The Reeve’s Tale
The Prologue
WHEN FOLK HAD LAUGHED at this foolish case
Of Absolon and nice Nicholas,
Diverse folk diverse things they said,
But, for the most part, they laughed and jested;
Nor at this tale I saw any man peeved,
Except for only Oswald the Reeve.
Because he was of carpenter’s trade,
A little anger in his heart remained:
He began to grouch and blamed it a little.
“So,” said he, “full well could I you requite
By sticking it in a proud miller’s eye,
If I wanted to speak of ribaldry.
But I am old; I won’t because of age;
Grass-time is done, my fodder is now forage;
This white top writes of my old years.
My heart is also moldy as my hairs,
Unless I fare as a medlar fruit;
1 Which ripens only as it rots,
Till it be rotten in mud or straw.
We old men, I fear, so fare we:
Till we be rotten, we cannot be ripe;
We dance as long as the world plays the pipe.
For in our desire there always sticks a nail,
To have a hoary head and a green tail,
As has a leek, for though our strength be gone,
Our will desires folly all the same.
For when we may not act, then we will speak;
Yet within our ashes old is fire banked.
Four burning coals have we, which I shall list:
Boasting, lying, anger, avarice.
These four sparks belong to old age.
Our old limbs may be weak,
But will does not fail, that is the truth.
Yet still I have always a colt’s tooth,
As many a year has gone
Sin that my tappe of lyf bigan to renne.
For sikerly, whan I was bore, anon
Deeth drogh the tappe of lyf and leet it gon;
And ever sith hath so the tappe y-ronne,
Til that almost al empty is the tonne.
The streem of lyf now droppeth on the chimbe;
The sely tonge may wel ringe and chimbe
Of wrecchednesse that passed is ful yore;
With olde folk, save dotage, is namore.”
Whan that our host hadde herd this sermoning,
He gan to speke as lordly as a king;
He seide, “what amounteth al this wit?
What shul we speke alday of holy writ?
The devel made a reve for to preche,
And of a souter a shipman or a leche.
Sey forth thy tale, and tarie nat the tyme,
Lo, Depeford! and it is half-way pryme.
Lo, Grenewich, ther many a shrewe is inne;
It wer al tyme thy tale to biginne.”
“Now, sires,” quod this Osewold the Reve,
“I pray yow alle that ye nat yow greve,
Thogh I answere and somdel sette his howve;
For leveful is with force of-showve.
This dronke millere hath y-told us heer,
How that bigyled was a carpenteer,
Peraventure in scorn, for I am oon.
And, by your leve, I shal him quyte anoon;
Right in his cherles termes wol I speke.
I pray to god his nekke mote breke;
He can wel in myn ye seen a stalke,
But in his owne he can nat seen a balke.”
Since my tap of life began to run.
For truly, when I was born, anon
Death drew the tap of life and let it flow;
And ever since so has run the tap,
Till almost empty is the cask.
The stream of life now drops on the rim.
The foolish tongue may well chime and ring
Of wretchedness that passed long ago;
With old folk, dotage excepted, there is no more.”
When that our Host had heard this preaching,
He began to speak as lordly as a king.
He said, “What amounts to all this wit?
Why must we speak all day of Holy Writ?
The devil made a reeve into a preacher,
Or into a cobbler, sailor, or a doctor.
Tell forth your tale, and lose not the time,
Lo, Deptford, and it is half-way prime!
Lo, Greenwich, where many a rascal is in!
It’s high time now your tale to begin.”
“Now, sires,” said this Oswald the Reeve,
“I pray you all that you don’t take it amiss,
Though I answer and somewhat his cap twist;
For lawful is it to answer force with force.
This drunk miller has told us here
How that beguiled was a carpenter,
Perhaps in scorn, for I am one.
And by your leave, I shall requite him anon;
Right in his churl’s words I will speak.
I pray to God his neck may break—
He can well in my eye see a straw,
But in his own he can’t see a log.”
The Tale
At Trumpington, nat fer fro Cantebrigge,
Ther goth a brook and over that a brigge,
Up-on the whiche brook ther stant a melle;
And this is verray soth that I yow telle.
A Miller was ther dwelling many a day;
As eny pecok he was proud and gay.
Pypen he coude and fisshe, and nettes bete,
And turne coppes, and wel wrastle and shete;
And by his belt he baar a long panade,
And of a swerd ful trenchant was the blade.
A joly popper baar he in his pouche;
Ther was no man for peril dorste him touche
A Sheffeld thwitel baar he is his hose;
Round was his face, and camuse was his nose.
As piled as an ape was his skulle.
He was a market-beter atte fulle.
Ther dorste no wight hand up-on him legge,
That he ne swoor he sholde anon abegge.
A theef he was for sothe of corn and mele,
And that a sly, and usaunt for to stele.
His name was hoten dëynous Simkin.
A wyf he hadde, y-comen of noble kin;
The person of the toun hir fader was.
With hir he yaf ful many a panne of bras,
For that Simkin sholde in his blood allye.
She was y-fostred in a nonnerye;
For Simkin wolde no wyf, as he sayde,
But she were wel y-norissed and a mayde,
To saven his estaat of yomanrye.
And she was proud, and pert as is a pye.
A ful fair sighte was it on hem two;
On haly-dayes biforn hir wolde he go
With his tipet bounden about his heed,
And she cam after in a gyte of reed;
And Simkin hadde hosen of the same.
Ther dorste no wight clepen hir but “dame.”
Was noon so hardy that wente by the weye
The 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 is a true story that I you tell.
A miller was there dwelling many a day;
As any peacock he was proud and gay.
Play bagpipes he could and fish, and mend nets,
And make wooden cups, and wrestle well, and shoot;
And by his belt he bore a long sword,
And full sharp was the blade.
A jolly dagger bore he in his pouch—
Every man for fear dared not him touch—
A Sheffield knife he bore in his hose.
Round was his face, and pug was his nose;
As bald as an ape was his skull.
He swaggered in the market towns.
No man dared to a hand upon him lay,
For he would swear him to repay.
A thief he was in truth of wheat and meal,
And that a sly one, and wont to steal.
His name was called scornful Simkin.
A wife he had, come from noble kin:
The priest of the town her father was.
For dowry he gave full many a pan of brass,
That Simkin should with his blood ally.
She was raised in a nunnery
For Simkin wanted no wife, as he said,
Unless she were well brought up and a maid,
To preserve his rank as a yeoman free.
And she was proud, and pert as a magpie.
A full fair sight was it to look upon the two;
On holidays before her he would go
With his scarf wound round his head,
And she came after in a gown of red;
And Simkin had stockings of the same.
There dared no one call her but “Madame.”
And there was none so bold who went by the way
That with hir dorste rage or ones pleye,
But-if he wolde be slayn of Simkin
With panade, or with knyf, or boydekin.
For jalous folk ben perilous evermo,
Algate they wolde hir wyves wenden so.
And eek, for she was somdel smoterlich,
She was as digne as water in a dich;
And ful of hoker and of bisemare.
Hir thoughte that a lady sholde hir spare,
What for hir kinrede and hir nortelrye
That she had lerned in the nonnerye.
A doghter hadde they bitwixe hem two
Of twenty yeer, with-outen any mo,
Savinge a child that was of half-yeer age;
In cradel it lay and was a propre page.
This wenche thikke and wel y-growen was,
With camuse nose and yen greye as glas;
With buttokes brode and brestes rounde and hye,
But right fair was hir heer, I wol nat lye.
The person of the toun, for she was feir,
In purpos was to maken hir his heir
Bothe of his catel and his messuage.
And straunge he made it of hir mariage.
His purpos was for to bistowe hir hye
In-to som worthy blood of auncetrye;
For holy chirches good moot been despended
On holy chirches blood, that is descended.
Therfore he wolde his holy blood honoure,
Though that he holy chirche sholde devoure.
Gret soken hath this miller, out of doute,
With whete and malt of al the land aboute;
And nameliche ther was a greet collegge,
Men clepen the Soler-halle at Cantebregge,
Ther was hir whete and eek hir malt y-grounde.
And on a day it happed, in a stounde,
Sik lay the maunciple on a maladye;
Men wenden wisly that he sholde dye.
For which this miller stal bothe mele and corn
An hundred tyme more than biforn;
Who with her dared dally or play,
Unless he wanted to by Simkin be slain
With cutlass, or with knife, or dagger,
For jealous folk be dangerous evermore—
At least, they want their wives to believe so.
And also, for she was somewhat besmirched,
She was worthy as water in a ditch,
And full of hauteur and disdain.
He thought that a lady should remain aloof,
Thanks to her kindred and the refinement
That she had learned in the convent.
A daughter they had between the two
Of twenty years, without any more,
Except a child who was six months old;
In cradle it lay and was a fine boy.
This wench stout and well grown was,
With pug nose and eyes gray as glass,
With buttocks broad and breasts round and high;
But right fair was her hair, I will not lie.
The priest of the town, because she was fair,
Proposed to make her his heir
Both of his property and his house,
And particular he was about her espousal.
His purpose was to marry her high
Into some worthy old blood line;
For holy churchmen’s goods must be spent
On holy churchmen’s blood, that is descended.
Therefore he would his holy blood honor,
Though that he the holy church should devour.
Great monopoly had this miller, without doubt,
In wheat and malt of ale the land about;
And namely there was a great college
Men called Solar Hall at Cambridge;
2 There was their wheat and also their malt ground.
And on a day it happened, at one time,
Sick lay the manciple with a malady:
Men thought for certain that he would die,
From whom this miller stole both meal and wheat
A hundred times more than before;
For ther-biforn he stal but curteisly,
But now he was a theef outrageously,
For which the wardeyn chidde and made fare.
But ther-of sette the miller nat a tare;
He craketh boost, and swoor it was nat so.
Than were ther yonge povre clerks two,
That dwelten in this halle, of which I seye.
Testif they were, and lusty for to pleye,
And, only for hir mirthe and revelrye,
Up-on the wardeyn bisily they crye,
To yeve hem leve but a litel stounde
To goon to mille and seen hir corn y-grounde;
And hardily, they dorste leye hir nekke,
The miller shold nat stele hem half a pekke
Of corn by sleighte, ne by force hem reve;
And at the laste the wardeyn yaf hem leve.
John hight that oon, and Aleyn hight that other;
Of o toun were they born, that highte Strother,
Fer in the north, I can nat telle where.
This Aleyn maketh redy al his gere,
And on an hors the sak he caste anon.
Forth goth Aleyn the clerk, and also John,
With good swerd and with bokeler by hir syde.
John knew the wey, hem nedede no gyde,
And at the mille the sak adoun he layth.
Aleyn spak first, “al hayl, Symond, y-fayth;
How fares thy faire doghter and thy wyf?”
“Aleyn! welcome,” quod Simkin, “by my lyf,
And John also, how now, what do ye heer?”
“Symond,” quod John, “by god, nede has na peer;
Him boës serve him-selve that has na swayn,
Or elles he is a fool, as clerkes sayn.
Our manciple, I hope he wil be deed,
Swa werkes ay the wanges in his heed.
And forthy is I come, and eek Alayn,
To grinde our corn and carie it ham agayn;
I pray yow spede us hethen that ye may.”
“It shal be doon,” quod Simkin, “by my fay;
What wol ye doon whyl that it is in hande?”
For heretofore he stole but in a polite way,
But now he was a thief outrageously.
For which the warden chided him as he dared,
But thereof cared the miller not a tare;
He talked loud, and swore it was not so.
Then were there young poor scholars two
Who dwelt in this hall of which I speak.
Headstrong they were, and in high spirits,
And, only for their mirth and revelry,
They pestered the warden
To give them leave but a little while
To go to the mill and see wheat ground;
And boldly, they dare risk their necks,
The miller should not steal from them half a peck
Of wheat by sleight, nor by force them rob;
And at last the warden gave them leave.
John was named one, and Allen named the other;
Of one town were they born, that was called Strother,
Far in the north, I cannot tell where.
This Allen made ready all his gear,
And on a horse the sack of grain he cast anon.
Forth went Allen the scholar, and also John,
With good swords and shields by their sides.
John knew the way, they needed no guide,
And at the mill the sack adown he laid it.
Allen spoke first, “All hail, Simon, in faith!
How fares your daughter and your wife?”
“Allen, welcome,” said Simkin, “by my life!
And John also, how now, what do you here?”
“Simon,” said John, “by God, who has no peer,
He who has no servant should serve himself,
Or else he is a fool, as scholars say.
Our manciple, I expect, he will be dead,
So ache the molars in his head.
And therefore am I come, and also Allen,
To grind our wheat and carry it home again;
I pray you take care of us soon as you may.”
“It shall be done,” said Simkin, “by my faith.
What will you do while it is in hand?”
“By god, right by the hoper wil I stande,”
Quod John, “and se how that the corn gas in;
Yet saugh I never, by my fader kin,
How that the hoper wagges til and fra.”
Aleyn answerde, “John, and wiltow swa,
Than wil I be bynethe, by my croun,
And se how that the mele falles doun
In-to the trough; that sal be my disport.
For John, in faith, I may been of your sort;
I is as ille a miller as are ye.”
This miller smyled of hir nycetee,
And thoghte, “al this nis doon but for a wyle;
They wene that no man may hem bigyle;
But, by my thrift, yet shal I blere hir ye
For al the sleighte in hir philosophye.
The more queynte crekes that they make,
The more wol I stele whan I take.
In stede of flour, yet wol I yeve hem bren.
‘The gretteste clerkes been noght the wysest men,’
As whylom to the wolf thus spak the mare;
Of al hir art I counte noght a tare.”
Out at the dore he gooth ful prively,
Whan that he saugh his tyme, softely;
He loketh up and doun til he hath founde
The clerkes hors, ther as it stood y-bounde
Bihinde the mille, under a levesel;
And to the hors he gooth him faire and wel;
He strepeth of the brydel right anon.
And whan the hors was loos, he ginneth gon
Toward the fen, ther wide mares renne,
Forth with wehee, thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne.
This miller smyled of hir nycetee,
But dooth his note, and with the clerkes pleyde,
Til that hir corn was faire and wel y-grounde.
And whan the mele is sakked and y-bounde,
This John goth out and fynt his hors away,
And gan to crye “harrow” and “weylaway!
Our hors is lorn! Alayn, for goddes banes,
Step on thy feet, com out, man, al at anes!
“By God, right by the hopper will I stand,”
Said John, “and see how the wheat goes in.
Yet saw I never, by my father’s kin,
How that the hopper wags to and fro.”
Allen answered, “John, and will you do so?
Then will I be beneath, by my head,
And see how the meal falls down
Into the trough; that shall be my disport.
For John, in faith, I may be of your sort:
I am as bad a miller as are you.”
This miller smiled at their foolishness,
And thought, “all this is done but as a trick.
They think no man can them beguile,
But, by my thrift, yet will I blur their eyes
For all the sleight in their philosophy.
The more sly moves that they make,
The more will I steal when I take.
Instead of flour, yet will I give them bran.
‘The greatest scholars be not the wisest men,’
As once to the wolf thus spoke the mare;
Of all their art count I not a tare.”
Out at the door he went full stealthily,
When that he saw his time, softly;
He looked up and down till he had found
The scholars’ horse, there where it stood bound
Behind the mill, under a trellis.
And to the horse he went fair and well;
He stripped off the bridle right anon.
And when the horse was loose, it was gone
Toward the meadow, where the wild mares run,
Forth with “whinny,” through thick and through thin.
This miller went in again, no word he said,
But did his job, and with the scholars joked,
Till that their flour was fair and well ground.
And when the flour was sacked and bound,
This John went out and found his horse away,
And began to cry “help” and “wellaway!
Our horse is lost! Allen, for God’s bones,
Step on it! come on, man, and at once!
Alias, our wardeyn has his palfrey lorn.”
This Aleyn al forgat, bothe mele and corn,
Al was out of his mynde his housebondrye.
“What? whilk way is he geen?” he gan to crye.
The wyf cam leping inward with a ren,
She seyde, “allas! your hors goth to the fen
With wilde mares, as faste as he may go.
Unthank come on his hand that bond him so,
And he that bettre sholde han knit the reyne.”
“Allas,” quod John, “Aleyn, for Cristes peyne,
Lay doun thy swerd, and I wil myn alswa;
I is ful wight, god waat, as is a raa;
By goddes herte he sal nat scape us bathe.
Why nadstow pit the capul in the lathe?
Il-hayl, by god, Aleyn, thou is a fonne!”
Thic sely clerkes han ful faste y-ronne
To-ward the fen, bothe Aleyn and eek John.
And whan the miller saugh that they were gon
He half a busshel of hir flour hath take,
And bad his wyf go knede it in a cake.
He seyde, “I trowe the clerkes were aferd;
Yet can a miller make a clerkes berd
For al his art; now lat hem goon hir weye.
Lo wher they goon, ye, lat the children pleye;
They gete him nat so lightly, by my croun!”
Thise sely clerkes rennen up and doun
With “keep, keep, stand, stand, jossa, warderere,
Ga whistle thou, and I shal kepe him here!”
But shortly, til that it was verray night,
They coude nat, though they do al hir might,
Hir capul cacche, he ran alwey so faste,
Til in a dich they caughte him atte laste.
Wery and weet, as beste is in the reyn,
Comth sely John, and with him comth Aleyn.
“Allas,” quod John, “the day that I was born!
Now are we drive til hething and til scorn.
Our corn is stole, men wil us foles calle,
Bathe the wardeyn and our felawes alle,
And namely the miller; weylaway!”
Alas, our warden has his palfrey gone!”
This Allen forgot both flour and grain;
All was out of his mind his careful plan.
”What, which way is he gone?” he began to cry.
The wife came leaping inside at a run;
She said, “Alas! Your horse went to the fen
With wild mares, as fast as he may go.
No thanks to the hand that hitched him so,
And he who better should tie the reins.”
“Alas,” said John, “Allen, for Christ’s pain,
Lay down your sword, I will mine also.
I am full swift, God knows, as is a deer;
By God’s heart he shall not escape us both!
Why didn’t you put him in the barn?
Bad luck, by God, Allen, you are a fool!”
These foolish scholars have full fast run
Toward the meadow, both Allen and also John.
And when the miller saw that they were gone,
He half a bushel of their flour has taken,
And bade his wife go knead it into a cake.
3 He said, “I believe the scholars were suspicious,
Yet can a miller outsmart a scholar
For all their art, now let them go their way.
Lo, where he goes! Yes, let the children play.
They won’t easily catch him, by my head!”
These silly scholars ran up and down
With “Keep! keep! stand! down here! look out behind!
Go whistle you, and I shall keep him here!”
But in short, until it was truly night,
They could not, though they tried with all their might,
Catch their horse, he ran away so fast,
Till in a ditch they caught him at last.
Weary and wet, as creatures in the rain,
Comes silly John, and with him comes Allen.
“Alas,” said John, “the day that I was born!
Now are we driven into mockery and scorn.
Our wheat is stolen, men will us fools call,
Both the warden and our companions all,
And especially the miller, wellaway!”
Thus pleyneth John as he goth by the way
Toward the mille, and Bayard in his hond.
The miller sitting by the fyr he fond,
For it was night, and forther nighte they noght;
But, for the love of god, they him bisoght
Of herberwe and of ese, as for hir peny.
The miller seyde agayn, “if ther be eny,
Swich as it is, yet shal ye have your part.
Myn hous is streit, but ye han lerned art;
Ye conne by argumentes make a place
A myle brood of twenty foot of space.
Lat see now if this place may suffyse,
Or make it roum with speche, as is youre gyse.”
“Now, Symond,” seyde John, “by seint Cutberd,
Ay is thou mery, and this is faire answerd.
I have herd seyd, man sal taa of twa thinges
Slyk as he fyndes, or taa slyk as he bringes.
But specially, I pray thee, hoste dere,
Get us some mete and drinke, and make us chere,
And we wil payen trewely atte fulle.
With empty hand men may na haukes tulle;
Lo here our silver, redy for to spende.”
This miller in-to toun his doghter sende
For ale and breed, and rosted hem a goos,
And bond hir hors, it sholde nat gon loos;
And in his owne chambre hem made a bed
With shetes and with chalons faire y-spred,
Noght from his owne bed ten foot or twelve.
His doghter hadde a bed, al by hir-selve,
Right in the same chambre, by and by;
It might be no bet, and cause why,
Ther was no roumer herberwe in the place.
They soupen and they speke, hem to solace,
And drinken ever strong ale atte beste.
Aboute midnight wente they to reste.
Wel hath this miller vernisshed his heed;
Ful pale he was for-dronken, and nat reed.
He yexeth, and he speketh thurgh the nose
As he were on the quakke, or on the pose.
Thus complained John as he went by the way
Toward the mill, and horse Bayard in his hand.
The miller sitting by the fire they found,
For it was night, and go further they might not.
But for the love of God they him besought
Of lodging and rest, and offered their penny.
The miller said to them, “If there be any,
Such as it is, yet shall you have your part.
My house is small, but you have learned art:
You know how by arguments to make a place
A mile broad from twenty foot of space.
Let’s see now if this place may suffice—
Or make it roomy with talk, as is your way.”
“Now, Simon,” said John, “by Saint Cuthbert,
4 You’re a funny man, and that’s a good answer.
I have heard said, ‘man shall take of two things:
Such as he finds, or such as he brings.’
But specially, I pray you, host dear,
Get us some meat and drink and make us good cheer,
And we will pay truly at full;
With empty hand men may not hawks lure.
Lo, here is our silver, ready for to spend.”
This miller into town his daughter sent
For ale and bread, and roasted them a goose,
And hitched their horse, it should no more get loose;
And in his own chamber them made a bed
With sheets and blankets fairly spread,
Not far from his own bed ten foot or twelve.
His daughter had a bed, all by herself,
Right in the same chamber, side by side.
It might be no better arranged, was the reason why,
There was no larger lodging in the place.
They supped and they talked, themselves to enjoy,
And drank very strong ale of the best.
About midnight went they to rest.
Well had this miller plastered his head:
So drunk he was full pale, not red;
He hiccupped, and he spoke through the nose
As if he were hoarse, or had a cold.
To bedde he gooth, and with him goth his wyf.
As any jay she light was and jolyf,
So was hir joly whistle wel y-wet.
The cradel at hir beddes feet is set,
To rokken, and to yeve the child to souke.
And whan that dronken al was in the crouke,
To bedde went the doghter right anon;
To bedde gooth Aleyn and also John;
Ter nas na more, hem nedede no dwale.
This miller hath so wisly bibbed ale,
That as an hors he snorteth in his sleep,
Ne of his tayl bihinde he took no keep.
His wyf bar him a burdon, a ful strong,
Men mighte hir routing here two furlong;
The wenche routeth eek par companye.
Aleyn the clerk, that herd this melodye,
He poked John, and seyde, “slepestow?
Herdestow ever slyk a sang er now?
Lo, whilk a compline is y-mel hem alle!
A wilde fyr up-on thair bodyes falle!
Wha herkned ever slyk a ferly thing?
Ye, they sal have the flour of il ending.
This lange night ther tydes me na reste;
But yet, na fors; al sal be for the beste.
For John,” seyde he, “als ever moot I thryve
If that I may, yon wenche wil I swyve.
Som esement has lawe y-shapen us;
For John, ther is a lawe that says thus,
That gif a man in a point be y-greved,
That in another he sal be releved.
Our corn is stoln, shortly, it is na nay,
And we han had an il fit al this day.
And sin I sal have neen amendement,
Agayn my los I wil have esement.
By goddes saule, it sal neen other be!”
This John answerde, “Alayn, avyse thee,
The miller is a perilous man,” he seyde,
“And gif that he out of his sleep abreyde
He mighte doon us bathe a vileinye.”
To bed he went, and with him went his wife—
As any jay she was cheerful and jolly,
So was her whistle well-wetted.
The cradle at their bed’s foot is set,
To rock, and to give the child to suck.
And when they had drunk all in the jug,
To bed went the daughter right anon;
To bed went Allen and also John;
There was no more, they needed no sleeping potion.
This miller had so deeply imbibed ale,
That like a horse he snored in his sleep,
And of his tail behind he took no heed.
His wife sang bass, and full strong:
Men might their snoring hear from two furlongs;
The wench snored also to keep them company.
Allen the scholar, who heard this melody,
He poked John, and said, “Are you asleep?
Heard you ever such a song before now?
Lo, such an evensong they sing all!
A fiery rash upon their bodies fall!
Who heard ever such a weird thing?
Yes, they shall have the flour of this bad ending.
This long night promises me no rest;
But yet, no matter, all shall be for the best.
For John,” said he, “as ever may I thrive,
If that I may, to yon wench will I make love.
Some redress has law provided for us.
For John, there is a law that says thus,
That if a man in one point be aggrieved,
That in another he shall be relieved.
Our wheat is stolen, there’s no denying,
And we’ve had a miserable time this day.
And since I shall have no amends
Against my loss, I will have redress.
By God’s soul, it shall not otherwise be!”
This John answered, “Allen, take heed,
This miller is a dangerous man,” he said,
“And if he out of his sleep awakens,
He might do us both an injury.”
Aleyn answerde, “I count him nat a flye;”
And up he rist, and by the wenche he crepte.
This wenche lay upright, and faste slepte,
Til he so ny was, er she mighte espye,
That it had been to late for to crye,
And shortly for to seyn, they were at on;
Now pley, Aleyn! for I wol speke of John.
This John lyth stille a furlong-wey or two,
And to him-self he maketh routhe and wo:
“Allas!” quod he, “this is a wikked jape;
Now may I seyn that I is but an ape.
Yet has my felawe som-what for his harm;
He has the milleris doghter in his arm.
He auntred him, and has his nedes sped,
And I lye as a draf-sek in my bed;
And when this jape is tald another day,
I sal been halde a daf, a cokenay!
I wil aryse, and auntre it, by my fayth!
‘Unhardy is unsely,’ thus men sayth.”
And up he roos and softely he wente
Un-to the cradel, and in his hand it hente,
And baar it softe un-to his beddes feet.
Sone after this the wyf hir routing leet,
And gan awake, and wente hir out to pisse,
And cam agayn, and gan hir cradel misse,
And groped heer and ther, but she fond noon.
“Allas!” quod she, “I hadde almost misgoon;
I hadde almost gon to the clerkes bed.
Ey, ben‘cite! thanne hadde I foule y-sped:”
And forth she gooth til she the cradel fond.
She gropeth alwey forther with hir hond,
And fond the bed, and thoghte noght but good,
By-cause that the cradel by it stood,
And niste wher she was, for it was derk;
But faire and wel she creep in to the clerk,
And lyth ful stille, and wolde han caught a sleep.
With-inne a whyl this John the clerk up leep,
And on this gode wyf he leyth on sore.
So mery a fit ne hadde she nat ful yore;
Allen answered, “I count him not a fly.”
And up he rose, and by the wench he crept.
This wench lay on her back, and fast slept
Till he so close was, if she might him see,
That it would have been too late for her to cry,
And to make it short, they were at one;
Now play, Allen! For will I speak of John.
This John lies still for a moment or two,
And to himself he makes lamentation and woe:
“Alas!” said he, “this is a wicked joke.
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 took a risk, and has his needs fed,
And I lie like a straw sack in my bed.
And when this joke is told another day,
I shall be held a fool, a sap:
I will arise and risk it, by my faith!
Unbold is unlucky, thus men say.”
And up he rose and softly he went
To the cradle, and in his hand it held,
And bore it softly to his bed’s foot.
Soon after this the wife her snoring ceased,
And began to wake, and went her out to piss,
And came again, and found her cradle missing,
And groped here and there, but it was gone.
“Alas!” said she, “I had almost stepped wrong;
I had almost gone to the scholars’ bed—
Eh, benedicite, then had I wrong been!”
And forth she went until she the cradle found;
She groped ever further with her hand,
And found the bed, and thought nought but good,
By cause that the cradle by it stood,
And knew not where she was, for it was dark;
But fair and well she crept in with the scholar,
And lay full still, and would have asleep fallen.
Within a while this John the scholar up leapt,
And on this good wife he at it hard set.
So merry a bout she had not in a long time had;
He priketh harde and depe as he were mad.
This joly lyf han thise two clerkes lad
Til that the thridde cok bigan to singe.
Aleyn wex wery in the daweninge.
For he had swonken al the longe night;
And seyde, “far wel, Malin, swete wight!
The day is come, I may no lenger byde;
But evermo, wher so I go or ryde,
I is thyn awen clerk, swa have I seel!”
“Now dere lemman,” quod she, “go, far weel!
But er thou go, o thing I wol thee telle,
Whan that thou wendest homward by the melle,
Right at the entree of the dore bihinde,
Thou shalt a cake of half a busshel finde
That was y-maked of thyn owne mele,
Which that I heelp my fader for to stele.
And, gode lemman, god thee save and kepe!”
And with that word almost she gan to wepe.
Aleyn up-rist, and thoughte, “er that it dawe,
I wol go crepen in by my felawe;”
And fond the cradel with his hand anon.
“By god,” thoghte he, “al wrang I have misgon;
Myn heed is toty of my swink to-night,
That maketh me that I go nat aright.
I woot wel by the cradel, I have misgo,
Heer lyth the miller and his wyf also.”
And forth he goth, a twenty devel way,
Un-to the bed ther-as the miller lay.
He wende have cropen by his felawe John;
And by the miller in he creep anon,
And caughte hym by the nekke, and softe he spak:
He seyde, “thou, John, thou swynes-heed, awak
For Cristes saule, and heer a noble game.
For by that lord that called is seint Jame,
As I have thryes, in this shorte night,
Swyved the milleres doghter bolt-upright,
Whyl thow hast as a coward been agast.”
“Ye, false harlot,” quod the miller, “hast?
A! false traitour! false clerk!” quod he,
He pricked long and deep as if he were mad.
This jolly life have these two scholars led
Till the third cock began to sing.
Allen waxed weary at the dawning,
For he had worked all the long night,
And said, “Farewell, Molly, sweet one!
The day is come, I may no longer stay;
But evermore, wherever I ride or go,
I am your own scholar, as I hope for joy!”
“Now, dear sweetheart,” said she, “go, farewell!
But before you go, one thing I will you tell:
When that you wend home 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,
Which I helped my sire to steal.
And, good sweetheart, God you save and keep!”
And with that word she almost began to weep.
Allen up rose, and thought, “Before that it dawns,
I will go creep by my fellow,”
And found the cradle with his hand anon.
“By God,” thought he, “All wrong have I gone.
My head is light from my work tonight:
That makes me go not aright.
I know well by the cradle I have gone wrong—
Here lie the miller and his wife also.”
And forth he went, to the devil straight,
To the bed where the miller lay—
He meant to creep by his fellow John—
And by the miller in he crept anon,
And caught him by the neck, and soft he spoke.
He said, “You, John, you swine’s head, awaken
For Christ’s soul, and hear a great joke.
For by that lord who is called Saint James,
So I have thrice in this short night
Made love to the miller’s daughter bolt upright,
While you have as a coward been afraid.”
“You, false rascal,” said the miller, “have?
Ah! false traitor! false scholar!” said he,
“Thou shalt be deed, by goddes dignitee!
Who dorste be so bold to disparage
My doghter, that is come of swich linage?”
And by the throte-bolle he caughte Alayn.
And he hente hymn despitously agayn,
And on the nose he smoot him with his fest.
Doun ran the blody streem up-on his brest;
And in the floor, with nose and mouth to-broke,
They walwe as doon two pigges in a poke.
And up they goon, and doun agayn anon,
Til that the miller sporned at a stoon,
And doun he fil bakward up-on his wyf,
That wiste no-thing of this nyce stryf;
For she was falle aslepe a lyte wight
With John the clerk, that waked hadde al night.
And with the fal, out of hir sleep she breyde—
“Help, holy corys of Bromeholm,” she seyde,
“In manus tuas! lord, to thee I calle!
Awak, Symond! the feend is on us falle,
Myn herte is broken, help, I nam but deed;
There lyth oon up my wombe and up myn heed;
Help, Simkin, for the false clerkes fighte.”
This John sterte up as faste as ever he mighte,
And graspeth by the walles to and fro,
To finde a staf; and she sterte up also,
And knew the estres bet than dide this John,
And by the wal a staf she fond anon,
And saugh a litel shimering of a light,
For at an hole in shoon the mone bright;
And by that light she saugh hem bothe two,
But sikerly she niste who was who,
But as she saugh a whyt thing in hir ye.
And whan she gan the whyte thing espye,
She wende the clerk hadde wered a volupeer.
And with the staf she drough ay neer and neer,
And wende han hit this Aleyn at the fulle,
And smoot the miller on the pyled skulle,
That doun he gooth and cryde, “harrow! I dye!”
Thise clerkes bete him weel and lete him lye;
“You shall be dead, by God’s dignity!
Who would dare be so bold to dishonor
My daughter, who is come of such high birth?”
And by the Adam’s apple he caught Allen;
And Allen held him fiercely in turn,
And on the nose he smote him with his fist—
Down ran the blood stream upon his breast.
And on the floor, with nose and mouth broken,
They wallowed as do two pigs in a poke.
And up they go, and down again anon,
Till that the miller tripped on a stone,
And down he fell backward upon his wife,
Who knew nothing of this silly strife,
For she had fallen asleep for a bit
With John the scholar, who waked had all night;
And with the fall, out of her sleep she started.
“Help, holy cross of Bromholm,”
5 she said,
“In manus tuas!6 Lord, to you I call!
Awake, Simon! the fiend is on me fallen,
My heart is broken, help, I am almost dead:
There lies someone on my womb and on my head.
Help, Simkin, for the false scholars fight.”
This John leapt up as fast as ever he might,
And groped along the walls to and fro,
To find a staff; and she leapt up also,
And knew the place better than did this John,
And by the wall a staff she found anon,
And saw a little shimmering of a light—
For at a hole in shone the moon bright—
And by that light she saw them both two,
And truly she knew not who was who,
Except that she saw a white thing in her eye.
And when she did this white thing espy,
She thought the scholar had worn a nightcap,
And with the staff she drew ever near and nearer,
And thinking to hit Allen at the full,
And smote the miller on the bald skull
So down he went and cried, “Help! I die!”
These scholars beat him well and let him lie,
And greythen hem, and toke hir hors anon,
And eek hir mele, and on hir wey they gon.
And at the mille yet they tok hir cake
Of half a busshel flour, ful wel y-bake.
Thus is the proude miller wel y-bete,
And hath y-lost the grinding of the whete,
And payed for the soper every-deel
Of Aleyn and of John, that bette him weel.
His wyf is swyved, and his doghter als;
Lo, swich it is a miller to be fals!
And therfore this proverbe is seyd ful sooth,
“Him thar nat wene wel that yvel dooth;
A gylour shal him-self bigyled be.”
And God, that sitteth heighe in magestee,
Save al this companye grete and smale!
Thus have I quit the miller and my tale.
And gathered themselves, and took their horse anon,
And also their flour, and on their way they went.
And at the mill they took their cake
Of half a bushel flour, full well baked.
Thus is the proud miller well beaten,
And has lost the grinding of the wheat,
And paid for the supper complete
Of Allen and John, who beat him well;
His wife is enjoyed, and his daughter also.
Lo, so it goes for a miller false!
And therefore this proverb is said so true,
“He should not expect good who will evil do;
A beguiler shall himself beguiled be.”
And God, who sits high in majesty,
Save all this company great and small!
Thus I have repaid the Miller in my tale.