When folks had laughed at this silly business
Of Absolon and handy Nicholas,
Then diverse folks diversely did say,
But for the most part, they did laugh and play.
Nor at this tale did I see one man grieve, 5
Except only for Oswald the Reeve.
Because he was a carpenter by craft,
A little ire in his heart is left.
He groused some, and some blame he tried to lay.
“So help me,” said he, “I could well repay 10
You and make a miller’s proud eye bleary,
If I wanted to speak of ribaldry.
But I’m old and don’t like to play from age—
My grass time’s done, my fodder now is forage;
This white top writes about all my old years; 15
My heart is moldy just like my hair here,
Unless I fare like that fruit, the open-arse1—
For that same fruit just keeps on getting worse,
Till it rots stored in straw or rubbish there.
In the same way, I fear, we old men fare: 20
Until we’re rotten, we cannot be ripe;
And we’ll keep hopping if the world will pipe.
For in our will there always sticks a nail—
To have a hoary head and a green tail
Just like a leek; although our might’s past prime, 25
Our will desires folly all the time.
For when we may not do, then will we speak.
Old ash still covers fire if you seek.
“Four live coals have we, as I fashion this—
They’re boasting, lying, anger, avarice. 30
These four sparks to the elderly belong.
Our old limbs may well not be very strong,
But the will won’t fail, and that’s the truth.
And now I still do have a young colt’s tooth,2
No matter all the years now passed and done 35
Since the tap of my life began to run.
For truly, when I was born long ago,
Death drew the tap of life and let it go,
And ever since, the tap so sure has run
That now almost all empty is the tun. 40
The stream of life drops on the rim this time.
The silly tongue may now well ring and chime
About wickedness passed by long before;
With old folks, save for dotage, there’s no more!”
When our Host had heard this sermonizing, 45
He began to speak as lordly as a king.
He said, “What is the worth of all this wit?
Why should we speak all day of Holy Writ?
Now the devil made a reeve a preacher,
Or a doctor or a shipman from a cobbler. 50
Speak forth your tale, and do not waste the time.
Lo, Deptford,3 and it’s now half way through prime.
Lo, Greenwich,4 the town that scoundrels live in.
Now it is high time your tale to begin.”
“Now, sires,” then said this Oswald the Reeve, 55
“I pray you all now that you do not grieve
If, answering, I somewhat tip his hood;5
You can shove force with force, it’s understood.
“Here now to us has this drunken Miller
Told how beguiled had been a carpenter, 60
Perhaps out of contempt since I am one.
By your leave, I’ll pay him back before I’m done;
Right in his churl’s terms I will speak today.
May his neck break in pieces, God I pray;
He can see a straw if it’s in my eye, 65
But not a beam in his,6 and that’s no lie.”
1 open-arse: Fruit of the medlar tree, which is not edible until it starts to rot.
2 young colt’s tooth: Young person’s sexual desires.
3 Deptford: About five miles from London.
4 Greenwich: About half a mile beyond Deptford. It’s in Kent, where Chaucer was living when he began to write The Tales.
5 tip his hood: Make a fool of him (the Miller).
6 straw . . . beam: A reference to Matthew 7:3.