The Miller’s Tale It is a sinne and eek a greet folye

The Prologue To apeiren any man, or him diffame,

And eek to bringen wyves in swich fame.
WHEN THE KNIGHT HAD his tale told, Thou mayst y-nogh of othere thinges seyn.”
In all the company there was neither young This dronken Miller spak ful sone ageyn,
nor old And seyde, “leve brother Osewold,
Who said not that it was a noble story, Who hath no wyf, he is no cokewold.
And worthy for to keep in memory, But I sey nat therfore that thou art oon;
And so spoke the genteel pilgrims especially. Ther been ful gode wyves many oon,
Our Host laughed and swore, “As I may hope And ever a thousand gode ayeyns oon badde,
to live, That knowestow wel thy-self, but-if thou
This goes well, the bag is opened. madde. Why artow angry with my tale now?
Let see now who should tell another tale, I have a wyf, pardee, as well as thou,
For truly, the game is well begun. Yet nolde I, for the oxen in my plogh,
Now tell you, sir Monk, if you know how, Taken up-on me more than y-nogh,
Something to match the Knight’s tale.” As demen of my-self that I were oon;
The Miller, who quite drunk was all pale, I wol beleve wel that I am noon.
So that with trouble upon his horse he sat, And housbond shal nat been inquisitif
Nor bothered to doff his hood or hat, Of goddes privetee, nor of his wyf.
Nor deferred to anyone out of courtesy, So he may finde goddes foyson there,
But in Pilate’s voice1 he began to harangue, Of the remenant nedeth nat enquere.”
And swore, “By Christ’s arms and by blood and
bones, What sholde I more seyn, but this Millere
I know a noble tale for this occasion, He nolde his wordes for no man forbere,
With which I will now repay the Knight’s tale.” But tolde his cherles tale in his manere;
M‘athynketh that I shal reherce it here.
Our Host saw that he was drunk on ale, And ther-fore every gentil wight I preye,
And said, “Wait, Robin, my dear brother, For goddes love, demeth nat that I seye
Some better man shall tell us first another: Of evel entente, but that I moot reherce
Wait, and let us go in proper order.” Hir tales alle, be they bettre or werse,
Or elles falsen som of my matere.
“By God’s soul,” said he, “that I will not; And therfore, who-so list it nat y-here,
For I will speak or else go my way.” Turne over the leef, and chese another tale;
Our Host answered, “Tell on, what the devil! For he shal finde y-nowe, grete and smale,
You are a fool, your wit is overcome.” Of storial thing that toucheth gentillesse,
And eek moralitee and holinesse;
“Now listen,” said the Miller, “all and some! Blameth nat me if that ye chese amis.
But first I make a protestation The Miller is a cherl, ye knowe wel this;
That I am drunk, I know by my voice’s sound.
And therefore, if I misspeak or say, The Reeve answered and said, “Shut your
Blame it on the ale of Southwark, I you pray; trap!
For I will tell a legend and a life Forget your rude drunken smut.
Both of a carpenter and of his wife, It is a sin and also a great folly
How that a student made of the carpenter a To injure any man, or him defame,
fool.” And to bring wives into ill-repute.
The Reve answerde and seyde, “stint thy You may enough of other things say.”
clappe,
Lat be thy lewed dronken harlotrye.
This drunken Miller spoke full soon again, The Tale
And said, “Dear brother Oswald,
Who has no wife, he is no cuckold. Whylom ther was dwellinge at Oxenford
But I say not therefore that you are one; A riche gnof, that gestes heeld to bord,
There be full good wives many a one, And of his craft he was a Carpenter.
And even a thousand good for every one bad. With him ther was dwellinge a povre scoler,
You know that yourself, unless you’re mad. Had lerned art, but al his fantasye
Why are you angry with my tale now? Was turned for to lerne astrologye,
I have a wife, by God, as well as you, And coude a certeyn of conclusiouns
Yet would I not, for the oxen in my plow, To demen by interrogaciouns,
Take upon me more worries than enough, If that men axed him in certein houres,
As to imagine myself a cuckold; Whan that men sholde have droghte or elles
I well believe that I am not one. shoures,
A husband shall not be inquisitive Or if men axed him what sholde bifalle
Of God’s secrets, nor of his wife. Of every thing, I may nat rekene hem alle.
So he may find God’s bounty there,
Of the rest he need not inquire.” This clerk was cleped hende Nicholas;
Of derne love he coude and of solas;
What should I say more, but this Miller And ther-to he was sleigh and ful privee,
He would his words no man spare, And lyk a mayden meke for to see.
But told his churl’s tale in his manner. A chambre hadde he in that hostelrye
I regret I must repeat it here. Allone, with-outen any companye,
And therefore every genteel person I pray, Ful fetisly y-dight with herbes swote;
For God’s love, deem it not that I speak And he him-self as swete as is the rote
From evil intent, but that I must retell Of licorys, or any cetewale.
His tales all, be they better or worse, His Almageste and bokes grete and smale,
Or else falsify my subject matter. His astrelabie, longinge for his art,
And therefore, whoso wishes it not to hear,
Turn over the page, and choose another tale; His augrim-stones layen faire a-part
For he shall find enough, great and small, On shelves couched at his beddes heed:
Of historical things that touch on the genteel, His presse y-covered with a falding reed.
And also morality and holiness. And al above ther lay a gay sautrye,
Blame me not if you choose amiss. On which he made a nightes melodye
The Miller is a churl, you know well this; So swetely, that al the chambre rong;
So was the Reve, and othere many mo, And Angelus ad virginem he song;
And harlotrye they tolden bothe two. And after that he song the kinges note;
Avyseth yow and putte me out of blame; Ful often blessed was his mery throte.
And eek men shal nat make ernest of game. And thus this swete clerk his tyme spente
So was the Reeve and others more,
And ribaldry they told both two.
Be advised and put me out of blame;
And do not take in earnest what is a game
 The Tale For youthe and elde is often at debaat.
But sith that he was fallen in the snare,
Once upon a time there was dwelling at He moste endure, as other folk, his care.
Oxford Fair was this yonge wyf, and ther-with-al
A rich churl, who took in lodgers, As any wesele hir body gent and smal.
And by trade he was a carpenter. A ceynt she werede barred al of silk,
With him there was dwelling a poor scholar, A barmclooth eek as whyt as morne milk
Who studied the liberal arts, but all his fancy Up-on hir lendes, ful of many a gore.
Was turned to learn astrology, Whyt was hir smok and brouded al bifore
And he knew a number of operations And eek bihinde, on hir coler aboute,
With which to provide explanations, Of col-blak silk, with-inne and eek with-oute.
If men asked him in certain hours The tapes of hir whyte voluper
When men should have drought or showers, Were of the same suyte of hir coler;
Or if men asked him what should befall
Of every thing, I cannot count them all. Hir filet brood of silk, and set ful hye:
This scholar was called polite Nicholas. And sikerly she hadde a likerous ye.
Of secret love he knew and of pleasure; Ful smale y-pulled were hir browes two,
And thereto he was sly and secretive, And tho were bent, and blake as any sloo.
And like a maiden meek to look upon. She was ful more blisful on to see
A room had he in that boardinghouse Than is the newe pere-jonette tree;
Alone, without any company, And softer than the wolle is of a wether.
Full neatly arranged with herbs sweet; And by hir girdel heeng a purs of lether
And he himself as sweet as is the root Tasseld with silk, and perled with latoun.
Of licorice, or any ginger spice. In al this world, to seken up and doun,
His treatise by Ptolemy on astronomy, There nis no man so wys, that coude thenche
His astrolabe,2 belonging to his art, So gay a popelote, or swich a wenche.
His augrim-stones3 lay fair apart Ful brighter was the shyning of hir hewe
On shelves placed at his bed’s head; Than in the tour the noble y-forged newe.
His clothes chest covered with wool cloth red. But of hir song, it was as loude and yerne
And on it lay a pretty zither, As any swalwe sittinge on a berne.
On which he made nightly melody From a private income and gifts from friends.
So sweetly, that all the chamber rang,
And an Annunciation hymn he sang, This carpenter had newly wedded a wife
And after that he sang the king’s note, Whom he loved more than his life;
4 Full often blessed was his merry throat. Of eighteen years she was of age.
And thus this sweet student his living spent Jealous he was, and held her as in a cage,
After his freendes finding and his rente. For she was wild and young, and he was old
And deemed himself likely to be a cuckold.
This Carpenter had wedded newe a wyf He knew not Cato, for he was untaught,
Which that he lovede more than his lyf; Who bade man should wed his counterpart.
Of eightetene yeer she was of age. Men should wed according to their condition,
Jalous he was, and heeld hir narwe in cage, For youth and age often are in opposition.
For she was wilde and yong, and he was old, But since he was fallen in the snare,
And demed him-self ben lyk a cokewold. He must endure, as other folk, his care.
He knew nat Catoun, for his wit was rude,
That bad man sholde wedde his similitude. Fair was this young wife, and all in all
As any weasel her body graceful and small.
Men sholde wedden after hir estaat, A belt she wore striped all of silk;
An apron also as white as morning milk For derne love of thee, lemman, I spille.”
Upon her loins, very fully cut. And heeld hir harde by the haunche-bones,
White was her dress, and embroidered all And seyde, “lemman, love me al at-ones,
before Or I wol dyen, also god me save!”
And also behind, on her collar about, And she sprong as a colt doth in the trave,
Of coal-black silk, within and without. And with hir heed she wryed faste awey,
And seyde, “I wol nat kisse thee, by my fey,
The strings of her white bonnet Why, lat be,” quod she, “lat be, Nicholas,
Were of the same kind as her collar; Or I wol crye out ‘harrow’ and ‘alias.’
Her headband broad of silk, and set full high. Do wey your handes for your curteisye!”
And certainly she had a lecherous eye:
Full small plucked were her brows two, This Nicholas gan mercy for to crye,
And they were arched, and black as any berry. And spak so faire, and profred hir so faste,
She was full more blissful for to see That she hir love him graunted atte laste,
Than is the blossoming pear-jonette tree; And swoor hir ooth, by seint Thomas of Kent,
And softer than the wool is of a wether. That she wol been at his comandement,
And by her waist hung a purse of leather Whan that she may hir leyser wel espye.
Tasseled with silk, and studded with metal. “Myn housbond is so ful of jalousye,
In all this world, to seek up and down, That but ye wayte wel and been privee,
There is no man so wise who could imagine I woot right wel I nam but deed,” quod she.
So gay a baby doll, or such a wench. “Ye moste been ful derne, as in this cas.”
Full brighter was the shining of her Thereto she could skip and gambol,
complexion As any kid or calf following his mother.
Than in the Tower the coin of new-forged Her mouth was sweet as honeyed ale
gold. Or hoard of apples laid in hay or heather.
But as to her song, it was lively and loud Skittish she was, as is a jolly colt,
As any swallow sitting on a barn. Long as a mast, and straight as an arrow.
Ther-to she coude skippe and make game, A brooch she bore upon her collar low,
As any kide or calf folwinge his dame. As broad as is the boss of a shield;
Hir mouth was swete as bragot or the meeth Her shoes were laced on her legs high.
Or hord of apples leyd in hey or heeth. She was a primrose, a cuckooflower,
Winsinge she was, as is a joly colt, For any lord to lay in his bed,
Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.
A brooch she baar up-on hir lowe coler, Or yet for any good yeoman to wed.
As brood as is the bos of a bocler. Now sir, and again sir, so befell the case,
Hir shoes were laced on hir legges hye; That on a day this polite, clever Nicholas
She was a prymerole, a pigges-nye Happened with this young wife to flirt and
For any lord to leggen in his bedde, play,
Or yet for any good yeman to wedde. While her husband was at Osney,
5 As scholars be full subtle and slippery.
Now sire, and eft sire, so bifel the cas,
That on a day this hende Nicholas And in private he caught her by her quack,
Fil with this yonge wyf to rage and pleye, 6 And said, “Unless I have my will,
Whyl that hir housbond was at Oseneye, My love for you will make me crack.”
As clerkes ben ful subtile and ful queynte; And held her hard by the bum,
And prively he caughte hir by the queynte, And said, “Sweetheart, love me at once,
And seyde, “y-wis, but if ich have my wille, Or I will die, as God me save!”
And she sprang as a colt does from the Wel coude he laten blood and clippe and
shoeing stall, shave,
And with her head she twisted fast away, And make a chartre of lond or acquitaunce.
And said, “I will not kiss you, by my faith. In twenty manere coude he trippe and daunce
Why, leave off,” said she, “leave off, Nicholas, After the scole of Oxenforde tho,
Or I will cry ‘help, help’nd‘alas.’ And with his legges casten to and fro,
Take your hands away, for your courtesy!” And pleyen songes on a small rubible;
This Nicholas began mercy for to cry, Ther-to he song som-tyme a loud quinible;
And spoke so fair, and offered himself so fast, And as wel coude he pleye on his giterne.
That she her love granted him at last, In al the toun nas brewhous ne taverne
And swore her oath, by Saint Thomas of Kent, That he ne visited with his solas,
That she would be at his commandment, Ther any gaylard tappestere was.
When she may her chance espy.
“My husband is so full of jealousy, “Nay, thereof care you not,” said Nicholas.
That unless you wait well and be discreet, “A scholar has poorly used his time awhile,
I am as good as dead,” said she. “You must be If he cannot a carpenter beguile.”
Completely secret in this case.” And thus they were accorded and sworn
To wait awhile, as I have told before.
“Nay ther-of care thee noght,” quod Nicholas, When Nicholas had done this all,
“A clerk had litherly biset his whyle, And stroked her about her loins well,
But-if he coude a carpenter bigyle.” He kissed her sweet, and took his zither,
And thus they been acorded and y-sworn And played hard, and made melody with her.
To wayte a tyme, as I have told biforn. Then befell it thus, that to the parish church,
Whan Nicholas had doon thus everydeel,
And thakked hir aboute the lendes weel, To perform Christ’s own works,
He kist hir swete, and taketh his sautrye, This good wife went on a holy day;
And pleyeth faste, and maketh melodye.
Her forehead shone as bright as any day, So
Than fil it thus, that to the parish-chirche, was it washed when she left her work. Now
Cristes owne werkes for to wirche, there was of that church a parish clerk,7 Who
This gode wyf wente on an haliday; was called Absolon. Curly was his hair, and as
Hir forheed shoon as bright as any day, S the gold it shone, And spread out as a fan
o was it wasshen whan she leet hir werk broad and large; Full straight and even lay his
hair parted. His complexion was red, his eyes
Now was ther of that chirche a parish-clerk, gray as a goose; With Saint Paul’s windows cut
The which that was y-cleped Absolon. in his shoes,8 In stockings red he went trimly.
Crul was his heer, and as the gold it shoon, Clad he was full tightly and properly, All in a
And strouted as a fanne large and brode; coat of a light blue; Neatly tied were the laces,
Ful streight and even lay his joly shode. And thereupon he had a gay surplice As white
His rode was reed, his eyen greye as goos; as the blossom upon the twig. A merry young
With Powles window corven on his shoos, man he was, so God me save. Well could he
In hoses rede he wente fetisly let blood9 and cut hair and shave, And make a
Y-clad he was ful smal and proprely, charter of land or a deed of release. In twenty
Al in a kirtel of a light wachet; ways could he trip and dance After the fashion
Ful faire and thikke been the poyntes set. of Oxford then, With his legs cast to and fro,
And ther-up-on he hadde a gay surplys And play songs on a small fiddle; Thereto he
As whyt as is the blosme up-on the rys. sang sometime in a high treble; As well could
A mery child he was, so god me save, he play on a guitar. In all the town there was
no brewhouse or tavern That he did not visit To look on her he thought a merry life. She
with his play, Where there was any gay was so sweet and flirtatious, I dare well say, if
barmaid. But sooth to seyn, he was somdel she had been a mouse, And he a cat, he would
squaymous Of farting, and of speche have pounced. This parish clerk, this jolly
daungerous. This Absolon, that jolif was and Absolon, Had in his heart such a love-longing,
gay, Gooth with a sencer on the haliday, That from no wife he took an offering; For
Sensinge the wyves of the parish faste; And courtesy, he said, he wanted none. The moon,
many a lovely look on hem he caste, And when it was night, full bright shone, And
namely on this carpenteres wyf. To loke on hir Absolon his guitar had taken— For paramours
him thoughte a mery lyf, She was so propre he would stay awake. And forth he went, jolly
and swete and likerous and amorous, Till he came to the carpenter’s
house A little after cocks had crowed, And
I dar wel seyn, if she had been a mous, And he took his place near an open window That was
a cat, he wolde hir hente anon. This parish- upon the carpenter’s wall. He sang in his voice
clerk, this joly Absolon, Hath in his herte swich thin and high, “Now, dear lady, if your will be, I
a love-longinge, That of no wyf ne took he pray that you will have pity on me,” In nice
noon offringe; For curteisye, he seyde, he harmony with his guitar. This carpenter awoke
wolde noon. The mone, whan it was night, ful and heard him sing, And spoke unto his wife,
brighte shoon, And Absolon his giterne hath y- and said anon, “What, Alison, do you hear
take, For paramours, he thoghte for to wake. Absolon Who sings thus under our bedroom
And forth he gooth, jolif and amorous, Til he wall?” And she answered her husband
cam to the carpenteres hous A litel after forthwith, “Yes, God knows, John, I hear it all.”
cokkes hadde y-crowe; And dressed him up by So this went on. What more can I say? From
a shot-windowe That was up-on the day to day this jolly Absolon So wooed her
carpenteres wal. He singeth in his vois gentil that he was woebegone. He stayed awake all
and smal, “Now, dere lady, if thy wille be, I night and all the day; He combed his locks
preye yow that ye wol rewe on me,” Ful wel broad, and made him gay; He wooed her
acordaunt to his giterninge. This carpenter through intercessors, And swoor he wolde
awook, and herde him singe, And spak un-to been hir owne page; He singeth, brokkinge as
his wyf, and seyde anon, “What! Alison! a nightingale; He sente hir piment, meeth, and
herestow nat Absolon That chaunteth thus spyced ale, And wafres, pyping hote out of the
under our boures wal?” And she answerde hir glede; And for she was of toune, he profred
housbond ther-with-al, “Yis, god wot, John, I mede.
here it every-del.” This passeth forth; what
wol ye bet than wel? Fro day to day this joly For som folk wol ben wonnen for richesse,
Absolon So woweth hir, that him is wo bigon. And som for strokes, and som for gentillesse.
He waketh al the night and al the day; He Somtyme, to shewe his lightnesse and
kempte hise lokkes brode, and made him gay; maistrye, He pleyeth Herodes on a scaffold
He woweth hir by menes and brocage, But hye. But what availleth him as in this cas? She
truth to say, he was somewhat squeamish Of loveth so this hende Nicholas, That Absolon
farting, and of speech fastidious. This Absolon, may blowe the bukkes horn; He ne hadde for
who amorous was and gay, Went with a his labour but a scorn; And thus she maketh
censer on the holy day, Censing the wives of Absolon hir ape, And al his ernest turneth til a
the parish with care, And many a loving look jape. Ful sooth is this proverbe, it is no lye,
on them he cast, And namely on this Men seyn right thus, “alwey the nye slye
carpenter’s wife: Maketh the ferre leve to be looth.” For though
that Absolon be wood or wrooth, By-cause
that he fer was from hir sighte, This nye
Nicholas stood in his lighte. Now bere thee to say, If that he asked after Nicholas, She
wel, thou hende Nicholas! For Absolon may should say she didn’t know where he was, Of
waille and singe “allas.” And so bifel it on a al that day she saugh him nat with ye;
Saterday This carpenter was goon til Osenay;
And hende Nicholas and Alisoun Acorded She trowed that he was in maladye, For, for no
been to this conclusioun, That Nicholas shal cry, hir mayde coude him calle; He nolde
shapen him a wyle This sely jalous housbond answere, for no-thing that mighte falle. This
to bigyle; And if so be the game wente aright, passeth forth al thilke Saterday, That Nicholas
She sholde slepen in his arm al night, For this stille in his chambre lay, And eet and sleep, or
was his desyr and hir also. And right anon, dide what him leste, Til Sonday, that the
with-outen wordes mo, This Nicholas no sonne gooth to reste. This sely carpenter hath
lenger wolde tarie, But doth ful softe un-to his greet merveyle Of Nicholas, or what thing
chambre carie Bothe mete and drinke for a mighte him eyle, And seyde, “I am adrad, by
day or tweye, And to hir housbonde bad hir seint Thomas, It stondeth nat aright with
for to seye, If that he axed after Nicholas, She Nicholas. God shilde that he deyde sodeynly!
sholde seye she niste where he was, And he This world is now ful tikel, sikerly; I saugh to-
swore he would be her own page; He sang, day a cors y-born to chirche That now, on
trilling like a nightingale; And sent her spiced Monday last, I saugh him wirche. “Go up,”
wine, mead, and spiced ale, quod he un-to his knave anoon, “Clepe at his
dore, or knokke with a stoon, Loke how it is,
And wafer cakes, piping hot out of the oven; and tel me boldely.” This knave gooth him up
And he also offered money. For some folk will ful sturdily, And at the chambre-dore, whyl
be won by riches, And some by blows, and that he stood, He cryde and knokked as that
some by kindness. Sometime, to show his he were wood:— “What! how! what do ye,
agility and skill, He played Herod10 on the maister Nicholay? How may ye slepen al the
high stage. But what did it avail him in this longe day?” But al for noght, he herde nat a
case? She loved so this sweet Nicholas, That word; An hole he fond, ful lowe up-on a
Absolon didn’t have a hope; For his labor he board, Ther as the cat was wont in for to
got nothing but scorn. And thus she made crepe; And at that hole he looked in ful depe,
Absolon her monkey, And all his earnestness And at the laste he hadde of him a sighte, This
turned into a joke. For truth is in this proverb, Nicholas sat gaping ever up-righte, As he had
it is no lie, Men say right thus, “A bird in the kyked on the newe mone. Adoun he gooth,
hand Is worth two in the bushes.” For no and tolde his maister sone In what array he
matter that Absolon might be undone, By saugh this ilke man. This carpenter to blessen
cause that he was far from her sight, This him bigan, And seyde, “help us, seinte
nearby Nicholas stood in his light. Now bear Frideswyde! A man woot litel what him shal
you well, you sweet Nicholas! For Absolon bityde. This man is falle, with his astromye,
may wail and sing “alas.” And so befell it on a
Saturday, This carpenter was gone to Osney, In som woodnesse or in som agonye; I thoghte
And sweet Nicholas and Alison Agreed to this ay wel how that it sholde be! During all that
conclusion, That Nicholas shall invent a wile day she saw him not with eye, She believed he
This silly husband to beguile; And if the game had a malady, For although she called him a
went aright, She should sleep in his arms all lot He wouldn’t answer, no matter what. This
night, For this was his desire and hers also. went on all that Saturday, That Nicholas still in
And right anon, without words more, This his chamber lay, And ate and slept, or did
Nicholas no longer would tarry, But secretly what he pleased, Till Sunday, when the sun
into his chamber carries Both meat and drink went to rest. This silly carpenter had greatly
for a day or two, And to her husband bade her marvelled At Nicholas, or what thing might
him ail, And said, “I am afraid, by Saint Nicholay! what, how! what! loke adoun!
Thomas, Something is wrong with Nicholas. Awake, and thenk on Cristes passioun; I
God forbid that he should die suddenly! This crouche thee from elves and fro wightes!”
world is now unstable, surely: I saw today a Ther-with the night-spel seyde he anon-
corpse borne to church Who now, on Monday rightes On foure halves of the hous aboute,
last, I saw him work. “Go up,” said he to his And on the threshfold of the dore with-oute:
servant anon, “Call at his door, or knock with a — “Jesu Crist, and seynt Benedight
stone, Look how he is, and tell me
straightaway.” This servant went up full Blesse this hous from every wikked wight, For
sturdily, And at the chamber door, while that nightes verye, the white paternoster!—
he stood He cried and knocked as if he were Where wentestow, seynt Petres soster?’ And
crazy: “What! How are you, master Nicholay? atte laste this hende Nicholas Gan for to syke
How can you sleep all the long day?” But all sore, and seyde, “allas! Shal al the world be
for nought, he heard not a word. A hole he lost eftsonnes now?” This carpenter
found, full low upon a board, There where the answerde, “what seystow? What! thenk on
cat was wont to creep; And at that hole he god, as we don, men that swinke.” Men
looked in full deep, And at last he had of him a should not know God’s secrets. Yes, blessed
sight. This Nicholas sat ever staring upward, As be always an unlearned man Who nought but
if half gone he gazed at the new moon. Down his religion knows! So fared another scholar
he went, and told his master soon In what with astromony: He walked in the fields for to
shape he saw this same man. spy Upon the stars, to learn what the future
would hold, Till he was in a clay pit fallen— He
This carpenter to cross himself began, And saw not that. But yet, by Saint Thomas, I pity
said, “Help us, Saint Frideswide!11 A man greatly sweet Nicholas. He shall be berated for
knows little what shall him betide. This man is his studying, If that I may, by Jesus, heaven’s
fallen, with his astromony, 12 Into some king! Get me a staff, that I may pry up, While
madness or in some fit; I knew well all along that you, Robin, push on the door. He shall
what might happen! Men sholde nat knowe of come out of his studying, as I guess.” And the
goddes privetee. Ye, blessed be alwey a lewed chamber door he began to address. His knave
man, That noght but only his bileve can! So was a strong fellow for this task, And by the
ferde another clerk with astromye; He walked hasp he heaved it off at once; Onto the floor
in the feeldes for to prye Up-on the sterres, the door fell anon. This Nicholas sat ever as
what ther sholde bifalle, Til he was in a marle- still as a stone, And ever stared upward into
pit y-falle; He saugh nat that. But yet, by seint the air. This carpenter thought he was in
Thomas, Me reweth sore of hende Nicholas. despair, And seized him by the shoulders
He shal be rated of his studying, If that I may, mightily, And shook him hard, and cried
by Jesus, hevene king! Get me a staf, that I violently, ”What, Nicholay! What, how! What,
may underspore, Whyl that thou, Robin, look adown! Awake, and think on Christ’s
hevest up the dore. He shal out of his passion! This sign of the cross will protect you
studying, as I gesse”— And to the chambre- from elves and such!”
dore he gan him dresse. His knave was a
strong carl for the nones, And by the haspe he Therewith the night charm said he at once On
haf it up atones; In-to the floor the dore fil all four sides of the house about, And on the
anon. This Nicholas sat ay as stille as stoon, threshhold of the front door without: “Jesus
And ever gaped upward in-to the eir. This Christ, and Saint Benedict, Bless this house
carpenter wende he were in despeir, And from every creature wicked, For nights, the
hente him by the sholdres mightily, And shook white paternoster! 13 Where did you go, Saint
him harde, and cryde spitously, “What! Peter’s sister?” And at last this sweet Nicholas
Began to sigh deeply, and said, “Alas! Shall all part, This Nicholas his door fast shut, And
the world be lost again so soon?” This down he sat, the carpenter by him. He said,
carpenter answered, “What say you? What! “John, my host beloved and dear, You shall
Think on God, as we do, men who labor!” This upon your honor swear me here, That to no
Nicholas answerde, “fecche me drinke; And person you will this secret betray; For it is
after wol I speke in privetee Of certeyn thing Christ’s counsel that I say, And if you to any
that toucheth me and thee; I wol telle it non man tell it, you are lost; For this vengeance
other man, certeyn.” This carpenter goth you shall have therefore, That if you betray me
doun, and comth ageyn, And broghte of you shall go cuckoo!” “No, Christ forbid it, by
mighty ale a large quart; And when that ech of his holy blood!” Said this silly man, “I am no
hem had dronke his part, This Nicholas his blabber, Though I admit I like to chatter. Say
dore faste shette, And doun the carpenter by what you will, I shall it never tell To child nor
him he sette. He seyde, “John, myn hoste lief wife, by him who harrowed hell!”
and dere, Thou shalt up-on thy trouthe swere
me here, That to no wight thou shalt this “Now John,” said Nicholas, “I will not lie. I
conseil wreye; For it is Cristes conseil that I have found in my astrology, As I have looked in
seye, And if thou telle it man, thou are forlore; the moon bright, That now, on Monday next,
For this vengaunce thou shalt han therfore, at quarter night,14 Shall fall a rain and that so
That if thou wreye me, thou shalt be wood!” furious and wild, That not half so great was
“Nay, Crist forbede it, for his holy blood!” Noah’s flood. This world,” he said, “in less
Quod tho this sely man, “I nam no labbe, Ne, than an hour Shall be drowned, so hideous
though I seye, I nam nat lief to gabbe. Sey will be the shower; Thus shall mankind drown
what thou wolt, I shal it never telle To child ne and lose its life.” This carpenter answered,
wyf, by him that harwed helle!” “Now John,” “Alas, my wife! And shall she drown? alas, my
quod Nicholas, “I wol nat lye; I have y-founde Alison!” For sorrow of this he fell almost
in myn astrologye, As I have loked in the mone adown, And said, “Is there no remedy in this
bright case?” “Why yes, by God,” said nice Nicholas,
“If you will work according to learning and
That now, a Monday next, at quarter-night, good advice; You may not follow your own
Shal falle a reyn and that so wilde and wood, mind; For Solomon said, who was trustworthy,
That half so greet was never Noes flood. This ‘Werk al by conseil, and thou shalt nat rewe.’
world,” he seyde, “in lasse than in an hour And if thou werken wolt by good conseil, I
Shal al be dreynt, so hidous is the shour; Thus undertake, with-outen mast and seyl, Yet shal
shal mankynde drenche and lese hir lyf.” This I saven hir and thee and me. Hastow nat herd
carpenter answerde, “allas, my wyf! And shal how saved was Noë, Whan that our lord had
she drenche? alias! myn Alisoun!” For sorwe warned him biforn That al the world with
of this he fil almost adoun, And seyde, “is ther water sholde be lorn?” “Yis,” quod this
no remedie in this cas?” “Why, yis, for gode,” carpenter, “ful yore ago.” “Hastow nat herd,”
quod hende Nicholas, “If thou wolt werken quod Nicholas, “also The sorwe of Noe with
after lore and reed; Thou mayst nat werken his felawshipe, Er that he mighte gete his wyf
after thyn owene heed. For thus seith to shipe? Him had he lever, I dar wel
Salomon, that was ful trewe, This Nicholas undertake, At thilke tyme, than alle hise
answered, “Fetch me drink; And after will I wetheres blake, That she hadde had a ship hir-
speak in secrecy Of certain things that touch self allone. And ther-fore, wostou what is best
upon you and me; I will tell it to no other man, to done? This asketh haste, and of an hastif
certainly.” This carpenter went down and thing Men may nat preche or maken tarying.
came again, And brought of mighty ale a large
quart, And when each of them had drunk his
Anon go gete us faste in-to this in A kneding- mad, To have as great a grace as Noah had.
trogh, or elles a kimelin, For ech of us, but Your wife shall I well save, without doubt.
loke that they be large, In whiche we mowe Now get going—and make it snappy. But
swimme as in a barge, And han ther-inne when you have, for her and you and me,
vitaille suffisant But for a day; fy on the Gotten us these kneading tubs three, Then
remenant! The water shal aslake and goon shall you hang them in the roof full high, That
away Aboute pryme up-on the nexte day. But no man our preparations may espy. And when
Robin may nat wite of this, thy knave, Ne eek you thus have done, as I have said, And have
thy mayde Gille I may nat save; Axe nat why, our provisions in them laid, And eek an ax, to
for though thou aske me, I wol nat tellen smyte the corde atwo When that the water
goddes privetee. Suffiseth thee, but if thy comth, that we may go, And broke an hole an
wittes madde, To han as greet a grace as Noë heigh, up-on the gable, Unto the gardin-ward,
hadde. Thy wyf shal I wel saven, out of doute, over the stable, That we may frely passen
Go now thy wey, and speed thee heeraboute. forth our way Whan that the grete shour is
But whan thou hast, for hir and thee and me, goon away— Than shaltow swimme as myrie,
Y-geten us thise kneding-tubbes three, Than I undertake, As doth the whyte doke aftir hir
shaltow hange hem in the roof ful hye, That drake. Than wol I clepe, ‘how! Alison! how!
no man of our purveyaunce spye. And whan John! Be myrie, for the flood wol passe anon.’
thou thus hast doon as I have seyd, And hast And thou wolt seyn, ‘hayl, maister Nicholay!
our vitaille faire in hem y-leyd, ‘Work all by Good morwe, I se thee wel, for it is day.’
advice, and you shall not be sorry.’ And if you
will work by good counsel, I promise, without And than shul we be lordes al our lyf Of al the
mast and sail, Yet shall I save her and you and world, as Noë and his wyf. But of o thyng I
me. Have you not heard how saved was Noah, warne thee ful right, Be wel avysed, on that
When that Our Lord had warned him before ilke night That we ben entred in-to shippes
That all the world with water should be lost?” bord, That noon of us ne speke nat a word, Ne
“Yes,” said the carpenter, “full long ago.” clepe, ne crye, but been in his preyere; For it is
“Have you not heard,” said Nicholas, “also The goddes owne heste dere. Thy wyf and thou
troubles of Noah and his fellows Before he mote hange fer a-twinne, For that bitwixe yow
might get his wife to ship?15 He would have shal be no sinne No more in looking than ther
rather, I dare remark, That she had for herself shal in dede; This ordinance is seyd, go, god
alone a ship Than to have kept all his fine thee spede! Tomorwe at night, whan men ben
black sheep. alle aslepe, In-to our kneding-tubbes wol we
crepe, And sitten ther, abyding goddes grace.
And therefore, do you know what is best to Go now thy wey, I have no lenger space To
do? This requires haste, and for an urgent make of this no lenger sermoning. Men seyn
thing Men may not preach or shilly-shally. thus, ‘send the wyse, and sey no-thing;’ Thou
Anon go get us fast into this dwelling A art so wys, it nedeth thee nat teche; Go, save
kneading trough or else a shallow tub For our lyf, and that I thee biseche.” This sely
each of us, but look that they be large, In carpenter goth forth his wey. Ful ofte he seith
which we may float as in a barge, And have “allas” and “weylawey,” And to his wyf he
therein victuals sufficient But for a day, fie on tolde his privetee; And she was war, and knew
the remainder! The water shall slake and go it bet than he, What al this queynte cast was
away About prime on the next day. But Robin for to seye. But nathelees she ferde as she
may not know of this, your servant, Nor your wolde deye, And seyde, “allas! go forth thy
maid Jill, whom I may not save. Ask not why, wey anon, And also an axe, to smite the cord
for though you ask me, I will not tell God’s in two When the water comes, that we may
secret things. Suffice it for you, unless you are go, And break a hole on high upon the gable
Toward the garden, over the stable, That we owne hand he made laddres three, To climben
may freely pass forth our way When that great by the ronges and the stalkes Un-to the
shower is gone away— Then shall you float as tubbes hanginge in the balkes, And hem
merry, I dare say, As does the white duck after vitailled, bothe trogh and tubbe, With breed
her drake. Then will I call, ‘How, Alison! How, and chese, and good ale in a jubbe, Suffysinge
John! Be merry, for the flood will pass anon!’ right y-nogh as for a day. But er that he had
maad al this array, He sente his knave, and eek
And you will say, ‘Hail, master Nicholay! Good his wenche also, Up-on his nede to London for
morrow, I see you well, for it is day.’ And then to go. And on the Monday, whan it drow to
shall we be lords all our lives Of all the world, night, He shette his dore with-oute candel-
as Noah and his wife. But of one thing I warn light, And dressed al thing as it sholde be. And
you full right: Be well advised on that same shortly, up they clomben alle three; They
night Once we be our ships aboard Then none sitten stille wel a furlong-way. “Now, Pater-
of us shall speak a word, No call, no cry, but be noster, clom!” seyde Nicholay, And “clom,”
at prayer; For it is God’s own commandment quod John, and “clom” seyde Alisoun. This
dear. Your wife and you must hang far apart, carpenter seyde his devocioun, And stille he
So that between you shall be no sin No more sit, and biddeth his preyere, Awaytinge on the
in looking than there shall be in deed; This reyn, if he it here. The dede sleep, for wery
ordinance is said, go, God you speed! bisinesse, Fil on this carpenter right, as I gesse,
Tomorrow at night, when men be all asleep, Aboute corfew-tyme, or litel more; For travail
Into our kneading tubs will we creep, And sit of his goost he groneth sore, Help us to
there, awaiting God’s grace. Go now your way, escape, or we’ll be dead soon. I am your true
I have no more time To make of this a longer wedded wife; Go, dear spouse, and help to
sermonizing. Men say thus, ‘Send the wise, save our life.” Behold, what a great thing is
and say no thing.’ You are wise, and don’t emotion! Men may die of what they imagine,
need teaching; Go save our lives, and that I
you beseech.” This silly carpenter went forth So deep may impression be taken. This silly
his way. Full often he said “alas” and carpenter began to quake; He thought verily
“wellaway,” And to his wife he told his secret; that he might see Noah’s flood come rolling as
And she was aware, and knew better than he, the sea To drown Alison, his honey dear. He
The point of all this crackpot strategy. But weeps, he wails, makes a long face, He sighs
nevertheless she acted as if she would die, with full many a sorry groan. He goes and gets
And said, “Alas! go forth your way anon, Help himself a kneading trough, And after that a
us to scape, or we ben lost echon; I am thy tub and another, And secretly he sent them to
trewe verray wedded wyf; Go, dere spouse, his home, And hung them in the roof in
and help to save our lyf.” Lo! which a greet secrecy. With his own hand he made ladders
thyng is affeccioun! Men may dye of three, To climb by the rungs and the shafts
imaginacioun, So depe may impressioun be Unto the tubs hanging in the beams, And
take. This sely carpenter biginneth quake; them provisioned, both trough and tub, With
bread and cheese, and good ale in a jug,
Him thinketh verraily that he may see Noes Sufficient right enough for a day. But before
flood come walwing as the see To drenchen he had made all this array, He sent his servant
Alisoun, his hony dere. He wepeth, weyleth, and his maid also Upon his business up to
maketh sory chere, He skyeth with ful many a London to go. And on the Monday, when it
sory swogh. He gooth and geteth him a drew to night, He shut his door without
kneding-trough, And after that a tubbe and a candlelight, And arranged everything as it
kimelin, And prively he sente hem to his in, should be. And shortly, up they climbed all
And heng hem in the roof in privetee. His three; They sat still a short time that way.
“Now, Paternoster, then mum!” said Nicholay, words more, they went to bed There where
And “mum,” said John, and “mum” said the carpenter was wont to lie. There was
Alison. This carpenter said his devotion, And revelry and melody; And thus lie Alison and
still he sat, and offered his prayer, All the while Nicholas In business of pleasure and mirth, Till
waiting the rain to hear. The sleep of the dead, that the chapel bell17 began to ring, And friars
from all his labor, Fell on this carpenter right in the chancel began to sing. This parish clerk,
as I guess About curfew-time,16 or a little this amorous Absolon, Who was for love
more; For travail of his soul he groaned sore, always so woebegone, Upon the Monday was
And eft he routeth, for his heed mislay. Doun at Osney With company himself to disport and
of the laddre stalketh Nicholay, And Alisoun, play, And happened to ask a friar Full
ful softe adoun she spedde; discreetly about John the carpenter; And he
drew him aside out of the church, And said, “I
With-outen wordes mo, they goon to bedde don’t know, I haven’t seen him Since Saturday.
Ther-as the carpenter is wont to lye. Ther was I believe that he went For timber, where our
the revel and the melodye; And thus lyth abbot had him sent, For he is wont for timber
Alison and Nicholas, In bisinesse of mirthe and for to go, And dwell at the monastery’s
of solas, Til that the belle of laudes gan to farmhouse a day or two; Or else he is at his
ringe, And freres in the chauncel gonne singe. house, for certain. Where he may be, I cannot
This parish-clerk, this amorous Absolon, That truly say.” This Absolon full jolly was and
is for love alwey so wo bigon, Up-on the joyous, And thought, “Now is time to stay
Monday was at Oseneye With compayne, him awake all night; For surely I saw him not
to disporte and pleye, And axed up-on cas a stirring About his door since day began to
cloisterer Ful prively after John the carpenter; spring. So may I thrive, I shall, at cock’s crow,
And he drough him a-part out of the chirche, Full secretly knock at his window That stands
And seyde, “I noot, I saugh him here nat full low upon his bedroom wall. To Alison now
wirche Sin Saterday; I trow that he be went will I tell all My love-longing, for yet I shall not
For timber, ther our abbot hath him sent; For miss That at the least I shall her kiss. Some
he is wont for timber for to go, And dwellen at kind of comfort shall I have, by my faith. My
the grange a day or two; Or elles he is at his mouth has itched all this long day; That is a
hous, certeyn; Wher that he be, I can nat sign of kissing at least. Also I dreamt all night I
sothly seyn.” This Absolon ful joly was and was at a feast
light, And thoghte, “now is tyme wake al
night; For sikirly I saugh him nat stiringe Therefore I will go on and sleep an hour or
Aboute his dore sin day bigan to springe. So two, And al the night than wol I wake and
moot I thryve, I shal, at cokkes crowe, Ful pleye.” Whan that the firste cok hath crowe,
prively knokken at his windowe That stant ful anon Up rist this joly lover Absolon, And him
lowe up-on his boures wal. To Alison now wol I arrayeth gay, at point-devys. But first he
tellen al My love-longing, for yet I shal nat cheweth greyn and lycorys, To smellen swete,
misse That at the leste wey I shal hir kisse. er he had kembd his heer. Under his tonge a
Som maner confort shal I have, parfay, My trewe love he beer, For ther-by wende he to
mouth hath icched al this longe day; That is a ben gracious. He rometh to the carpenteres
signe of kissing atte leste. Al night me mette hous, And stille he stant under the shot-
eek, I was at a feste. Therfor I wol gon slepe windowe; Un-to his brest it raughte, it was so
an houre or tweye, And he snored as his head lowe; And softe he cogheth with a semi-soun
crooked in the tub lay. — “What do ye, hony-comb, swete Alisoun?
My faire brid, my swete cinamome, Awaketh,
Down from the ladder crept Nicholay, And lemman myn, and speketh to me! Wel litel
Alison, full soft adown she sped; Without thenken ye up-on my wo, That for your love I
swete ther I go. No wonder is thogh that I wellaway, That true love was ever so ill-
swelte and swete; I moorne as doth a lamb bestowed!
after the tete. Y-wis, lemman, I have swich
love-longinge, That lyk a turtel trewe is my Then kiss me, since it may be no better, For
moorninge; I may nat ete na more than a Jesus’ love and for the love of me.” “Will you
mayde.” “Go fro the window, Jakke fool,” she then get out of here?” said she. “Yes, truly,”
sayde, “As help me god, it wol nat be‘com ba said this Absolon. “Then make you ready,” said
me; I love another, and elles I were to blame, she, “Here I come!” And to Nicholas she said
Wel bet than thee, by Jesu, Absolon! Go forth quietly, “Now hush, and you shall laugh all
thy wey, or I wol caste a ston, And lat me your fill.” This Absolon down set him on his
slepe, a twenty devel wey!” “Allas,” quod knees, And said, “I am a lord in all ways; For
Absolon, “and weylawey! That trewe love was after this I hope ther cometh more! Lemman,
ever so yvel biset! Than kisse me, sin it may be thy grace, and swete brid, thyn ore!” The
no bet, For Jesus love and for the love of me.” window she undoth, and that in haste, “Have
“Wiltow than go thy wey ther-with?” quod do,” quod she, “com of, and speed thee faste,
she. “Ye, certes, lemman,” quod this Absolon Lest that our neighebores thee espye.” This
Absolon gan wype his mouth ful drye; Derk
“Thanne make thee redy,” quod she, “I come was the night as pich, or as the cole, And at
anon;” And un-to Nicholas she seyde stille, the window out she putte hir hole, And
“Now hust, and thou shalt laughen al thy fille.” Absolon, him fil no bet ne wers, But with his
This Absolon doun sette him on his knees, And mouth he kiste hir naked ers Ful savourly, er
seyde, “I am a lord at alle degrees; And all the he was war of this. Abak he sterte, and
night will I wake and play.” When that the first thoghte it was amis, For wel he wiste a
cock crowed, anon Up rose this jolly lover womman hath no berd; He felt a thing al
Absolon, And dressed himself up to rough and long y-herd, And seyde, “fy! allas!
perfection. But first he chewed cardamom and what have I do?” “Tehee!” quod she, and
licorice, To smell sweet, before he combed his clapte the window to; And Absolon goth forth
hair. Under his tongue a true-love leaf he a sory pas. “A berd, a berd!” quod hende
bore, And thereby thought he to be gracious. Nicholas, “By goddes corpus, this goth faire
He roamed to the carpenter’s house, And still and weel!” This sely Absolon herde every
he stood under the open window— Up to his deel, And on his lippe he gan for anger byte;
breast it reached, it was so low— And soft he And to him-self he seyde, “I shal thee quyte!”
coughed with a small sound: “What do you, Who rubbeth now, who froteth now his lippes
honeycomb, sweet Alison, My fair bird, my With dust, with sond, with straw, with clooth,
sweet cinnamon? Awaken, sweetheart mine, with chippes, But Absolon, that seith ful ofte,
and speak to me! Well little think you upon “allas!
my woe, That for your love I sweat wherever I
go. No wonder it is that I swelter and sweat; I My soule bitake I un-to Sathanas, But me wer
yearn as does a lamb after the teat. Truly, lever than al this toun,” quod he, “Of this
sweetheart, I have such love-longing, That like despyt awroken for to be! Allas!” quod he,
a turtledove true is my mourning; I may not “allas! I ne hadde y-bleynt!” His hote love was
eat more than a maid.” “Go from the window, cold and al y-queynt; For fro that tyme that he
Jack fool,” she said, “As help me God, it will had kiste hir ers, Of paramours he sette nat a
not be ‘come kiss me.’ I love another, and kers, For he was heled of his maladye; Ful ofte
otherwise I would be to blame, Much better paramours he gan deffye, And weep as dooth
than you, by Jesu, Absolon! Go forth your way a child that is y-bete. A softe paas he wente
or I will cast a stone, And let me sleep, in the over the strete Un-til a smith men cleped
devil’s name!” “Alas,” said Absolon, “and daun Gerveys, That in his forge smithed
plough-harneys; For after this I hope there will Than Gerveys knew, and seyde, “freend so
be more. Sweetheart, your grace, and sweet dere, That hote culter in the chimenee here,
bird, your mercy!” The window she wide As lene it me, I have ther-with to done, And I
opened, and that in haste, “Have do,” said wol bringe it thee agayn ful sone.” Gerveys
she, “come on, and hurry, Lest our neighbors answerde, “certes, were it gold, Or in a poke
you espy.” This Absolon wiped his mouth full nobles alle untold, Thou sholdest have, as I am
dry: Dark was the night as pitch, or as the trewe smith; Ey, Cristes foo! what wol ye do
coal, And out the window she put her hole, therwith?”
And Absolon, fared no better or worse, But
with his mouth he kissed her naked arse Full “Therof,” quod Absolon, “be as be may; I shal
savourly, before he was aware of this. Aback wel telle it thee to-morwe day”— And caughte
he started, and thought it was amiss, For well the culter by the colde stele. Ful softe out at
he knew a woman had no beard; He felt a the dore he gan to stele, And wente un-to the
thing all rough and long-haired, And said, “Fie! carpenteres wal. He cogheth first, and
alas, what have I done?” “Teehee,” said she, knokketh ther-with-al Upon the windowe,
and clapped the window shut; And Absolon right as he dide er. This Alison answerde,
went forth with sorry step. “A beard, a beard!” “Who is ther That knokketh so? I warante it a
said nice Nicholas, “By God’s body, this goes theef.” “Why, nay,” quod he, “god woot, my
fair and well!” This poor Absolon heard every swete leef, I am thyn Absolon, my dereling! Of
word, And on his lip he began for anger to gold,” quod he, “I have thee broght a ring; My
bite; And to himself he said, “I shall you moder yaf it me, so god me save, Ful fyn it is,
requite.” and ther-to wel y-grave; This wol I yeve thee, if
thou me kisse!” This Nicholas was risen for to
Who rubs now, who chafes now his lips With pisse, And thoghte he wolde amenden al the
dirt, with sand, with straw, with cloth, with jape, He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape.
bark chips, But Absolon, who says full often, And up the windowe dide he hastily, He busily
“Alas! My soul I commit to Satan, If I would sharpened both coulter and ploughshare. This
rather own this town,” said he, “Than be Absolon knocked all quietly, And said, “Open
avenged of this insult to me. Alas!” said he, up, Gervase, and that anon.” “What, who are
“alas, that I did not abstain!” His hot love was you?” “It is I, Absolon.” “What, Absolon! For
cold and quenched and quashed; For from Christ’s sweet cross, Why rise you so early,
that time that he had kissed her arse, For aye, benedicite! What ails you? Some pretty
paramours he cared not a watercress, For he girl, God knows, Has brought you out upon
was cured of his illness. Full often paramours first cock crow; By Saint Neot,18 you know
he began to decry, And wept as does a beaten well what I mean.” This Absolon cared not
child. With a soft step he went across the beans For all his joking. No word he gave in
street To a blacksmith called Gervase, Who in reply; He had more on his mind Than Gervase
his smithy forged plough hardware: He knew, and said, “Friend so dear, That hot
sharpeth shaar and culter bisily This Absolon coulter19 in the forge here, Do lend it me: I
knokketh al esily, And seyde, “undo, Gerveys, have therewith to do, And I will bring it to you
and that anon.” “What, who artow?” “It am I, again full soon.”
Absolon.” “What, Absolon! for Cristes swete
tree, Why ryse ye so rathe, ey ben‘cite! What Gervase answered, “Truly, were it gold, Or
eyleth yow? som gay gerl, god it woot, Hath sack of coins in number untold, You should
broght yow thus up-on the viritoot; By sëynt have it, as I am a true smith. Hey, Devil take it,
Note, ye woot wel what I mene.” This Absolon what will you do with it?” “Thereof,” said
ne roghte nat a bene Of al his pley, no word Absolon, “be it as it may: I shall tell you
agayn he yaf; He hadde more tow on his distaf tomorrow day,” And caught the coulter by the
handle’s cold steel. Full soft out the door he y-boght him kneding-tubbes three, And hadde
began to steal, And went unto the carpenter’s hem hanged in the roof above; And that he
wall. He coughed first, and knocked preyed hem, for goddes love, To sitten in the
therewithal Upon the window, just as he did roof, par companye. The folk gan laughen at
before. And Alison answered, “Who is there his fantasye; And out his arse he put secretly
Who knocks so? I warrant it’s a thief.” “Why, Over the buttock, to the haunch-bone; And
nay,” said he, “God knows, my dear sweet therewith spoke this clerk, this Absolon,
one, I am your Absolon, my darling. Of gold,” “Speak, sweet bird, I know not where you
said he, “I have brought you a ring— My are.” This Nicholas anon let fly a fart, As great
mother gave it to me, so God me save— Full as had it been a thunderclap, And with that
fine it is, and well-engraved. This will I give stroke Absolon was almost blinded; And he
you, if you me kiss!” This Nicholas was risen was ready with his iron hot; And Nicholas
for to piss, And thought he would improve amid the arse he smote.
upon the caper; He should kiss his arse before
he escapes. And up the window put he hastily, Off went the skin a handsbreath across, The
And out his ers he putteth prively Over the hot coulter burned so his bum, And for the
buttok, to the haunche-bon; And ther-with smart he expected for to die. As if he were
spak this clerk, this Absolon, “Spek, swete gone berserk, he began to cry— “Help! water!
brid, I noot nat wher thou art.” This Nicholas water! Harrow, 20 for God’s heart!” This
anon leet flee a fart, As greet as it had been a carpenter out of his slumber started, And
thonder-dent, That with the strook he was heard someone crying ‘water’ as if gone mad,
almost y-blent; And he was redy with his iren And thought, “Alas, now comes Noel’s
hoot, And Nicholas amidde the ers he smoot. flood!”21 He sat him up without words more,
Of gooth the skin an hande-brede aboute, The And with his axe he smote the cord in two,
hote culter brende so his toute, And for the And down went all, he found time neither to
smert he wende for to dye. sail Nor for bread or ale, till he came to the
boards Upon the floor; and there in a faint he
As he were wood, for wo he gan to crye— lay. Up leapt Alison and Nicholay, And cried
“Help! water! water! help, for goddes herte!” “help” and “help” in the street. The neighbors,
This carpenter out of his slomber sterte, And both small and great, In ran to stare at this
herde oon cryen “water” as he were wood, man, Who still fainted lay, both pale and wan;
And thoghte, “Allas! now comth Nowélis For with the fall he had broken his arm. But
flood!” He sit him up with-outen wordes mo, bear the burden he must for his own harm.
And with his ax he smoot the corde a-two, For when he spoke, he was at once shouted
And doun goth al; he fond neither to selle, Ne down By both Nicholas and Alison. They told
breed ne ale, til he cam to the selle Up-on the every man that he was crazy, He was so afraid
floor; and ther aswowne he lay. Up sterte hir of “Noel’s flood” Through delusion, that of his
Alison, and Nicholay, And cryden “out” and foolish pride He had bought him kneading
“harrow” in the strete. The neighebores, tubs three, And had them hanged in the roof
bothe smale and grete, In ronnen, for to above; And that he prayed them, for God’s
guaren on this man, That yet aswowne he lay, love, To sit in the roof, for the sake of
bothe pale and wan; For with the fal he company. The folk laughed hard at his fantasy;
brosten hadde his arm; But stonde he moste In-to the roof they kyken and they gape, And
un-to his owne harm. For whan he spak, he turned al his harm un-to a jape. For what so
was anon bore doun With hende Nicholas and that this carpenter answerde, It was for noght,
Alisoun. They tolden every man that he was no man his reson herde; With othes grete he
wood, He was agast so of “Nowélis flood” was so sworn adoun, That he was holden
Thurgh fantasye, that of his vanitee He hadde wood in al the toun
For every clerk anon-right heeld with other.
They sede, “the man is wood, my leve
brother;” And every wight gan laughen of this
stryf. Thus swyved was the carpenteres wyf,
For al his keping and his jalousye; And Absolon
hath kist hir nether ye; And Nicholas is scalded
in the toute. This tale is doon, and god save al
the route! Into the roof they gazed and
gawked, And turned all his misfortune into a
joke. For whatsoever that this carpenter
answered, It was for nought; no man his
reasons heard. With oaths great he was so
sworn down, That he was thought mad in all
the town. For every scholar agreed at once
with the other: They said, “The man is
unhinged, my dear brother;” And every
person laughed at this strife. Thus screwed by
another was the carpenter’s wife For all his
guarding and his jealousy; And Absolon had
kissed her nether eye; And Nicholas is scalded
in the bum. This tale is done, and God save all
the company!

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