse thee, The miller is a perilous man,’ he seyde, 4190 ‘And gif that he out of his sleep abreyde, (271) He mighte doon us bathe a vileinye.’ Aleyn answerde, ‘I count him nat a flye;’ And up he rist, and by the wenche he crepte. This wenche lay upright, and faste slepte, 4195 Til he so ny was, er she mighte espye, That it had been to late for to crye, And shortly for to seyn, they were at on; Now pley, Aleyn! for I wol speke of Iohn. This Iohn lyth stille a furlong-wey or two, 4200 And to him-self he maketh routhe and wo: (281) ‘Allas!’ quod he, ‘this is a wikked Iape; Now may I seyn that I is but an ape. Yet has my felawe som-what for his harm; He has the milleris doghter in his arm. 4205 He auntred him, and has his nedes sped, And I lye as a draf-sek in my bed; And when this Iape is tald another day, I sal been halde a daf, a cokenay! I wil aryse, and auntre it, by my fayth! 4210 “Unhardy is unsely,” thus men sayth.’ (291) And up he roos and softely he wente Un-to the cradel, and in his hand it hente, And baar it softe un-to his beddes feet.

Sone after this the wyf hir routing leet, 4215 And gan awake, and wente hir out to pisse, And cam agayn, and gan hir cradel misse, And groped heer and ther, but she fond noon. ‘Allas!’ quod she, ‘I hadde almost misgoon; I hadde almost gon to the clerkes bed. 4220 By, benedicite! thanne hadde I foule y-sped:’ (301) And forth she gooth til she the cradel fond. She gropeth alwey forther with hir hond, And fond the bed, and thoghte noght but good, By-cause that the cradel by it stood, 4225, And niste wher she was, for it was derk; But faire and wel she creep in to the clerk, And lyth ful stille, and wolde han caught a sleep. With-inne a whyl this Iohn the clerk up leep, And on this gode wyf he leyth on sore. 4230 So mery a fit ne hadde she nat ful yore; (311) He priketh harde and depe as he were mad. This Ioly lyf han thise two clerkes lad Til that the thridde cok bigan to singe.

Aleyn wex wery in the daweninge, 4235 For he had swonken al the longe night; And seyde, ‘far wel, Malin, swete wight! The day is come, I may no lenger byde; But evermo, wher so I go or ryde, I is thyn awen clerk, swa have I seel!’

4240 ‘Now dere lemman,’ quod she, ‘go, far weel! (321) But er thou go, o thing I wol thee telle, Whan that thou wendest homward by the melle, Right at the entree of the dore bihinde, Thou shalt a cake of half a busshel finde 4245 That was y-maked of thyn owne mele, Which that I heelp my fader for to stele. And, gode lemman, god thee save and kepe!’ And with that word almost she gan to wepe.

Aleyn up-rist, and thoughte, ‘er that it dawe, 4250 I wol go crepen in by my felawe; (331) And fond the cradel with his hand anon, ‘By god,’ thoghte he, ‘al wrang I have misgon; Myn heed is toty of my swink to-night, That maketh me that I go nat aright. 4255 I woot wel by the cradel, I have misgo, Heer lyth the miller and his wyf also.’ And forth he goth, a twenty devel way, Un-to the bed ther-as the miller lay. He wende have cropen by his felawe Iohn; 4260 And by the miller in he creep anon, (341) And caughte hym by the nekke, and softe he spak: He seyde, ‘thou, Iohn, thou swynes-heed, awak For Cristes saule, and heer a noble game. For by that lord that called is seint Iame, 4265 As I have thryes, in this shorte night, Swyved the milleres doghter bolt-upright, Whyl thow hast as a coward been agast.’ ‘Ye, false harlot,’ quod the miller, ‘hast? A! false traitour! false clerk!’ quod he, 4270 ‘Thou shalt be deed, by goddes dignitee! (351) Who dorste be so bold to disparage My doghter, that is come of swich linage?’ And by the throte-bolle he caughte Alayn. And he hente hym despitously agayn, 4275 And on the nose he smoot him with his fest. Doun ran the blody streem up-on his brest; And in the floor, with nose and mouth to-broke, They walwe as doon two pigges in a poke. And up they goon, and doun agayn anon, 4280 Til that the miller sporned at a stoon, (361) And doun he fil bakward up-on his wyf, That wiste no-thing of this nyce stryf; For she was falle aslepe a lyte wight With Iohn the clerk, that waked hadde al night. 4285 And with the fal, out of hir sleep she breyde— ‘Help, holy croys of Bromeholm,’ she seyde, In manus tuas! lord, to thee I calle! Awak, Symond! the feend is on us falle, Myn herte is broken, help, I nam but deed; 4290 There lyth oon up my wombe and up myn heed; (371) Help, Simkin, for the false clerkes fighte.’

This Iohn sterte up as faste as ever he mighte, And graspeth by the walles to and fro, To finde a staf; and she sterte up also, 4295 And knew the estres bet than dide this Iohn, And by the wal a staf she fond, anon, And saugh a litel shimering of a light, For at an hole in shoon the mone bright; And by that light she saugh hem bothe two, 4300 But sikerly she niste who was who, (38l) But as she saugh a whyt thing in hir yë. And whan she gan the whyte thing espye, She wende the clerk hadde wered a volupeer. And with the staf she drough ay neer and neer, 4305 And wende han hit this Aleyn at the fulle, And smoot the miller on the pyled skulle, That doun he gooth and cryde, ‘harrow! I dye!’ Thise clerkes bete him weel and lete him lye; And greythen hem, and toke hir hors anon, 4310 And eek hir mele, and on hir wey they gon. (391) And at the mille yet they toke hir cake Of half a busshel flour, ful wel y-bake.

Thus is the proude miller wel y-bete, And hath y-lost the grinding of the whete, 4315 And payed for the soper every-deel Of Aleyn and of Iohn, that bette him weel. His wyf is swyved, and his doghter als; Lo, swich it is a miller to be fals! And therfore this proverbe is seyd ful sooth, 4320 ‘Him thar nat wene wel that yvel dooth; (401) A gylour shal him-self bigyled be.’ And God, that sitteth heighe in magestee, Save al this companye grete and smale! Thus have I quit the miller in my tale. Here is ended the Reves tale.

The prologe of the Cokes Tale. 4325 The Cook of London, whyl the Reve spak, For Ioye, him thoughte, he clawed him on the bak, ‘Ha! ha!’ quod he, ‘for Cristes passioun, This miller hadde a sharp conclusioun Upon his argument of herbergage! 4330 Wel seyde Salomon in his langage, “Ne bringe nat every man in-to thyn hous;” For herberwing by nighte is perilous. Wel oghte a man avysed for to be (10) Whom that he broghte in-to his privetee. 4335 I pray to god, so yeve me sorwe and care, If ever, sith I highte Hogge of Ware, Herde I a miller bettre y-set a-werk. He hadde a Iape of malice in the derk. But god forbede that we stinten here; 4340 And therfore, if ye vouche-sauf to here A tale of me, that am a povre man, I wol yow telle as wel as ever I can A litel Iape that fil in our citee.’

(20) Our host answerde, and seide, ‘I graunte it thee; 4345 Now telle on, Roger, loke that it be good; For many a pastee hastow laten blood, And many a Iakke of Dover hastow sold That hath been twyes hoot and twyes cold. Of many a pilgrim hastow Cristes curs, 4350 For of thy persly yet they fare the wors, That they han eten with thy stubbel-goos; For in thy shoppe is many a flye loos. Now telle on, gentil Roger, by thy name. (30) But yet I pray thee, be nat wrooth for game, 4355 A man may seye ful sooth in game and pley.’

‘Thou seist ful sooth,’ quod Roger, ‘by my fey, But “sooth pley, quaad pley,” as the Fleming seith; And ther-fore, Herry Bailly, by thy feith, Be thou nat wrooth, er we departen heer, 4360 Though that my tale be of an hostileer. But nathelees I wol nat telle it yit, But er we parte, y-wis, thou shalt be quit.’ And ther-with-al he lough and made chere, (40) And seyde his tale, as ye shul after here. Thus endeth the Prologe of the Cokes tale.

Heer bigynneth the Cokes tale. 4365 A prentis whylom dwelled in our citee, And of a craft of vitaillers was he; Gaillard he was as goldfinch in the shawe, Broun as a berie, a propre short felawe, With lokkes blake, y-kempt ful fetisly. 4370 Dauncen he coude so wel and Iolily, That he was cleped Perkin Revelour. He was as ful of love and paramour As is the hyve ful of hony swete; (10) Wel was the wenche with him mighte mete. 4375 At every brydale wolde he singe and hoppe, He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.

For whan ther any ryding was in Chepe, Out of the shoppe thider wolde he lepe. Til that he hadde al the sighte y-seyn, 4380 And daunced wel, he wolde nat come ageyn. And gadered him a meinee of his sort To hoppe and singe, and maken swich disport. And ther they setten Steven for to mete (20) To pleyen at the dys in swich a strete. 4385 For in the toune nas ther no prentys, That fairer coude caste a paire of dys Than Perkin coude, and ther-to he was free Of his dispense, in place of privetee. That fond his maister wel in his chaffare; 4390 For often tyme he fond his box ful bare. For sikerly a prentis revelour, That haunteth dys, riot, or paramour, His maister shal it in his shoppe abye, (30) Al have he no part of the minstralcye; 4395 For thefte and riot, they ben convertible, Al conne he pleye on giterne or ribible. Revel and trouthe, as in a low degree, They been ful wrothe al day, as men may see.

This Ioly prentis with his maister bood, 4400 Til he were ny out of his prentishood, Al were he snibbed bothe erly and late, And somtyme lad with revel to Newgate; But atte laste his maister him bithoghte, (40) Up-on a day, whan he his paper soghte, 4405 Of a proverbe that seith this same word, ‘Wel bet is roten appel out of hord Than that it rotie al the remenaunt.’ So fareth it by a riotous servaunt; It is wel lasse harm to lete him pace, 4410 Than he shende alle the servants in the place. Therfore his maister yaf him acquitance, And bad him go with sorwe and with meschance; And thus this Ioly prentis hadde his leve. (50) Now lat him riote al the night or leve.

4415 And for ther is no theef with-oute a louke, That helpeth him to wasten and to souke Of that he brybe can or borwe may, Anon he sente his bed and his array Un-to a compeer of his owne sort, 4420 That lovede dys and revel and disport, And hadde a wyf that heeld for countenance 4422 A shoppe, and swyved for hir sustenance. Of this Cokes tale maked Chaucer na more. [For The Tale of Gamelin, see the Appendix.]

The wordes of the Hoost to the companye. Our Hoste sey wel that the brighte sonne The ark of his artificial day had ronne The fourthe part, and half an houre, and more; And though he were not depe expert in lore, 5 He wiste it was the eightetethe day Of April, that is messager to May; And sey wel that the shadwe of every tree Was as in lengthe the same quantitee That was the body erect that caused it. 10 And therfor by the shadwe he took his wit That Phebus, which that shoon so clere and brighte, Degrees was fyve and fourty clombe on highte; And for that day, as in that latitude, It was ten of the clokke, he gan conclude, 15 And sodeynly he plighte his hors aboute.

‘Lordinges,’ quod he, ‘I warne yow, al this route, The fourthe party of this day is goon; Now, for the love of god and of seint Iohn, Leseth no tyme, as ferforth as ye may; 20 Lordinges, the tyme wasteth night and day, And steleth from us, what prively slepinge, And what thurgh necligence in our wakinge, As dooth the streem, that turneth never agayn, Descending fro the montaigne in-to playn. 25 Wel can Senek, and many a philosophre Biwailen tyme, more than gold in cofre. “For los of catel may recovered be, But los of tyme shendeth us,” quod he. It wol nat come agayn, with-outen drede, 30 Na more than wol Malkins maydenhede, Whan she hath lost it in hir wantownesse; Lat us nat moulen thus in ydelnesse. Sir man of lawe,’ quod he, ‘so have ye blis, Tel us a tale anon, as forward is; 35 Ye been submitted thurgh your free assent To stonde in this cas at my Iugement. Acquiteth yow, and holdeth your biheste, Than have ye doon your devoir atte leste.’

‘Hoste,’ quod he, ‘depardieux ich assente, 40 To breke forward is not myn entente. Biheste is dette, and I wol holde fayn Al my biheste; I can no better seyn. For swich lawe as man yeveth another wight, He sholde him-selven usen it by right; 45 Thus wol our text; but natheles certeyn I can right now no thrifty tale seyn, But Chaucer, though he can but lewedly On metres and on ryming craftily, Hath seyd hem in swich English as he can 50 Of olde tyme, as knoweth many a man. And if he have not seyd hem, leve brother, In o book, he hath seyd hem in another. For he hath told of loveres up and doun Mo than Ovyde made of mencioun 55 In his Epistelles, that been ful olde. What sholde I tellen hem, sin they ben tolde? In youthe he made of Ceys and Alcion, And sithen hath he spoke of everichon, Thise noble wyves and thise loveres eek. 60 Who-so that wol his large volume seek Cleped the Seintes Legende of Cupyde, Ther may he seen the large woundes wyde Of Lucresse, and of Babilan Tisbee; The swerd of Dido for the false Enee; 65 The tree of Phillis for hir Demophon; The pleinte of Dianire and Hermion, Of Adriane and of Isiphilee; The bareyne yle stonding in the see; The dreynte Leander for his Erro; 70 The teres of Eleyne, and eek the wo Of Brixseyde, and of thee, Ladomëa; The crueltee of thee, queen Medëa, Thy litel children hanging by the hals For thy Iason, that was of love so fals! 75 O Ypermistra, Penelopee, Alceste, Your wyfhod he comendeth with the beste!

But certeinly no word ne wryteth he Of thilke wikke ensample of Canacee, That lovede hir owne brother sinfully; 80 Of swiche cursed stories I sey ‘fy’; Or elles of Tyro Apollonius, How that the cursed king Antiochus Birafte his doghter of hir maydenhede, That is so horrible a tale for to rede, 85 Whan he hir threw up-on the pavement. And therfor he, of ful avysement, Nolde never wryte in none of his sermouns Of swiche unkinde abhominaciouns, Ne I wol noon reherse, if that I may. 90 But of my tale how shal I doon this day? Me were looth be lykned, doutelees, To Muses that men clepe Pierides— Metamorphoseos wot what I mene:— But nathelees, I recche noght a bene 95 Though I come after him with hawe-bake; I speke in prose, and lat him rymes make.’ And with that word he, with a sobre chere, Bigan his tale, as ye shal after here.

The Prologe of the Mannes Tale of Lawe. O hateful harm! condicion of poverte! 100 With thurst, with cold, with hunger so confounded! To asken help thee shameth in thyn herte; If thou noon aske, with nede artow so wounded, That verray nede unwrappeth al thy wounde hid! Maugree thyn heed, thou most for indigence 105 Or stele, or begge, or borwe thy despence! Thou blamest Crist, and seyst ful bitterly, He misdeparteth richesse temporal; (10) Thy neighebour thou wytest sinfully, And seyst thou hast to lyte, and he hath al. 110 ‘Parfay,’ seistow, ‘somtyme he rekne shal, Whan that his tayl shal brennen in the glede, For he noght helpeth needfulle in hir nede.’ Herkne what is the sentence of the wyse:— ‘Bet is to dyën than have indigence;’ 115 Thy selve neighebour wol thee despyse; If thou be povre, farwel thy reverence! Yet of the wyse man tak this sentence:— (20) ‘Alle the dayes of povre men ben wikke;’ Be war therfor, er thou come in that prikke! 120 If thou be povre, thy brother hateth thee, And alle thy freendes fleen fro thee, alas! O riche marchaunts, ful of wele ben ye, O noble, o prudent folk, as in this cas! Your bagges been nat filled with ambes as, 125 But with sis cink, than renneth for your chaunce; At Cristemasse merie may ye daunce! Ye seken lond and see for your winninges, (30) As wyse folk ye knowen al thestaat Of regnes; ye ben fadres of tydinges 130 And tales, bothe of pees and of debat. I were right now of tales desolat, Nere that a marchaunt, goon is many a yere, Me taughte a tale, which that ye shal here.

Here beginneth the Man of Lawe his Tale. In Surrie whylom dwelte a companye 135 Of chapmen riche, and therto sadde and trewe, That wyde-wher senten her spycerye, Clothes of gold, and satins riche of hewe; (40) Her chaffar was so thrifty and so newe, That every wight hath deyntee to chaffare 140 With hem, and eek to sellen hem hir ware. Now fel it, that the maistres of that sort Han shapen hem to Rome for to wende; Were it for chapmanhode or for disport, Nan other message wolde they thider sende, 145 But comen hem-self to Rome, this is the ende; And in swich place, as thoughte hem avantage For her entente, they take her herbergage. (50) Soiourned han thise marchants in that toun A certein tyme, as fel to hir plesance. 150 And so bifel, that thexcellent renoun Of themperoures doghter, dame Custance, Reported was, with every circumstance, Un-to thise Surrien marchants in swich wyse, Fro day to day, as I shal yow devyse.

155 This was the commune vois of every man— ‘Our Emperour of Rome, god him see, A doghter hath that, sin the world bigan, (60) To rekne as wel hir goodnesse as beautee, Nas never swich another as is she; 160 I prey to god in honour hir sustene, And wolde she were of al Europe the quene. In hir is heigh beautee, with-oute pryde, Yowthe, with-oute grenehede or folye; To alle hir werkes vertu is hir gyde, 165 Humblesse hath slayn in hir al tirannye. She is mirour of alle curteisye; Hir herte is verray chambre of holinesse, (70) Hir hand, ministre of fredom for almesse.’ And al this vois was soth, as god is trewe, 170 But now to purpos lat us turne agayn; Thise marchants han doon fraught hir shippes newe, And, whan they han this blisful mayden seyn, Hoom to Surryë been they went ful fayn, And doon her nedes as they han don yore, 175 And liven in wele; I can sey yow no more. Now fel it, that thise marchants stode in grace Of him, that was the sowdan of Surrye; (80) For whan they came from any strange place, He wolde, of his benigne curteisye, 180 Make hem good chere, and bisily espye Tydings of sondry regnes, for to lere The wondres that they mighte seen or here. Amonges othere thinges, specially Thise marchants han him told of dame Custance, 185 So gret noblesse in ernest, ceriously, That this sowdan hath caught so gret plesance To han hir figure in his remembrance, (90) That al his lust and al his bisy cure Was for to love hir whyl his lyf may dure. 190 Paraventure in thilke large book Which that men clepe the heven, y-writen was With sterres, whan that he his birthe took, That he for love shulde han his deeth, allas! For in the sterres, clerer than is glas, 195 Is writen, god wot, who-so coude it rede, The deeth of every man, withouten drede. In sterres, many a winter ther-biforn, (100) Was writen the deeth of Ector, Achilles, Of Pompey, Iulius, er they were born; 200 The stryf of Thebes; and of Ercules, Of Sampson, Turnus, and of Socrates The deeth; but mennes wittes been so dulle, That no wight can wel rede it atte fulle. This sowdan for his privee conseil sente, 205 And, shortly of this mater for to pace, He hath to hem declared his entente, And seyde hem certein, ‘but he mighte have grace (110) To han Custance with-inne a litel space, He nas but deed;’ and charged hem, in hye, 210 To shapen for his lyf som remedye. Diverse men diverse thinges seyden; They argumenten, casten up and doun; Many a subtil resoun forth they leyden, They speken of magik and abusioun; 215 But finally, as in conclusioun, They can not seen in that non avantage, Ne in non other wey, save mariage.

(120) Than sawe they ther-in swich difficultee By wey of resoun, for to speke al playn, 220 By-cause that ther was swich diversitee Bitwene hir bothe lawes, that they sayn, They trowe ‘that no cristen prince wolde fayn Wedden his child under oure lawes swete That us were taught by Mahoun our prophete.’

225 And he answerde, ‘rather than I lese Custance, I wol be cristned doutelees; I mot ben hires, I may non other chese. (130) I prey yow holde your arguments in pees; Saveth my lyf, and beeth noght recchelees 230 To geten hir that hath my lyf in cure; For in this wo I may not longe endure.’ What nedeth gretter dilatacioun? I seye, by tretis and embassadrye, And by the popes mediacioun, 235 And al the chirche, and al the chivalrye, That, in destruccioun of Maumetrye, And in encrees of Cristes lawe dere, (140) They ben acorded, so as ye shal here; How that the sowdan and his baronage 240 And alle his liges shulde y-cristned be, And he shal han Custance in mariage, And certein gold, I noot what quantitee, And her-to founden suffisant seurtee; This same acord was sworn on eyther syde; 245 Now, faire Custance, almighty god thee gyde! Now wolde som men waiten, as I gesse, That I shulde tellen al the purveyance (150) That themperour, of his grete noblesse, Hath shapen for his doghter dame Custance. 250 Wel may men knowe that so gret ordinance May no man tellen in a litel clause As was arrayed for so heigh a cause.

Bisshopes ben shapen with hir for to wende, Lordes, ladyes, knightes of renoun, 255 And other folk y-nowe, this is the ende; And notifyed is thurgh-out the toun That every wight, with gret devocioun, (160) Shulde preyen Crist that he this mariage Receyve in gree, and spede this viage. 260 The day is comen of hir departinge, I sey, the woful day fatal is come, That ther may be no lenger taryinge, But forthward they hem dressen, alle and some; Custance, that was with sorwe al overcome, 265 Ful pale arist, and dresseth hir to wende; For wel she seeth ther is non other ende. Allas! what wonder is it though she wepte, (170) That shal be sent to strange nacioun Fro freendes, that so tendrely hir kepte, 270 And to be bounden under subieccioun Of oon, she knoweth not his condicioun. Housbondes been alle gode, and han ben yore, That knowen wyves, I dar say yow no more. ‘Fader,’ she sayde, ‘thy wrecched child Custance, 275 Thy yonge doghter, fostred up so softe, And ye, my moder, my soverayn plesance Over alle thing, out-taken Crist on-lofte, (180) Custance, your child, hir recomandeth ofte Un-to your grace, for I shal to Surryë, 280 Ne shal I never seen yow more with yë. Allas! un-to the Barbre nacioun I moste anon, sin that it is your wille; But Crist, that starf for our redempcioun, So yeve me grace, his hestes to fulfille; 285 I, wrecche womman, no fors though I spille. Wommen are born to thraldom and penance, And to ben under mannes governance.’

(190) I trowe, at Troye, whan Pirrus brak the wal Or Ylion brende, at Thebes the citee, 290 Nat Rome, for the harm thurgh Hanibal That Romayns hath venquisshed tymes thre, Nas herd swich tendre weping for pitee As in the chambre was for hir departinge; Bot forth she moot, wher-so she wepe or singe.

295 O firste moevyng cruel firmament, With thy diurnal sweigh that crowdest ay And hurlest al from Est til Occident, (200) That naturelly wolde holde another way, Thy crowding set the heven in swich array 300 At the beginning of this fiers viage, That cruel Mars hath slayn this mariage. Infortunat ascendent tortuous, Of which the lord is helples falle, allas! Out of his angle in-to the derkest hous. 305 O Mars, O Atazir, as in this cas! O feble mone, unhappy been thy pas! Thou knittest thee ther thou art nat receyved, (210) Ther thou were weel, fro thennes artow weyved.

Imprudent emperour of Rome, allas! 310 Was ther no philosophre in al thy toun? Is no tyme bet than other in swich cas? Of viage is ther noon eleccioun, Namely to folk of heigh condicioun, Nat whan a rote is of a birthe y-knowe? 315 Allas! we ben to lewed or to slowe. To shippe is brought this woful faire mayde Solempnely, with every circumstance. (220) ‘Now Iesu Crist be with yow alle,’ she sayde; Ther nis namore but ‘farewel! faire Custance!’ 320 She peyneth hir to make good countenance, And forth I lete hir sayle in this manere, And turne I wol agayn to my matere.

The moder of the sowdan, welle of vyces, Espyëd hath hir sones pleyn entente, 325 How he wol lete his olde sacrifyces, And right anon she for hir conseil sente; And they ben come, to knowe what she mente. (230) And when assembled was this folk in-fere, She sette hir doun, and sayde as ye shal here. 330 ‘Lordes,’ quod she, ‘ye knowen everichon, How that my sone in point is for to lete The holy lawes of our Alkaron, Yeven by goddes message Makomete. But oon avow to grete god I hete, 335 The lyf shal rather out of my body sterte Than Makometes lawe out of myn herte!

What shulde us tyden of this newe lawe (240) But thraldom to our bodies and penance? And afterward in helle to be drawe 340 For we reneyed Mahoun our creance? But, lordes, wol ye maken assurance, As I shal seyn, assenting to my lore, And I shall make us sauf for evermore?’ They sworen and assenten, every man, 345 To live with hir and dye, and by hir stonde; And everich, in the beste wyse he can, To strengthen hir shal alle his freendes fonde; (250) And she hath this empryse y-take on honde, Which ye shal heren that I shal devyse, 350 And to hem alle she spak right in this wyse. ‘We shul first feyne us cristendom to take, Cold water shal not greve us but a lyte; And I shal swich a feste and revel make, That, as I trowe, I shal the sowdan quyte. 355 For though his wyf be cristned never so whyte, She shal have nede to wasshe awey the rede, Thogh she a font-ful water with hir lede.’ (260) O sowdanesse, rote of iniquitee, Virago, thou Semyram the secounde, 360 O serpent under femininitee, Lyk to the serpent depe in helle y-bounde, O feyned womman, al that may confounde Vertu and innocence, thurgh thy malyce, Is bred in thee, as nest of every vyce! 365 O Satan, envious sin thilke day That thou were chased from our heritage, Wel knowestow to wommen the olde way! (270) Thou madest Eva bringe us in servage. Thou wolt fordoon this cristen mariage. 370 Thyn instrument so, weylawey the whyle! Makestow of wommen, whan thou wolt begyle. This sowdanesse, whom I thus blame and warie, Leet prively hir conseil goon hir way. What sholde I in this tale lenger tarie? 375 She rydeth to the sowdan on a day, And seyde him, that she wolde reneye hir lay, And cristendom of preestes handes fonge, (280) Repenting hir she hethen was so longe, Biseching him to doon hir that honour, 380 That she moste han the cristen men to feste; ‘To plesen hem I wol do my labour.’ The sowdan seith, ‘I wol don at your heste,’ And kneling thanketh hir of that requeste. So glad he was, he niste what to seye; 385 She kiste hir sone, and hoom she gooth hir weye.

Explicit prima pars. Sequitur pars secunda. Arryved ben this cristen folk to londe, In Surrie, with a greet solempne route, (290) And hastily this sowdan sente his sonde, First to his moder, and al the regne aboute, 390 And seyde, his wyf was comen, out of doute, And preyde hir for to ryde agayn the quene, The honour of his regne to sustene. Gret was the prees, and riche was tharray Of Surriens and Romayns met y-fere; 395 The moder of the sowdan, riche and gay, Receyveth hir with al-so glad a chere As any moder mighte hir doghter dere, (300) And to the nexte citee ther bisyde A softe pas solempnely they ryde. 400 Noght trowe I the triumphe of Iulius, Of which that Lucan maketh swich a bost, Was royaller, ne more curious Than was thassemblee of this blisful host. But this scorpioun, this wikked gost, 405 The sowdanesse, for al hir flateringe, Caste under this ful mortally to stinge.

The sowdan comth him-self sone after this (310) So royally, that wonder is to telle, And welcometh hir with alle Ioye and blis. 410 And thus in merthe and Ioye I lete hem dwelle. The fruyt of this matere is that I telle. Whan tyme cam, men thoughte it for the beste That revel stinte, and men goon to hir reste.

The tyme cam, this olde sowdanesse 415 Ordeyned hath this feste of which I tolde, And to the feste cristen folk hem dresse In general, ye! bothe yonge and olde. (320) Here may men feste and royaltee biholde, And deyntees mo than I can yow devyse, 420 But al to dere they boughte it er they ryse.

O sodeyn wo! that ever art successour To worldly blisse, spreynd with bitternesse; Thende of the Ioye of our worldly labour; Wo occupieth the fyn of our gladnesse. 425 Herke this conseil for thy sikernesse, Up-on thy glade day have in thy minde The unwar wo or harm that comth bihinde.

(330) For shortly for to tellen at o word, The sowdan and the cristen everichone 430 Ben al to-hewe and stiked at the bord, But it were only dame Custance allone. This olde sowdanesse, cursed crone, Hath with hir frendes doon this cursed dede, For she hir-self wolde al the contree lede.

435 Ne ther was Surrien noon that was converted That of the conseil of the sowdan woot, That he nas al to-hewe er he asterted. (340) And Custance han they take anon, foot-hoot, And in a shippe al sterelees, god woot, 440 They han hir set, and bidde hir lerne sayle Out of Surrye agaynward to Itayle.

A certein tresor that she thider ladde, And, sooth to sayn, vitaille gret plentee They han hir yeven, and clothes eek she hadde, 445 And forth she sayleth in the salte see. O my Custance, ful of benignitee, O emperoures yonge doghter dere, (350) He that is lord of fortune be thy stere!

She blesseth hir, and with ful pitous voys 450 Un-to the croys of Crist thus seyde she, ‘O clere, o welful auter, holy croys, Reed of the lambes blood full of pitee, That wesh the world fro the olde iniquitee, Me fro the feend, and fro his clawes kepe, 455 That day that I shal drenchen in the depe.

Victorious tree, proteccioun of trewe, That only worthy were for to bere (360) The king of heven with his woundes newe, The whyte lamb, that hurt was with the spere, 460 Flemer of feendes out of him and here On which thy limes feithfully extenden, Me keep, and yif me might my lyf tamenden.’

Yeres and dayes fleet this creature Thurghout the see of Grece un-to the strayte 465 Of Marrok, as it was hir aventure; On many a sory meel now may she bayte; After her deeth ful often may she wayte, (370) Er that the wilde wawes wole hir dryve Un-to the place, ther she shal arryve.

470 Men mighten asken why she was not slayn? Eek at the feste who mighte hir body save? And I answere to that demaunde agayn, Who saved Daniel in the horrible cave, Ther every wight save he, maister and knave, 475 Was with the leoun frete er he asterte? No wight but god, that he bar in his herte.