These silly clerkës runnen up and down
With “Keep, keep; stand, stand; jossa,1288 warderere.
Go whistle thou, and I shall keep1289 him here.”
But shortly, till that it was very night
They couldë not, though they did all their might,
Their capel catch, he ran alway so fast:
Till in a ditch they caught him at the last.
Weary and wet, as beastës in the rain,
Comes silly John, and with him comes Alein.
“Alas,” quoth John, “the day that I was born!
Now are we driv’n till hething1290 and till scorn.
Our corn is stol’n, men will us fonnës1291 call,
Both the wardén, and eke our fellows all,
And namëly1292 the miller, well-away!”
Thus plained John, as he went by the way
Toward the mill, and Bayard1293 in his hand.
The miller sitting by the fire he fand.1294
For it was night, and forther1295 might they not,
But for the love of God they him besought
Of herberow and easë,1296 for their penny.1297
The miller said again, “If there be any,
Such as it is, yet shall ye have your part.
Mine house is strait, but ye have learned art;
Ye can by arguments maken a place
A milë broad, of twenty foot of space.
Let see now if this placë may suffice,
Or make it room with speech, as is your guise.”1298
“Now, Simon,” said this John, “by Saint Cuthberd
Aye is thou merry, and that is fair answér’d.
I have heard say, man shall take of two things,
Such as he findës, or such as he brings.
But specially I pray thee, hostë dear,
Gar1299 us have meat and drink, and make us cheer,
And we shall pay thee truly at the full:
With empty hand men may not hawkës tull.1300
Lo here our silver ready for to spend.”
This miller to the town his daughter send
For ale and bread, and roasted them a goose,
And bound their horse, he should no more go loose:
And them in his own chamber made a bed.
With sheetës and with chalons1301 fair y-spread,
Not from his owen bed ten foot or twelve:
His daughter had a bed all by herselve,
Right in the samë chamber by and by:1302
It might no better be, and causë why—
There was no roomer herberow1303 in the place.
They suppen, and they speaken of solace,
And drinken ever strong ale at the best.
Aboutë midnight went they all to rest.
Well had this miller varnished his head;
Full pale he was, fordrunken, and nought red.1304
He yoxed,1305 and he spake thorough the nose,
As he were in the quakke,1306 or in the pose.1307
To bed he went, and with him went his wife,
As any jay she light was and jolife,1308
So was her jolly whistle well y-wet.
The cradle at her beddë’s feet was set,
To rock, and eke to give the child to suck.
And when that drunken was all in the crock1309
To beddë went the daughter right anon,
To beddë went Alein, and also John.
There was no morë; needed them no dwale.1310
This miller had so wisly1311 bibbed ale,
That as a horse he snorted in his sleep,
Nor of his tail behind he took no keep.1312
His wife bare him a burdoun,1313 a full strong;
Men might their routing1314 hearen a furlong.
The wenchë routed eke for company.
Alein the clerk, that heard this melody,
He poked John, and saidë: “Sleepest thou?
Heardest thou ever such a song ere now?
Lo what a compline1315 is y-mell1316 them all.
A wildë fire upon their bodies fall,
Who hearken’d ever such a ferly1317 thing?
Yea, they shall have the flow’r of ill ending!
This longë night there tidës1318 me no rest.
But yet no force,1319 all shall be for the best.
For, John,” said he, “as ever may I thrive,
If that I may, yon wenchë will I swive.1320
Some easëment has law y-shapen1321 us.
For, John, there is a law that sayeth thus,
That if a man in one point be aggriev’d,
That in another he shall be reliev’d.
Our corn is stol’n, soothly it is no nay,
And we have had an evil fit to-day.
And since I shall have none amendëment
Against my loss, I will have easëment:
By Goddë’s soul, it shall none, other be.”
This John answér’d; “Alein, avisë thee:1322
The miller is a perilous man,” he said,
“And if that he out of his sleep abraid,1323
He mightë do us both a villainy.”1324
Alein answér’d; “I count him not a fly.”
And up he rose, and by the wench he crept.
This wenchë lay upright, and fast she slept,
Till he so nigh was, ere she might espy,
That it had been too latë for to cry:
And, shortly for to say, they were at one.
Now play, Alein, for I will speak of John.
This John lay still a furlong way or two,1325
And to himself he madë ruth1326 and woe.
“Alas!” quoth he, “this is a wicked jape;1327
Now may I say, that I is but an ape.
Yet has my fellow somewhat for his harm;
He has the miller’s daughter in his arm:
He auntred1328 him, and hath his needës sped,
And I lie as a draff-sack in my bed;
And when this jape is told another day,
I shall be held a daffe1329 or a cockenay:1330
I will arise, and auntre it, by my fay:
Unhardy is unsely,1331 as men say.”
And up he rose, and softëly he went
Unto the cradle, and in his hand it hent,1332
And bare it soft unto his beddë’s feet.
Soon after this the wife her routing lete,1333
And gan awake, and went her out to piss,
And came again, and gan the cradle miss,
And groped here and there, but she found none.
“Alas!” quoth she, “I had almost misgone,
I had
