HERE FOLLOW THE WORDS BETWEEN THE HOST AND THE MILLER: When the Knight had finished his tale there was nobody in the whole company, young or old, who did not say it was a noble story, worth remembering, and every one of the gentlefolk thought so particularly. Our Host laughed and swore: “As I hope to prosper, things are going well; the bag is open. Now let’s see who will tell the next tale, for, certainly, this game is off to a fine start. Now, Sir Monk, you tell a tale, if you know something to match the Knight’s.”
The Miller, who was so drunk that he had turned white, could scarcely sit on his horse; he wouldn’t take off his hood or hat, nor act politely toward anyone. But in Pilate’s voice he shouted and swore: “By the arms, the blood, and the bones of Christ, I know a noble story for this occasion, with which I’ll match the Knight’s.”
Our Host saw that he was drunk on ale and said: “Wait, Robin, my dear brother; let some better man tell us a story first. Wait, and let’s proceed sensibly.”
“By God’s soul,” said the Miller, “I will not. I will speak or else go my own way.”
Our Host answered: “Tell away, to the devil with you! You’re a fool; drink has got the better of you.”
“Now listen,” said the Miller, “one and all! First, I want to declare that I am drunk; I know it from the noise I’m making. And, therefore, if I speak improperly, blame it on the ale of Southwark, I beg you. I shall tell a legend of a carpenter and his wife, and of how a cleric made a fool of the carpenter.”
The Reeve spoke up and said: “Stop your chattering! Stop your ignorant, drunken vulgarity. It is a sin and great folly besides to speak ill of any man or defame him, or to bring wives into such gossip. There are enough other things you can tell about.”
The drunken Miller at once replied: “Dear brother Oswald, whoever has no wife is not a cuckold. But I do not therefore say that you are one. There are a great many good wives, always a thousand good ones to one bad; you know that yourself, unless you are crazy. Why are you already angry at my tale? I have a wife, by God, as well as you; yet I would not, for the oxen which pull my plow, take on trouble by deciding that I am a cuckold; I will believe that I’m not one. A husband should not be inquisitive about God’s secrets or his wife’s. So long as he finds God’s plenty there, he should not ask questions about the rest.”
Why should I say any more than that this Miller would not yield to any man, but told his vulgar story in his own way. I regret to retell it here. And therefore, I ask every well-brought-up person, for God’s love, not to consider that I speak with evil intention, but that I must recount all their tales, good or bad, or else falsify my material. Whoever doesn’t want to hear it, therefore, can turn over the page and choose another. For he will find plenty of stories, long and short, which deal with courtesy, morality, and holiness. Don’t blame me if you choose poorly. The Miller is a low fellow; you know that very well. So are the Reeve and many others, and both of them told vulgar stories. Think about this, and don’t blame me. And also one must not make the game too serious.