In all the rout was neither young nor old,
That he not said it was a noble story,
And worthy to be drawen to memóry;907
And namëly the gentles every one.908
Our Host then laugh’d and swore, “So may I gon,909
This goes aright; unbuckled is the mail;910
Let see now who shall tell another tale:
For truëly this game is well begun.
Now telleth ye, Sir Monk, if that ye conne,911
Somewhat, to quiten912 with the Knightë’s tale.”
The Miller that fordrunken was all pale,913
So that unnethes914 upon his horse he sat,
He would avalen915 neither hood nor hat,
Nor abide916 no man for his courtesy,
But in Pilatë’s voice917 he gan to cry,
And swore by armës, and by blood, and bones,
“I can a noble talë for the nones,918
With which I will now quite919 the Knightë’s tale.”
Our Host saw well how drunk he was of ale,
And said; “Robin, abide, my levë920 brother,
Some better man shall tell us first another:
Abide, and let us workë thriftily.”921
“By Goddë’s soul,” quoth he, “that will not I,
For I will speak, or ellës go my way!”
Our Host answer’d; “Tell on a devil way;922
Thou art a fool; thy wit is overcome.”
“Now hearken,” quoth the Miller, “all and some:
But first I make a protestatioún.
That I am drunk, I know it by my soun’:
And therefore if that I misspeak or say,
Wite923 it the ale of Southwark, I you pray:
For I will tell a legend and a life
Both of a carpenter and of his wife,
How that a clerk hath set the wrightë’s cap.”924
The Reeve answér’d and saidë, “Stint thy clap,925
Let be thy lewëd drunken harlotry.
It is a sin, and eke a great folly
To apeiren926 any man, or him defame,
And eke to bringë wives in evil name.
Thou may’st enough of other thingës sayn.”
This drunken Miller spake full soon again,
And saidë, “Levë brother Osëwold,
Who hath no wifë, he is no cuckóld.
But I say not therefore that thou art one;
There be full goodë wivës many one.
Why art thou angry with my talë now?
I have a wife, pardie, as well as thou,
Yet n’old927 I, for the oxen in my plough,
Taken upon me morë than enough,
To deemen928 of myself that I am one;
I will believë well that I am none.
An husband should not be inquisitive
Of Goddë’s privity, nor of his wife.
So he may findë Goddë’s foison929 there,
Of the remnant needeth not to enquére.”
What should I more say, but that this Millére
He would his wordës for no man forbear,
But told his churlish930 tale in his mannére;
Me thinketh, that I shall rehearse it here.
And therefore every gentle wight I pray,
For Goddë’s love to deem not that I say
Of evil intent, but that I must rehearse
Their tales all, be they better or worse,
Or ellës falsen931 some of my mattere.
And therefore whoso list it not to hear,
Turn o’er the leaf, and choose another tale;
For he shall find enough, both great and smale,
Of storial932 thing that toucheth gentiless,
And eke morality and holiness.
Blame not me, if that ye choose amiss.
The Miller is a churl, ye know well this,
So was the Reeve, with many other mo’,
And harlotry933 they toldë bothë two.
Avise you934 now, and put me out of blame;
And eke men should not make earnest of game.935
The Tale
Whilom there was dwelling in Oxenford
A richë gnof,936 that guestës held to board,937
And of his craft he was a carpentér.
With him there was dwelling a poor scholér,
Had learned art, but all his fantasy
Was turned for to learn astrology.
He coudë938 a certain of conclusions
To deemë939 by interrogations,
If that men asked him in certain hours,
When that men should have drought or ellës show’rs:
Or if men asked him what shouldë fall
Of everything, I may not reckon all.
This clerk was called Hendy940 Nicholas;
Of dernë941 love he knew and of solace;
And therewith he was sly and full privy,
And like a maiden meekë for to see.
A chamber had he in that hostelry
Alone, withouten any company,
Full fetisly y-dight942 with herbës swoot,943
And he himself was sweet as is the root
Of liquorice, or any setewall.944
His Almagest,945 and bookës great and small,
His astrolabe,946 belonging to his art,
His augrim stonës,947 layed fair apart
On shelvës couched948 at his beddë’s head,
His press y-cover’d with a falding949 red.
And all above there lay a gay psalt’ry
On which he made at nightës melody,
So sweetëly, that all the chamber rang:
And Angelus ad virginem950 he sang.
And after that he sung the kingë’s note;
Full often blessed was his merry throat.
And thus this sweetë clerk his timë spent
After his friendës finding and his rent.951
This carpenter had wedded new a wife,
Which that he loved morë than his life:
Of eighteen year, I guess, she was of age.
Jealous he was, and held her narr’w in cage,
For she was wild and young, and he was old,
And deemed himself bélike952 a cuckóld.
He knew not Cato,953 for his wit was rude,
That bade a man wed his similitude.
Men shouldë wedden after their estate,
For youth and eld954 are often at debate.
But since that he was fallen in the snare,
He must endure (as other folk) his care.
Fair was this youngë wife, and therewithal
As any weasel her body gent955 and small.
A seint956 she weared, barred all of silk,
A barm-cloth957 eke as white as morning milk
Upon her lendës,958 full of many a
