Chaucer FYI - 4 The Reeve's Tale

Well, if it isn't obvious by now, then I've lost a little hope for humanity. The tale-tellers interact. Chaucer is clearly trying to hammer this point home in this tale; the Reeve's prologue is almost entirely about why he wants to have a story-time smackdown with the Miller, and the last line of his story is his final jab at the Miller.

Chaucer wanted his audience to be aware that his speakers were more dynamic than the speakers in other tale collections because it not only made him more interesting as an author, it made the tales themselves more interesting. Chaucer took almost all of his stories from a preexisting source, at least in part. Since they were around beforehand, Chaucer took pains not only to make them more artistic, but to give a good reason for re-telling the tales. The Reeve's Tale in particular had several sources and analogues, and was probably fairly well known as a folk story as well as a piece of German/French/Italian literature, so when Chaucer put his pretty English spin on it, it wasn't that much more compelling than any of the others - until, that is, he made the story into an act of vengeance. At that point, an oft-repeated albeit funny story had an additional draw. Now the reader isn't necessarily reading to find out what happens in the tale - they may already know - they're reading to find out what happens to the person telling the tale as well, and looking for any jokes or pokes Chaucer may have added that were directed at the object of the tale. In this manner, Chaucer managed to brilliantly revivify old stories in a wonderfully modern method. Hollywood, take note.

On to another point - we're going to get back to tale-teller interaction more with the Friar and the Summoner - I have to apologize to anyone reading this. It is unclear in my translation that the brothers Alain and John have thick, nearly incomprehensible, Northern Middle English accents. Some of that can be seen by their use of unusual aphorisms, but not as much is communicated as I would have liked. To Simkin, his family, and the warden of Cambridge they sound like utterly hilarious backwoods hicks, which is part of why Simkin thinks that he'll be able to trick them so easily as well as part of the reason that they so badly don't want to be tricked. I'm sorry - I was trying to translate more for verbal accuracy than for anything else, and if you're reading this alongside the Middle English, your original text should show this dynamic well enough.

Now on to shagging. "Swyved" is a word that I ranted about in my last Chaucer FYI post, so I won't go into depth on it, suffice to say that I was trying to find a euphemism for "copulated with" that was a single-word verb (rather two-word verb phrases such as "made love" or "had sex") that was bawdy enough to fit the tone of the story and English enough that Chaucer might have used it if it had been around in his time. "Screwed" "boned" "humped" and yes, even "fucked" were considered, and I just ended up deciding that "shagged" was the best choice to act as an equivalent to "swyved." I will say though, if you read it with an Austin Powers voice in your mind, you're going to make me very happy and very sad at the same time.

Well, I seem to have exhausted my ability to be wry for the moment, so I feel that now is the time to discuss a rather serious issue in this tale: rape in the time of Chaucer.

Reading The Reeve's Tale for the first time was pretty jarring for me as I approached the end. I was excitedly waiting for a sneaky trick, wanting to find out what the brothers did to avenge themselves. Then Alain snuck up to the daughter's bed and became "aton" with her before she had a chance to cry out. Only about fifty lines later she is helping with his revenge and crying as he leaves the bed he was never invited into. Ahem. What!? Then John tricks Simkin's wife into his bed and they hump like bunnies all night long and she has no idea who she's in bed with. While part of my mind was amused by how Simkin's theft was being repaid, the rest of it was cringing away from the supposed "heroes" of the tale who were raping the wife and daughter of their host.

What can really be said about this? What can be offered as an excuse? In most of the other analogues, the stories have no character, they're just bawdy stories and everyone ends up laughing, so did Chaucer kick it up a notch to get a bigger laugh? Is this treatment of sex included because rape was funny in the 1300s? No; we can dismiss that theory. Did Chaucer think involuntary sex was hilarious? Probably not, no. So why does Chaucer include two fairly clear rapes in what is supposed to be a funny story? My theory is that Chaucer includes it to illustrate that while he is funny and clever and bright, the Reeve is not. I think that this tale approaches sex in this manner because it is the way that the bitter, old, wrathful Reeve would approach it - tastelessly, somewhat violently, and for the reason of perceived offense. I think Chaucer wants his audience to be uncomfortable with this story because he wants his audience to be uncomfortable with the Reeve - he is easing his readers into the very bottom of this particular downward spiral, which will come to a crashing, ridiculous end with The Cook's Tale, and which will leave the audience hungry for something "higher" that Chaucer then happily gives to us in The Man of Law's Tale. In this light, the inclusion of rape in The Reeve's Tale is brilliant - Chaucer is playing his audience like a fiddle, manipulating them into wanting to read the stories that he has written in the order that he chose to present them.

Sorry to sound like a nutcase fan-girl, but how unbelievably cool is that? One of the most "ick" moments in The Canterbury Tales may be there because the author wanted us to be grossed out enough to crave the "sentence" that is shortly going to follow.

Hats off, everyone. Chaucer is officially a badass.

The Reeve's Tale

The Prologue of the Reeve's Tale.

When folk had laughed at this nice case (3855)
Of Absolon and handy Nicholas,
Diverse folk diversely they said,
But for the most part they laughed and played.
At this tale I saw no man himself grieve,
Except for only Oswald the Reeve. (3860)
Because he was of carpenter's craft,
A little ire was in his heart left;
He began to grouch, and blamed it a little.

"I swear," quoth he, "full well could I you requite
With blearing of a proud miller's eye, (3865)
If I should like to speak of ribaldry.
But I am old; I like not to play for age;
Grass time is done; my fodder is now forage;
This white top writes my old years;
My heart is also molded as my hairs, (3870)
But if I fare as does an open-air vendor -
That the same fruit is ever longer the worse,
Until it be rotten in mullock or in straw.
We old men, I dread, so fare we:
Until we are rotten, we can not be ripe; (3875)
We hop always while the world will pipe.
For in our will there strikes ever a nail,
To have a hoary head and a green tail,
As has a leek; for though our might is gone,
Our will desires folly ever in one. (3880)
For when we may not do, then will we speak;
Yet in our ashes old is a fire over raked.

"Four embers we have, which I shall devise -
Boasting, lying, anger, coveting;
These four sparkle long into age. (3885)
Our old limbs might well be unwieldy,
But will shall not fail, that is truth.
And yet I have always had a colt's tooth,
As many a year as it has passed hence
Since the tap of my life began to run. (3890)
For, truly, when I was born, at once
Death drew the tap of life and let it go on,
And ever since has the tap so run
Until almost all empty is the tonne*. *(cask)
The stream of life now drops on the rim. (3895)
The innocent tongue may well ring and chime
Of wretchedness that is passed long ago;
With old folk, save dotage, there is no more!"

When our Host had heard this sermoning,
He began to speak as highly as a king. (3900)
He said, "What amounts from all this wit?
What shall we speak all day of holy writ?
The devil take a reeve to preach,
Or a cobbler or a shipman or a barber.
Say forth you tale, and tarry not the time.
Lo Deptford, and it is half-way prime!
Lo Greenwich, where many a shrew is in!
It is past time your tale to begin."

"Now, sirs," quoth this Oswald the Reeve,
"I pray you all that you not yourselves grieve, (3910)
Though I answer, and somewhat set his hood;
For it is permissible with force to show force.

"This drunk Miller has told us here
How beguiled was a carpenter,
Maybe in scorn, for I am one. (3915)
And, by your leave, I shall him requite at once;
Right in his churl's terms will I speak.
I pray to God his neck might break;
He can well in my eye see a straw,
But in his own he can not se a beam." (3920)

Here begins the Reeve's Tale.

At Trumpington, not far from Cambridge,
There goes a brook, and over that a bridge,
Upon which brook there stands a mill;
And this honest truth I you tell:
A miller was there dwelling many a day. (3925)
As any peacock he was proud and gay.
He could pipe and fish, and nets mend,
And turn cups, and well wrestle and shoot;
Always by his belt he bore a long rapier,
And of a full sword sharp was the blade. (3930)
A jolly dagger he bore in his pouch;
There was no man, for peril, who dared him touch.
A Sheffield knife he bore in his hose.
Round was his face, with a pug nose;
As bald as an ape was his skull. (3935)
He was a market-beater at full.
There dared no man hand upon him lay,
That he didn't swear he should soon repay.
A thief he was for truth of corn and meal,
And sly at that, and used to stealing. (3940)
His name was called haughty Simkin.
A wife he had, come from noble kin;
The parson of the town her father was.
With her he gave full many a pan of brass,
For Simkin should in his blood ally. (3945)
She was fostered in a nunnery;
For Simkin would have no wife, as he said,
Unless she were well nourished and a maid,
To save his estate of yeomanry.
And she was proud, and impertinent as a magpie. (3950)
A full fair sight it was upon them two;
On holy days before her he would go
With his hood wound about his head,
And she came after in a gown of red;
And Simkin had hose of the same. (3955)
There dared no man to call her but "dame";
Was none so hardy that went by the way
That with her dared rage or once play,
Unless he would be slain by Simkin
With rapier, or with knife, or bodkin. (3960)
For jealous folk are perilous evermore -
At least they would their wives think so.
And also, for she was somewhat sullied,
She was as dignified as water in a ditch,
And full of disdain and scorn. (3965)
She thought that a lady should herself spare,
What for her kindred and her nurture
That she had learned in the nunnery.

A daughter they had between them two
Of twenty years, without any more, (3970)
Saving a child that was of half year age;
In cradle it lay and was a proper boy.
This wench thick and well grown was,
With pug nose and eyes gray as glass,
With buttocks broad and breasts round and high. (3975)
But right fair was her hair; I will not lie.

This parson of the town, for she was fair,
In purpose was to make her as his heir,
Both of his chattel and his house,
And difficult he made it of her marriage. (3980)
His purpose was to bestow her high
Into some worthy blood of ancestry;
For holy church's good must be expended
On holy church's blood, that is descended.
Therefore he would his holy blood honor, (3985)
Though that he holy church should devour.

Great monopoly had this miller, out of doubt,
With wheat and malt of all the land about;
And namely there was a great college
Men called the Solar Hall at Cambridge; (3990)
There was their wheat and also their malt ground.
And on a day it happened, in a time,
Sick lay the manciple on a malady;
Men thought wisely that he should die.
For which this miller stole both meal and corn (3995)
A hundred times more than before;
For before that he stole only courteously,
But now he was a thief outrageously,
For which the warden chided and made fuss.
But thereof set the miller not a weed; (4000)
He blustered fiercely, and swore it was not so.

Then were there young poor scholars two,
That dwelt in this hall, of which I say.
Testy they were, and lusty for play,
And, only for their mirth and revelry, (4005)
Upon the warden busily they cried
To give them leave, but a little time,
To go to the mill and see their corn ground;
And hardily they dared lay their necks
The miller should not steal them half a peck (4010)
Of corn by slight, nor by force them rob;
And at last the warden gave them leave.
John was called one, and Alain called the other;
Of a town they were born, that was called Strother,
Far in the north; I can not tell where. (4015)

This Alain made ready all his gear,
And on a horse the sack he cast at once.
Forth went Alan the clerk, and also John,
With good swords and with shields by their side.
John knew the way - they needed no guide - (4020)
And at the mill the sack down he laid.
Alain spoke first: "All hail, Simon*, in faith! *(Simkin is a nickname for Simon)
How fares your fair daughter and your wife?"

"Alain, welcome," quoth Simkin, "by my life!
And John also, how now, what do you here?" (4025)

"Simon," quoth John, "by God, who has no peer.
He must serve himself that has no swain,
Or else he is a fool, as clerks say.
Our manciple, I think he will be dead,
So ache always the teeth in his head; (4030)
And forth am I come, and also Alain,
To grind our corn and carry it home again;
I pray you speed us hence that you may."

"It shall be done," quoth Simkin, "by my faith!
What will you do while it is in hand?" (4035)

"By God, right by the hopper will I stand,"
Quoth John, "and see how the corn goes in.
Yet saw I never, by my father's kin,
How that the hopper wags to and fro."

Alain answered, "John, and will you so? (4040)
Then I will be beneath, by my crown,
And see how that the meal falls down
Into the trough; that shall be my sport.
For John, in faith, I may be of your sort;
I am as ill a miller as are you." (4045)

The miller smiled at their nicety,
And thought, "All this is nothing but a wile.
They think that no man may them beguile,
But by my thrift, yet shall I blear their eye,
For all the slight in their philosophy. (4050)
The more quaint tricks that they make,
The more will I steal when I take.
Instead of flour yet will I give them bran.
'The greatest clerks are not wisest men,'
As once the wolf thus said to the mare. (4055)
Of all their art I count not a weed."

Out the door he went full privately,
When he saw his time, softly.
He looked up and down until he had found
The clerks' horse, where it stood bound (4060)
Behind the mill, under an arbor;
And to the horse he went fair and well;
He stripped of the bridle right at once.
And when the horse was loose, he began to go
Toward the fen, where the wild mares ran, (4065)
And forth with "wehee," through thick and through thin.

This miller went again, no word he said,
But did his work, and with the clerks played
Until their corn was fair and well ground.
And when the meal was sacked and bound, (4070)
John went out and found his horse away,
And began to cry "Harrow!" and "Wail-away!"
Our horse is lorn, Alain, for God's bones,
Step on your feet! Come of, man, all at once!
Alas, our warden has his palfrey lorn." (4075)
This Alain all forgot, both meal and corn;
All was out of his mind his husbandry.
"What, which way is he gone?" he began to cry.

The wife came leaping inward with a run.
She said, "Alas! your horse goes to the fen (4080)
With wild mares, as fast as he can go.
Curses come on his hand that bound him so,
And he that better should have knit the rein!"

"Alas," quoth John, "Alain, for Christ's pain
Lay down your sword, and I will mine also. (4085)
I am full strong, God knows, as is a roe;
By God's heart, he shall not escape us both!
Why didn't you put the horse in the barn?
Ill hail! By god, Alain, you are a fool!"

These innocent clerks had full fast run (4090)
Toward the fen, both Alain and also John.

And when the miller saw that they were gone,
He half a bushel of their flour had taken,
And bade his wife go knead it in a cake.
He said, "I true the clerks were leery. (4095)
Yet can a miller make a clerk a fool,
For all his art; now let them go their way!
Lo, where he goes! You, let the children play.
They will get him not so lightly, by my crown."

These hapless clerks ran up and down (4100)
With "Keep! Keep! Stand! Stand! Down here, watch behind,
Go whistle you, and I shall keep him here!"
But shortly, until it was truly night,
They could not, though they did all their might,
Their horse catch, he ran always so fast, (4105)
Until in a ditch they caught him at last.

Weary and wet, as a beast is in the rain,
Came poor John, and with him came Alain.
"Alas," quoth John, "the day I was born!
Now are we driven to contempt and to scorn. (4110)
Our corn is stolen; men will us fools call,
Both the warden and our fellows all,
And namely the miller, wail-away!"

Thus complained John as he went by the way
Toward the mill, and Bayard in his hand. (4115)
The miller sitting by the fire he found,
For it was night, and further might they not;
But for the love of God they him besought
Of harboring and of ease, as for their penny.

The miller said again, "If there be any, (4120)
Such as it is, yet you shall have your part.
My house is narrow, but you have learned art;
You can by arguments make a place
A mile broad of twenty feet of space.
Let see now if this place may suffice, (4125)
Or make it room with speech, as is your guise."

"Now, Simon," said John, "by Saint Cuthbert,
Always are you merry, and this is fair answered.
I have heard said, 'Man shall take of two things:
Such as he finds, or take such as he brings.' (4130)
But especially I pray you, host dear,
Get us some meat and drink, and make us cheer,
And we will pay truly at full.
With empty hands men may not hawks lure;
Look, here is our silver, ready to spend." (4135)

This miller into town his daughter sent
For ale and bread, and roasted them a goose,
And bound their horse, it should no more go loose,
And in his own chamber made them a bed,
With sheets and with blankets fair spread (4140)
Not ten or twelve feet from his own bed.
His daughter had a bed, all by herself,
Right in the same chamber by and by.
It might be no better, and why?
There was no roomier harborage in the place. (4145)
They supped and they spoke, them to solace,
And drank ever strong ale at best.
About midnight they went to rest.

Well has this miller varnished his head;
Full pale was he for drunk, and not red. (4150)
He belched, and spoke through the nose
As if he had a hoarse throat, or had a cold.
To bed he went, and with him went his wife.
As any jay was she light and jolly,
So was her jolly whistle wet. (4155)
The cradle at her bed's foot was set,
To rock, and to give the child to suck.
And when that drunken all were in the crock,
To bed the daughter went right at once;
To bed went Alain and also John; (4160)
There was no more, they needed no sleeping draught.
This miller had so surely imbibed ale
That as a horse he snorted in his sleep,
Nor of his tail behind did he take any keep.
His wife bore him a base, one full strong; (4165)
Men might hear her snoring for two furlongs;
The wench snored also, to keep company.

Alain the clerk, who heard this melody,
He poked John, and said, "Do you sleep?
Have you ever heard such a song before now? (4170)
Lo, such a hymn is among them all;
A wild fire upon their bodies fall!
Who heard ever such an amazing thing?
Yea, they shall have the flour of ill ending.
This long night there tides me no rest; (4175)
But yet, no force, all shall be for the best.
For, John," said he, "all ever might I thrive,
If that I may, yonder wench will I shag.
Some ease has law shaped us,
For, John, there is a law that says thus: (4180)
That if a man in a point be aggrieved,
That in another he shall be relieved.
Our corn is stolen, truly, it can't be denied,
And we have had an ill fit all this day;
And since I shall have no amendment (4185)
Against my loss, I will have easement.
By God's sail, it shall not be otherwise!"

This John answered, "Alain, watch yourself!
The miller is a perilous man," he said,
And if that he out of his sleep awoke, (4190)
He might do us both a villainy."

Alain answered, "I count him not a fly."
And up he rose and by the wench he crept.
Until so nigh he was, before she might espy,
That it had been too late to cry, (4195)
And shortly to say, they were conjoined.
Now play, Alain, for I will speak of John.

This John laid full still a moment or two,
And to himself he made pity and woe. (4200)
"Alas," quoth he, "this is a wicked trick;
Now may I say that I am but an ape.
Yet has my fellow something for his harm;
He has the miller's daughter in his arm.
He risked himself, and has his needs sped, (4205)
And I lie as a chaff-sack in my bed;
And when this trick is told another day,
I shall be held daft, a weakling!
I will arise and risk it, by my faith!
'Unhardy is unlucky,' thus men say." (4210)
And up he rose, and softly he went
Unto the cradle, and in his hand took it,
And bore it softly unto his bed's foot.

Soon after this the wife her snoring stopped,
And came awake, and went out to piss, (4215)
And came again, and did her cradle miss,
And groped here and there, but she found none.
"Alas!" quoth she, "I had almost miss-gone;
I had almost gon to the clerk's bed.
Aye, blessings! Then had I foul sped!" (4220)
And forth she went until the cradle she found.
She groped always further with her hand,
And found the bed, and thought nothing but good,
Because the cradle by it stood,
And didn't know where she was, for it was dark; (4225)
But fair and well she crept in to the clerk,
And laid full still, and would have caught a sleep.
Within a while this John the clerk up leaped,
And on this good wife he laid on sore.
So merry a time never had she had for a long time; (4230)
He pricked hard and deep as if he were mad.
This joly life these two clerks led
Until the third cock began to sing.

Alain waxed weary in the dawning,
For he had shagged all the long night, (4235)
And said, "Fare well, Maline, sweet girl!
The day is come; I may no longer bide;
But evermore, where so I go or ride,
I am your won clerk, so have I sworn!"

"Now, dear sweetheart," quoth she, "go, fare well! (4240)
But before you go, one thing I will you tell:
When you wend homeward by the mill,
Right at the entry of the door behind
You shall a cake of half a bushel find
That was made of your own meal, (4245)
Which I helped my sire to steal.
And, good sweetheart, God save you and keep!"
And with that word almost she began to weep.

Alain up rose, and thought, "Before it is dawn,
I will go creep in by my fellow,"
And found the cradle with his hand at once.
"By God," though he, "All wrong have I miss-gone.
My head is dizzy of my shag tonight,
That makes it so I go not right.
I know well by the cradle that I have miss-gone; (4255)
Here lies the miller and his wife also."
And forth he went, in the name of twenty devils,
Unto the bed where the miller lay.
He thought to have crept by his fellow John,
And by the miller in he crept at once, (4260)
And caught him by the neck, and soft he spoke.
He said, "You John, you swine's-head, awake,
For Christ's soul, and hear a noble game.
For by that lord that is called Saint James,
As I have thrice in this short night (4265)
Shagged the miller's daughter bolt upright,
While you have, as a coward been aghast."

"You, false harlot," quoth the miller, "has?
Ah, false traitor! False Clerk!" quoth he,
"You shall be dead, by God's dignity! (4270)
Who dares be so bold as to disparage
My daughter, who is come of such lineage?"
And by the Adam's apple he caught Alain,
And he took him dispiteously again,
And on the nose he smote him with his fist. (4275)
Down ran the bloody stream upon his breast;
And in the floor, with nose and mouth broken,
The wallowed as do two pigs in a poke;
And up they went, and down again at once,
Until that the miller stumbled at a stone, (4280)
And down he fell backward upon his wife,
That knew nothing of this nice strife;
For she was fallen asleep a little while
With John the clerk, who had waked all the night,
And with the fall out of her sleep she started up. (4285)
"Help! holy cross of Bromeholm," she said,
"In manus tuas*! Lord, to thee I call! *(into your hands)
Awake, Simon! The fiend is on me fallen.
My heart is broken; help! I am not but dead!
There lies one upon my womb and on my head. (4290)
Help, Simkin, for the false clerks fight!"

This John stirred up as fast as ever he might,
And grasped by the walls to and fro,
To find a staff; and she stirred up also,
And knew the house better than did this John, (4295)
And by the wall a staff she found at once,
And saw a little shimmering of a light,
For at a hole the moon shone in bright,
And by that light she saw them both two,
But truly she didn't know who was who, (4300)
But as she saw a white thing in her eye.
And when she began this white thing to espy,
She though the clerk had worn a nightcap,
And with the staff she drew always nearer and dearer,
And believed she had hit this Alain at the full, (4305)
And smote this miller on the bald skull,
That down he went, and cried, "Harrow, I die!"
These clerks beat him well and let him lie,
And dressed themselves, and took their horse at once,
And also their meal, and on their way they were gone. (4310)
And at the mill yet they took their cake
Of half a bushel of flour, full well baked.

Thus is the proud miller well beaten,
And has lost the grinding of the wheat,
And payed for the supper every bit (4315)
Of Alain and of John, who beat him well.
His wife is shagged, and his daughter also.
Lo, such it is a miller to be false!
And therefore this proverb is said in full truth,
"He will not win well that evil does." (4320)
A guiler shall himself beguiled be.
And God, who sits in high majesty,
Save all this company, great and small!
Thus have I requited the Miller in my tale.

Here is ended the Reeve's tale.

Chaucer FYI - 3 The Miller's Tale

After the honor, glory and nobility of The Knight's Tale, it is easy to see a fall in progress as The Miller's Tale is read and understood. Where the Knight was hyper-focused on the importance of degree and keeping distance between the various estates, the Miller happily mocks degree in a number of cases. At one point he describes something as "shining like a noble new struck in the tower;" this phrase has two meanings, which are at least partially lost in modern parlance. Modern readers don't know that a noble was a kind of circulated coin which, newly minted, shone very brightly - they are therefore likely to dismiss the line as a whole as incomprehensible, and thus will also miss the pun on newly created nobility, the "new money" of Chaucer's time. The Miller also jokes that Alison is essentially a "fine fling for a gentleman, or a good wife for a churl," which, after the high-flung ideals of love in The Knight's Tale is a rather pertinent jab at idealistic or unrealistic love as well as at the Knight's respect for degree.

The Miller lets us know from the start through such hints as those listed above, as well as his drunken rantings in his prologue that he is telling a base tale for base men, and it is in this way that we see him as the first, contemptuous, and reactionary example of tale-teller interaction. In The Reeve's tale we will see the Reeve reacting violently against the Miller for making fun of carpenters by making fun of a miller, and so on down the line for many of the tales. Somewhat ironically, it is appropriate that the Knight has no real opportunity to react against another tale-teller since his sense of honor associated with his degree would prevent him from insulting someone of a lower class.

Now onto my rant:

Translating Middle English into Modern English is difficult for a number of reasons. Some of these I've made little effort to address in my translation - I generally don't modernize syntax too much, I tend to leave in some of the articles that are superfluous in Modern English, I don't make much of an effort to hold punctuation to Modern English standards; that is because these things do very little to impede the translation of meaning to a modern reader. They may make reading my translation somewhat more frustrating, but they also make my translation all the more authentic. What I do have an issue with, however, is the difficulty found in translating some Middle English words into a Modern English vocabulary.

This was not as difficult, interestingly, in The Knight's Tale or the General Prologue where the vocabulary was held to a higher (and as it turns out, more lasting) standard. In The Miller's Tale, however, where the speaker is expected to be more colloquial, it is possible to see the depth of the losses we've experienced in the English language.

The Miller's speech is wonderfully funny, but frustratingly difficult to understand - which makes it hard for a first-time reader to appreciate the humor. Chaucer can't be blamed for this, but translators who are too frightened of offending a reader or treating "The Work" with anything less than reverence and kid gloves can and should be blamed for some of the trouble that readers have in approaching Chaucer.

There are four examples I would like to bring to the fore in The Miller's Tale. One is excusable, one is frustrating, one is infuriating, and one is unforgivable.

The first deals with one of the in-text notes in my translation of The Miller's Tale - the word "hende" according to many translators means simply "courteous" or "helpful." The reason this is excusable in a translation is that the pun is so close to lost that it would be difficult to elegantly convey it to a modern audience. Courteous, helpful Nicholas is handy. He is a handy man, not a handy-man, but one who is useful. That is enough, for basic readers - those who are not college students. College students should also be able to find out, without reaching for a Middle English dictionary or reading a few dry articles, that Nicholas is a grabby man. That his hands wander. If you are reading the original Middle English, perhaps you should be able to extrapolate that from the word "hende" and the context, but it is unlikely that overtaxed students will be able to on a single read-through. Please, for goodness' sake, footnote that sort of thing.

The frustrating example of translation or glossing is at the "ers" end of the story, occurring in only the last couple hundred lines. The frustrating word is, of course, "ers." I remember the first time I read this tale; I saw the word on the page, looked at it, read it in context and thought to myself "no, Chaucer wouldn't talk about some guy kissing some girl's ass. I should check in the glossary." Then I did check the glossary, and "ers" wasn't in it. Then I checked a few translations; I found "bum," I found "buttocks," and I found "behind," but I didn't find anything that looked like "ers." That's when I had my first encounter with a Middle English dictionary, one that first defined "ers" as buttocks, but at least conceded that it was "colloquially, ass." An ass is an ass! Not a bum or a buttock! Chaucer used the word for a reason, and "ass" is a hell of a lot closer to the Middle English than "buttocks" is, and a lot more appropriate for the person telling this tale. Sanitizing the language of a potty-mouthed, drunken Miller so that a modern reader's delicate sensibilities won't be offended makes no sense; especially since the word that's being tidied up can be spoken on network television and in PG rated movies. Congratulations, you just made Chaucer more puritanical than Disney. You heathens!

The fourth, infuriating, example of translator frustration I want to discuss involves another in-text note I made to the reader. "Queynte," with various spellings, has many meanings in Middle English. It can mean clever, sly, strange, supernatural, occasionally rural (as an extension of strange), and according to the glossary of The Riverside Chaucer, can mean an "elegant, pleasing (thing)" - wait, that doesn't make any sense - or "i.e., pudendum" - well, that's better. I can type "pudendum" (a word I had honestly not encountered before a line note in this textbook) into Google and find out that it's a rather outdated way of saying "vagina." Not only does this textbook - which is honestly, a pretty good text - go out of its way to avoid saying "vagina" by being so vague as to say "elegant, pleasing (thing)" in its stead, when the book actually gets around to saying "vagina" it doesn't bother to use a word for the part, even a medical word, that anyone this century has ever heard of, no - they use an outdated Latin word that literally means "something to be ashamed of." Tell you what, I'm not ashamed - Nicholas grabbed Alison by her cunt. Ta-da! Now, wasn't that simpler than the hair-pulling exercise that The Riverside Chaucer put us through?

The unforgivable sin that I came across while translating may actually seem rather minor in comparison. At the end of The Miller's Tale, after we've been through ass kissing, cheating, trickery, and the general delightful nastiness of the characters the Miller sums up for us. How kind. One of the last things we hear about was how "swyved" the carpenter's wife was. Seeing an unfamiliar word, I looked at the note at the bottom of the page. Then, unable to believe the callousness of the editor, I looked it up in the back of the book, then another translation, then in a dictionary (which I can forgive because dictionaries aren't supposed to be read.) According to all these sources, "swyved" means "copulated with." Can we please, possibly, in any way, make that definition more clinical, less interesting and less funny for readers who are already trying to muster the strength to wade through a book that is rapidly falling out of our curriculum because it's inaccessible to modern audiences? Nicholas and Alison weren't copulating! Okay, well technically they were, but putting it that way in a translation or a glossary makes it sound like Alison wasn't cheating on her husband with their boarder before having her stalker make out with her ass only to have that same stalker burn a strip of skin as wide as a hand off her lover's ass with a hot plow blade just before her husband broke his arm by falling out of a barn because he thought Noah's flood was coming. Can we at least say "made love" or "had sex," because "copulated with" just doesn't quite fit the tone of this circus/soap opera of a story, now does it?

The Miller's Tale

Here follow the words between the Host and the Miller

When the knight had thus his tale told,
In all the group was there neither young nor old (3110)
That didn't say it was a noble story
And worthy to draw in memory,
And namely the gentles everyone.
Our Host laughed and swore, "So must I go,
This goes right; unbuckled is the pouch. (3115)
Let see now who shall tell another tale;
For truly the game is well begun.
Now tell you, sir Monk, if you can,
Something to requite the Knight's tale."
The Miller, who for being drunk was all pale, (3120)
So that barely upon his horse he sat,
He would not remove neither hood or hat,
Nor abide no man for his courtesy,
But in Pilot's voice he began to cry,
And swear, "By Arms, and by blood and by bones, (3125)
I know a noble tale for the instance,
With which I will now requite the Knight's tale."
Our Host saw that he was drunk with ale,
And said, "Abide, Robin, my dear brother;
Some better man shall tell us first another. (3130)
Abide, and let us work thriftily."

"By God's soul," quoth he, "that will not I;
For I will speak or else go my way."
Our Host answered, "Tell on, in the Devil's name!
You are a fool; your wit is overcome." (3135)

"Now hearken," quoth the Miller, "all and some!
But first I make a protestation
That I am drunk; I know it by my sound.
And therefore if I misspeak or miss-say,
Blame the ale of Southwerk, I you pray. (3140)
For I will tell a legend and a life
Both of a carpenter and of his wife,
How that a clerk had set the wright's cap."

The Reeve answered and said, "Stint your clap!
Let be your lewd drunken harlotry. (3145)
It is a sin and also a great folly
To slander any man, or him defame,
And also to bring wives in such fame.
You may enough of other things say."

The drunk Miller spoke full soon again (3150)
And said, "Dear brother Oswald,
Who has no wife, he is no cuckold.
But I say not therefore that you are one;
There have been full good wives many of,
And ever a thousand good against one bad. (3155)
That you know well yourself, unless you are mad.
Why are you angry with my tale now?
I have a wife, indeed, as well as you;
Yet I would not, for the oxen in my plow,
Take upon me more than enough, (3160)
As I believe of myself that I was one;
I wish to believe well that I am none.
A husband shall not be inquisitive
Of God's secrets, nor of his wife.
So he may find God's plenty there, (3165)
Of the remnant need he not inquire."

What should I more say, but this Miller
He would not his words for any man forbear,
But told his churl's tale in this manner.
I am sorry that I shall rehearse it here. (3170)
And therefore every gentle man I pray,
For God's love, believe not that I say
Of evil intent, but for I must rehearse
Their tales all, be they better or worse,
Or else falsify some of my material. (3175)
And therefore, whoever likes it not to hear,
Turn over the leaf and choose another tale;
For he shall find enough, great and small,
Of historical things that touch gentleness,
And also morality and holiness. (3180)
Blame not me if you choose amiss.
The Miller is a churl; you know well this.
So was the Reeve and also others more,
And harlotry they told both two.
You consider, and put me out of blame; (3185)
And also men shall not make earnest of game.

Here begins the Miller his tale.

Once there was dwelling at Oxford
A rich churl, that guests held to board,
And of his craft he was a carpenter.
With him there was dwelling a poor scholar, (3190)
Who had learned logic, but all his fantasy
Was turned to learn astrology,
And could ascertain conclusions,
To deem by interrogations,
If men asked him, in certain hours (3195)
When men should have drought or else showers,
Or if men asked him what should befall
Of every thing; I may not reckon them all.

This clerk was called hende* Nicholas

*("Hende" means courteous or helpful, in that he is "handy" but it also implies that his hands wander or are too prevalent, as we shall see in his fixation on his host's wife. For the purpose of this translation, any time Nicholas is referred to as "hende" I will call him "handy.")

Of secret love he knew and of satisfaction; (3200)
And thereto he was sly and full private,
And like a maiden meek to see.
A chamber had he in that hostelry
Alone, without any company,
Full festively laid with herbs sweet; (3205)
And he himself was as sweet as the root
Of licorice or any ginger.
His Almageste, and books great and small,
His astrolabe, belonging to his art,
His counting stones laid fair apart, (3210)
On shelves couched at his bed's head;
His cupboard covered with a falding read;
And all above there lay a gay psaltry,
On which he made at nights melody
So sweetly that all the chamber rung; (3215)
And Angelus ad virginem* he sung; *(The angel to the virgin)
And after that he sung the King's Note.
Full often blessed was his merry throat.
And thus this sweet clerk his time spent
After his friends finding and his rent. (3220)

This carpenter had wedded newly a wife,
Which he loved more than his life;
Eighteen years she was of age.
Jealous he was, and held her narrow in cage,
For she was wild and young, and he was old (3225)
And deemed himself likely to be a cuckold.
He knew not Cato, for his wit was rude,
That bade men should wed his equal.
Men should wed after their estate,
For youth and age are often at debate. (3230)
But since he was fallen in the snare,
He must endure, as other folk, his care.

Fair was this young wife, and there withall
As any weasel was her body gentle and small.
A cinch she wore, barred all with silk, (3235)
An apron as white as morning milk
Upon her loins, full of many a flounce.
White was her smock, and embroidered all before
And also behind, on her collar about,
Of coal black silk, within and also without. (3240)
The ribbons of her white cap
Where of the same suite of her collar;
Her headband of broad silk, and set full high.
And truly she had a flirtatious eye;
Full small plucked were her brows two (3245)
And those were bent and black as any sloe.
She was full more blissful to see
Than is the new early pear tree,
And softer than the wool of a lamb, (3250)
Tasseled with silk and decorated with brass.
In all this world, so seek up and down,
There was no man so wise that could envision
So gay a doll or such a wench.
Full bright was the shining of her hew (3255)
Than in the Tower the noble forged new.
But of her song, it was loud and lively
As any swallow sitting on a barn.
Thereto she could skip and make game
As any kid or calf following his dam.
Her mouth was sweet as bragot or mead,
Or a hoard of apples laid in hay or heath.
Skittish was she, as is a jolly colt,
Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.
A brooch she bore upon her low collar, (3265)
As broad as is the center of a shield.
Her shoes were laced on her legs high.
She was a primrose, a pig's eye,
For any lord to lay in his bed,
Or yet for any good yeoman to wed. (3270)

Now, sir, and again, sir, so befell the case
That on a day this handy Nicholas
Fell with this young wife to rage and play,
While her husband was at Osney,
As clerks are full subtle and full quaint; (3275)
And secretly he caught her by the queynte*,

*(queynte, or "quaint" can mean several things in Middle English, such as 'clever' or 'strange'. In this particular line it means "elegant, pleasing thing" according to the Riverside Chaucer, which also hesitantly defines it as "i.e., pudendum" - which is a roundabout, mincing way of saying "this word is the origin of the word 'cunt.'" There's a reason that this blog is a translation site for college students.)

And said, "Indeed, unless I have my will,
For dear love of you, sweetheart, I die."
And held her hard by the haunch bones,
And said, "Sweetheart, love me all at once, (3280)
Or I will die, God me save!"
And she sprung as a colt does at the frame,
And with her head she turned fast away,
And said, "I will not kiss you, by my faith!
Why, let be!" quoth she. "Let be, Nicholas, (3285)
Or I will cry 'out, harrow' and 'alas'!
Do way your hands, for your courtesy!"

This Nicholas began for mercy to cry,
And spoke so fair, and proffered himself so fast,
That she her love granted him at last, (3290)
And swore her oath, by Saint Thomas of Kent,
That she would be at his commandment,
When she could her leisure well espy.
"My husband is so full of jealousy
That unless you wait well and be secret, (3295)
I know right well I am naught but dead," quoth she.
"You must be full deceptive, in this case."

"Nay, of that care you not," quoth Nicholas.
"A clerk has somewhat beset his while,
If he cannot a carpenter beguile." (3300)
And thus they were accorded and sworn
To wait a time, as I have told before.

When Nicholas had done thus everything
And patted her about the loins well,
He kissed her sweetly and took his psaltry, (3305)
And played fast, and made melody.

Then it fell thus, that to the parish church,
Christ's own works for to work,
This good wife went on a holy day.
Her forehead shone as bright as any day, (3310)
So was it washed when she left her work.
Now there was of that church a parish clerk,
Who was called Absolon.
Curled was his hair, and as gold it shone,
And spread as a fan large and broad; (3315)
Full straight and even lay his jolly hair.
His complexion was red, his eyes gray as a goose.
With St. Paul's window carved on his shoes,
In hose red he went festively.
Clad was he full small and properly (3320)
All in a tunic of a light blue;
Full fair and thick were the laces set.
And thereupon he had a gay church gown
As white as is the blossom upon the twig.
A merry child he was, so God me save. (3325)
Well cold he let blood, and clip and shave,
And make a charter of land or quittance.
In twenty manners could he trip and dance
After the school of Oxford though,
And with his legs cast to and fro, (3330)
And play songs on a small fiddle;
Thereto he sang some times a loud high treble;
And as well he could play on a cithern.
In all the town there was no brew house or tavern
That he didn't visit with his pleasing, (3335)
Where any gay barmaid was.
But truth to say, he was somewhat squeamish
Of farting, and of his speech was fastidious.

This Absolon, who was jolly and gay,
Went with incense on the holy day, (3340)
Censing the wives of the parish fast;
And many a loving look on them he cast,
And namely on this carpenter's wife.
To look on her he thought a merry life,
She was so proper and sweet and flirtatious. (3345)
I dare well say, if she had been a mouse,
And he a cat, he would have snatched her at once.
This parish clerk, this jolly Absolon,
Had in his heart such a love-longing
That of no wife took he an offering; (3350)
For courtesy, he said, he would none.

The moon, when it was night, full bright shone,
And Absolon had his cithern taken;
For love's sake he thought for to wake.
And forth he went, lively and amorous, (3355)
Until he came to the carpenter's house
A little after the cocks had crowed,
And put himself up by a hinged window
That was upon the carpenter's wall.
He sang in his voice gentle and small, (3360)
"Now, dear lady, if your will be,
I pray you that you will pity on me,"
Full well accordant to his playing.
The carpenter awoke and heard him sing,
And spoke to his wife and said at once, (3365)
"What! Alison! Hear you not Absolon,
That chants thus under our bower's wall?"
And she answered her husband there withall,
"Yes, God knows, John, I hear it every part."

This passed forth; what will you better than well? (3370)
From day to day this jolly Absolon
So wooed her that he was woebegone.
He waked all the night and all the day;
He combed his locks broad, and made himself gay;
He wooed her by means and brooking an agent, (3375)
And swore that he would be her own page;
He sang, trilling as a nightengale;
He sent her sweet wine, mead, and spiced ale,
And wafers, piping hot out of the fire;
And, because she was of town, he proffered money; (3380)
For some folk will be won by riches,
And some by striking, and some for gentleness.
Once, to show his lightness and mastery,
He played Herod upon a stage.
But what availed he in this case? (3385)
She loved so this handy Nicholas
That Absolon may as well blow the buck's horn;
He had nothing for his labor but a scorn.
And thus she made Absolon her ape,
And all his earnest turned into a joke.
Full true is this proverb, it is no lie,
Men say right thus: "Always the near sly
Makes the far loved to be loathed."
For though that Absolon was mad or wrathful,
By cause that he was far from her sight, (3395)
This near Nicholas stood in his light.

Now bear yourself well, you handy Nicholas,
For Absolon may wail and sing "alas."
And so it befell on a Saturday,
This carpenter was gone to Osney; (3400)
And handy Nicholas and Alison
Accorded were to this conclusion,
That Nicholas shall shape himself a wile
This innocent jealous husband to beguile;
And if it happened that the game went right, (3405)
She should sleep in his arms all night,
For this was his desire and hers also.
And right at once, without words more,
This Nicholas no longer would tarry,
But did full soft unto his chamber carry (3410)
Both meat and drink for a day or two,
And to her husband bade her to say,
If he asked after Nicholas,
She should say she didn't know here he was;
Of all that day she saw him not with eye; (3415)
She believed that he was in malady,
Because, no cry she made could him call,
He would not answer for anything that might fall.

This passed forth all the same Saturday,
That Nicholas still in his chamber lay, (3420)
And ate and slept, or did what he liked,
Until Sunday, when the sun had gone to rest.
This innocent carpenter had great curiosity
Of Nicholas, or what thing might him ail,
And said, "I am a-dread, by Saint Thomas, (3425)
It stands not right with Nicholas.
God shield that he died suddenly!
This world is now full unstable, truly.
I saw today a corpse borne to church
That now, on Monday last, I saw him work. (3430)

"Go up," quoth he to his knave at once,
"Call at his door, or knock with a stone.
Look how it is, and tell me boldly."

This knave went up full sturdily,
And at the chamber door while that he stood, (3435)
He cried and knocked as if he were mad,
"What, how! What are you doing, master Nicholas?
How may you sleep all the long day?"

But all for naught; he heard not a word.
A hole he found, full low upon a board, (3440)
There as the cat was wont in to creep,
And at that hole he looked in full deep,
And at the last he had of him a sight.
This Nicholas sat ever gaping upright,
As he had looked on the new moon. (3445)
Down he went, and told his master soon
In what array he saw this same man.

This carpenter to bless him began,
And said, "Help us, Saint Frideswide!
A man knows little what shall him betide. (3450)
This man is fallen, with his astronomy,
In some madness or in some agony.
I thought always how it should so be!
Men should not know of God's secrets.
You, blessed be always a lewd man (3455)
That naught but only his beliefs knows!
So fared another clerk with astronomy;
He walked in the fields to pry
Upon the stars, what there should befall,
Until he was in a clay pit fallen; (3460)
He saw not that. But yet, by Saint Thomas,
I pity sore handy Nicholas,
He shall be punished of his studying,
If that I may, by Jesus, heavenly king!
Get me a staff, that I may pry from under, (3465)
While you, Robin, heave up the door.
He shall start out of his studying, as I guess."
And to the chamber door he began himself to dress.
His knave was a strong fellow indeed,
And by the hasps he heaved it off at once; (3470)
This Nicholas sat always as still as a stone,
And ever gaped upward into the air.
This carpenter supposed he was in despair,
And grabbed him by the shoulders mightily, (3475)
And shook him hard, and cried piteously,
"What! Nicholas! What, how! What, look down!
Awake, and think on Christ's passion!
I cross you from elves and from men,"
Therewith the night spell said he right at once (3480)
On four halves of the house about,
And on the threshold of the door without:
"Jesus Christ and Saint Benedict,
Bless this house from every wicked man,
For night's vermin, the white pater-noster*! (3485) *(our father)
Where did you go, Saint Peter's sister?"

And at last this handy Nicholas
Began to sigh sorely, and said, "Alas!
Shall all the world be lost so soon now?

This carpenter answered, "What say you? (3490)
What, Think on God, as we do, men that work."

This Nicolas answered, "Fetch me drink,
And after will I speak in privacy
Of a certain thing that touches you and me.
I will tell it to no other man, certainly." (3495)

This carpenter went down, and came up again,
and brought of strong ale a large quart;
And when each of them had drunk his part,
This Nicholas his door fast shut,
And down by the carpenter he sat. (3500)

He said, "John, my host, loved and dear,
You shall upon your true oath swear me here
That to no man will you this council betray,
For it is Christ's council that I say,
And if you tell it to men, you are forlorn; (3505)
For this vengeance you shall have therefore,
That if you betray me, you shall be mad."
"No, Christ forbid it, for his holy blood!"
Quoth this innocent man, "I am no blab,
No, though I say, I am not like to gab. (3510)
Say what you will, I shall it never tell
To child or wife, by him that harrowed hell!"

"Now John," quoth Nicholas, "I will not lie;
I have found in my astrology,
As I have looked in the moon bright, (3515)
That Monday next, at quarter night,
Shall fall a rain, and that so wild and mad
That half so great was never Noah's flood.
This world," he said, "in less than an hour
Shall be all drowned, so hideous is the shower. (3520)
Thus shall all mankind drench, and lose their life."

This carpenter answered, "Alas, my wife!
And shall she drench? Alas, my Alison!"
For sorrow of this he almost fell down,
And said, "Is there no remedy in this case?" (3525)

"Why, yes, by God," quoth handy Nicholas,
"If you will work after lore and advice.
You may not work after your own head;
For thus said Solomon, that was full true:
'Work all by counsel, and you shall not rue.' (3530)
and if you will work by good counsel,
I undertake, without mast and seal,
Yet shall I save her and you and me.
Have you not heard how saved was Noah,
When our Lord had warned him before (3535)
That all the world with water should be lorn?"

"Yes," quoth this Carpenter, "full long ago."

"Have you not heard," quoth Nicholas, "also
The sorrow of Noah with his fellowship,
Before he might get his wife to ship? (3540)
He had rather liked, I dare well undertake,
At the same time, than all his sheep black
That she had a ship to herself alone.
And therefore, know you what is best to do?
This asks haste, and of a hasty thing (3545)
Men may not preach or make tarrying.

"At once go get us fast into this inn
A kneading trough or else a brewing keg,
For each of us, but look that they are large,
In which we might swim as in a barge, (3550)
And have therein vittles sufficient
But for a day - fie on the remnant!
The water shall slake and go away
About prime upon the next day.
But Robin may not know of this, your knave, (3555)
Also not your maid Jill may I save;
Ask not why, for though you ask me,
I will not tell God's privacy.
Suffice you, but if your wits be mad,
To have as great a grace as Noah had. (3560)
You wife shall I well save, out of doubt.
Now go your way, and speed you here-about.

"But when you have, for her and you and me,
Gotten us these kneading tubs three,
Then shall you hang them in the roof full high, (3565)
That no man of our purveyance shall spy.
And when you have thus done as I have said,
And have our vittles fair in them laid,
And also an axe to smite the cord in two,
When that the water comes, that we may go (3570)
And break a hole high above, upon the gable,
Toward the garden, over the stable,
That we may freely pass forth our way,
When the great shower is gone away.
Then shall you swim as merry, I undertake, (3575)
As does the white duck after her drake.
Then will I cry, 'How Alison! How John!
Be merry, for the flood will pass at once.'
And you will say, 'Hail, master Nicholas!
Good morrow, I see the well, for it is day.' (3580)
And than shall we be lords all our life
Of all the world, as Noah and his wife.

"But of one thing I warn you full right:
Be well advised on that same night
That we are entered into ship's board, (3585)
That none of us may speak a word,
Nor call, nor cry, but be in his prayer;
For it is God's own behest dear.

"Your wife and you must hang far twain,
So that between you shall be no sin, (3590)
No more in looking than there shall be in deed.
This ordinance is said. Go, God you speed!
Tomorrow at night, when men are all asleep,
Into our kneading tubs will we creep,
And sit there, abiding God's grace. (3595)
Go now your way; I have no longer space
To make of this any longer sermoning.
Men say thus, 'send the wise, and say no thing.'
You are so wise, it needs you not teach.
Go, save our lives, and that I you beseech." (3600)

This innocent carpenter went forth his way.
Full oft he said "Alas and wail-away,"
And to his wife he told his secret,
And she was aware, and knew it better than he,
What all this clever plot was for to say. (3605)
But nonetheless she fared as she would die,
And said, "Alas! go forth your way at once,
Help us to escape, or we are dead each one!
I am your true, honest wedded wife;
Go, dear spouse, and help to save our lives." (3610)

Lo, what a great thing is affection!
Men may die of imagination,
So deep may impression be taken.
This innocent carpenter began to quake;
He thought truly that he might see (3615)
Noah's flood come wallowing as the sea
To drench Alison, his honey dear.
He wept, wailed, and made sorry cheer;
He sighed with full many a sorry groan;
He went and got himself a kneading trough, (3620)
And after that a tub and a keg,
And privately he sent them to his inn,
And hung them in the roof in privacy.
By his own hand he made ladders three,
To climb by the rungs and the stalks (3635)
Into the tubs hanging in the beams,
And them vittled, both trough and tub,
With bread, and cheese, and good ale in a jug,
Sufficing right enough as for a day.
But before that he had made all this array, (3630)
He sent his knave, and his wench also,
Upon his need to London for to go.
And on the Monday, when it fell to night,
He shut his door without candle light,
And dressed all things as they should be. (3635)
And shortly, up they climbed all three;
The sat still well a little way.

"Now, Pater-noster, calm!" said Nicholas,
And "Calm!" quoth John, and "Calm!" said Alison.
This carpenter said his devotion, (3640)
And still he sat, and bid his prayer,
Awaiting the rain, if he it hear.

Then did sleep, for weary business,
Fall on this carpenter right, as I guess,
About curfew time, or a little more; (3645)
For travail of his soul he groaned sore,
And before he snored, for his head mislaid.
Down the ladder stalked Nicholas,
And Alison full soft down she sped;
Without words more they went to bed, (3650)
Where the carpenter was wont to lie.
There was the revel and the melody;
And thus laid Alison and Nicholas,
In business of mirth and of solace,
Until the bell of morning began to ring, (3655)
And the friars in the chancel began to sing.

This parish clerk, this amorous Absolon,
That was for love always so woebegone,
Upon the Monday was at Osney
With company, himself to sport and play, (3660)
And asked upon a case a cloisterer
Full privately after John the carpenter;
And he drew himself apart out of the church,
And said, "I know not; I saw him here not work
Since Saturday; I believe that he went (3665)
For timber, there our abbot has him sent;
For he is wont for timber to go
And dwell at the grange for a day or two;
Or else he is at his house, certain.
Where that he is, I can not truly say." (3670)

This Absolon was full jolly and light,
And thought, "Now is time to wake all night,
For truly I saw him not stirring
About his door, since day began to spring.

"So might I thrive, I shall, at cock's crow, (3675)
Full privately knock at his window
And stand full low upon his bower's wall.
To Alison now will I tell all
My love-longing, for yet I shall not miss
That at the least way I shall her kiss. (3680)
Some manner comfort shall I have, for faith.
My mouth has itched all this long day;
That is a sign of kissing at least.
All night I dreamed also I was at a feast.
Therefore I will go to sleep an hour or two, (3685)
And all the night then will I wake and play."

When the first cock had crowed, at once
Up rose this jolly lover Absolon,
And himself arrayed gay, at every point.
But first he chewed grain and licorice, (3690)
To smell sweet, before he had combed his hair.
Under his tongue a true-love he bore,
For thereby went he to be gracious.
He roamed to the carpenter's house,
And still he stood under the shot window - (3695)
Unto his breast it reached, it was so low -
And soft he coughed with a small sound:
"What do you, honey-comb, sweet Alison,
My fair bird, my sweet cinnamon?
Awake, sweetheart mine, and speak to me! (3700)
Well little think you upon my woe,
That for your love I sweat where I go.
No wonder is though that I faint and sweat;
I mourn as does a lamb after the teat.
Yes, sweetheart, I have such love-longing (3705)
That like a turtle true is my mourning.
I may not eat more than a maid."

"Go from the window, Jack fool," she said;
"So help me God, it will not be 'come kiss me.'
I love another - and else I were to blame - (3710)
Well better than you, by Jesus, Absolon.
Go forth you way, or I will cast a stone,
And let me sleep, by twenty devil's names!"

"Alas," quoth Absolon, "and wail-away,
That true love was ever so evil beset! (3715)
Then kiss me, since it may be no better,
For Jesus's love, and for the love of me."

"Will you then go your way therewith?" quoth she.

"Yes, certainly, sweetheart," quoth this Absolon.

"Then make yourself ready," quoth she, "I come at once." (3720)
And unto Nicholas she said still,
"Now hush, and you shall laugh your fill."

This Absolon set himself down on his knees
And said, "I am a lord at all degrees;
For after this I hope there some more. (3725)
Sweetheart, your grace, and sweet bird, your mercy."

The window she undid, and that in haste.
"Have do," quoth she, "come of, and speed fast,
Lest that our neighbors you espy."

This Absolon began to wipe his mouth full dry. (3730)
Dark was the night as pitch, or as the coal.
And at the window out she put her hole,
And Absolon, he fell no better nor worse,
But with his mouth he kissed her naked ass
Full savoringly, before the was aware of this. (3735)
Back he started, and thought it was amiss,
For well he knew a woman has no beard.
He felt a thing all rough and long haired,
And said, "Fie! alas! what have I done?"

"Tee-hee!" quoth she, and clapped the window to, (3740)
And Absolon went forth a sorry pace.

"A beard! A trick!" quoth handy Nicholas,
"By God's corpse, this goes fair and well."

This innocent Absolon heard every bit,
And on his lip for anger he began to bite, (3745)
And to himself he said, "I shall you requite."

Who rubs now, who frets now his lips
With dust, with sand, with straw, with cloth, with chips,
But Absolon, who said full oft, "Alas!"
"My soul I give unto Satan, (3750)
But I would rather than all this town," quoth he,
"Of this spite avenged be.
Alas," quoth he, "alas, I had not turned away!"
His hot love was cold and all quenched;
For from that time he had kissed her ass, (3755)
Of paramours he set not a cent,
For he was healed of his malady.
Full oft paramours he began to defy,
And weep as does a child that is beaten.
A soft pace he went over the street (3760)
Until a smith man called sir Gervais,
That in his forge smithed plow harnesses;
He shaped plowshare and plow-blades busily.
This Absolon knocked all gently,
And said, "Open, Gervais, and that at once." (3675)

"What, who are you?" "It is I, Absolon."
"What, Absolon! For Christ's sweet tree,
Why rise you so early? Aye, benediction!
What ails you? Some gay girl, God it knows,
Has brought you thus upon the stir. (3770)
By Saint Neot, you know well what I mean."

This Absolon cared not a bean
Of all his play; no word again he gave;
He had more flax on his distaff
Than Gervais knew, and said, "Friend so dear, (3775)
That hot plow-blade in the chimney here,
Loan it to me; I have therewith to do,
And I will bring it to you again full soon."

Gervais answered, "Certainly, were it gold,
Or in a sack nobles all untold, (3780)
You should have, as I am a true smith.
Aye, Christ's foe! What will you do therewith?"

"Thereof," quoth Absolon, "be as be may.
I shall well tell it you tomorrow day" -
And caught the plow-blade by the cold handle. (3785)
Full soft out at the door he began to steal,
And went unto the carpenter's wall.
He coughed first, and knocked therewithall
Upon the window, right as he did before.

This Alison answered, "Who is there (3790)
Who knocks so? I warrant it a thief."

"Why, no," quoth he, "God knows, my sweet life,
I am your Absolon, my darling.
Of gold," quoth he, "I have brought you a ring.
My mother gave it to me, so God me save; (3795)
Full fine it is, and thereto well engraved.
This will I give you, if you me kiss."

This Nicholas was risen to piss,
And though he would improve all the joke;
He should kiss his ass before he escaped. (3800)
And the window he did up hastily,
And out his ass he put privily
Over the buttock, to the haunch-bone;
Therewith spoke this clerk, this Absolon,
"Speak, sweet bird, I know not where you are." (3805)

This Nicholas at once let fly a fart
As great as if it had been a thunder clap,
That with the stroke he was almost blinded;
And he was ready with his iron hot,
And Nicholas amid the ass he smote. (3810)

Off went the skin a hand's breadth about,
The hot plow-blade so branded his rump,
And for the smart he thought for to die.
As if he were mad, for woe he began to cry,
"Help! Water! Water! Help, for God's heart!" (3815)

This carpenter out of his slumber stirred,
And heard one cry "water!" as if he were mad,
And thought, "Alas, now comes Noah's flood!"
He sat himself up without words more,
And with his axe he smote the cord in two, (3820)
And down went all; he found neither to sell,
No bread nor ale, until he came to the cell
Upon the floor, and there in a swoon he lay.

Up started her Alison and Nicholas,
And cried "Out" and "Harrow" in the street. (3825)
The neighbors, both small and great,
In ran to look on this man,
That yet in a swoon lay, both pale and wan,
For with the fall he had broken his arm.
But stand he must unto his own harm; (3830)
For when he spoke, he was at once borne down
With handy Nicholas and Alison.
They told every man that he was mad;
He was so aghast of Noah's flood
Through fantasy that of his vanity (3835)
He had bought himself kneading tubs three,
And had hanged them in the roof above;
And that he prayed them, for God's love,
To sit in the roof, for company.

The folk began to laugh at his fantasy; (3840)
In the roof they stared and gaped,
And turned all his harm into a joke.
For whatsoever this carpenter answered,
It was for naught; no man his reason heard.
With oaths great he was so sworn down (3845)
That he was held mad in all the town;
For every clerk right away held with another.
They said, "The man is mad, my dear brother";
And every man began to laugh at this strife.
Thus was shagged this carpenter's wife, (3850)
For all his keeping and his jealousy,
And Absolon has kissed her nether eye,
And Nicholas was scalded in the rump.
This tale is done, and God save all the company!

Here ends the Miller his tale.