And saide thus; "Now, lordinges, trewely
Ye ben to me welcome right hertily:
For by my trouthe, if that I shal not lie,
I saw nat this yere swiche a compagnie
At ones in this herberwe, as is now.

Fayne wolde I do you mirthe, and I wiste how.
And of a mirthe I am right now bethought,
To don you ese, and it shall coste you nought.
Ye gon to Canterbury; God you spede,
The blisful martyr quite you your mede;
And wel I wot, as ye gon by the way,
Ye shapen you to talken and to play :
For trewely comfort ne mirthe is non,
To riden by the way dumbe as the ston:
And therfore wold I maken you disport,
As I said erst, and don you some comfort.
And if you liketh alle by on assent
Now for to stonden at my jugement:
And for to werchen as I shal you say
To-morwe, whan ye riden on the way,
Now by my faders soule that is ded,
But ye be mery, smiteth of my hed.
Hold up your hondes withouten more speche."
Our conseil was not longe for to seche:
Us thought it was not worth to make it wise,
And granted him withouten more avise,
And bad him say his verdit, as him leste.
"Lordinges," (quod he) "now herkeneth for the
beste;

But take it nat, I pray you, in disdain;

This is the point, to speke it plat and plain,
That eche of you to shorten with youre way,
In this viage, shal tellen tales tway,

To Canterbury ward, I mene it so,

And homeward he shall tellen other two,
Of aventures that whilom han befalle.

And which of you that bereth him best of alle,
That is to sayn, that telleth in this cas
Tales of best sentence and most solas,

Shal have a souper at youre aller cost
Here in this place sitting by this post,
Whan that ye comen agen from Canterbury.
And for to maken you the more mery,
I wol myselven gladly with you ride,
Right at min owen cost, and be your gide.
And who that wol my jugement withsay,
Shal pay for alle we spenden by the way.
And if ye vouchesauf that it be so,
Telle me anon withouten wordes mo,
And I wol erly shapen me therfore."

This thing was granted, and our othes swore
With ful glad herte, and praiden him also,
That he wolde vouchesauf for to don so,
And that he wolde ben our governour,
And of our tales juge and reportour,
And sette a souper at a certain pris;
And we wol reuled ben at his devise,
In highe and lowe: and thus by on assent,
We ben accorded to his jugement.

And therupon the win was fette anon.
We dronken, and to reste wenten eche on,
Withouten any lenger tarying.

A-morwe whan the day began to spring,
Up rose our hoste, and was our aller cok,
And gaderd us togeder in a flok,
And forth we riden a litel more than pas,
Unto the watering of Seint Thomas:

And ther our hoste began his hors arest,
And saide; "Lordes, herkeneth if you lest.
Ye wete your forword, and I it record.
If even-song and morwe-song accord,
Let se now who shal telle the first tale.
As ever mote I drinken win or ale,
Who so is rebel to my jugement,

Shal pay for alle that by the way is spent.
Now draweth cutte, or that ye forther twinne;
He which that hath the shortest shal beginne.
"Sire knight," (quod he) "my maister and my
lord,

Now draweth cutte, for that is min accord.
Cometh nere," (quod he) "my lady prioresse,
And ye, sire clerk, let be your shamefastnesse,
Ne studieth nought, lay hand to, every man."
Anon to drawen every wight began,

And shortly for to tellen as it was,

Were it by aventure, or sort, or cas,

The sothe is this, the cutte felle on the knight,
Of which ful blith and glad was every wight;
And tell he must his tale as was reson,

But forword, and by composition,

As ye
han herd; what nedeth wordes mo?
And whan this good man saw that it was so.
As he that wise was and obedient

To kepe his forword by his free assent,
He saide; "Sithen I shal begin this game,
What? welcome be the cutte a goddes name.
Now let us ride, and herkeneth what I say."

And with that word we riden forth our way;
And he began with right a mery chere
His tale anon, and saide as ye shul here.

THE

MILLERES TALE.

THUS passeth forth all thilke Saturday,
That Nicholas still in his chambre lay,
And ete, and slept, and did what him list
Till Sonday, that the Sonne goth to rest.

This sely carpenter hath gret mervaile
Of Nicholas, or what thing might him aile,
And said; "I am adrad by Seint Thomas
It stondeth not aright with Nicholas :
God shilde that he died sodenly.
This world is now ful tikel sikerly.

I saw to-day a corps yborne to cherche,
That now on Monday last I saw him werche.
"Go up" (quoth he unto his knave) “anon;
Clepe at his dore, or knocke with a ston:
Loke how it is, and tell me boldely."

This knave goth him up ful sturdely,

And at the chambre dore while that he stood,
He cried and knocked as that he were wood:
"What how? what do ye, maister Nicholay?
How may ye slepen all the longe day?"
But all for nought, he herde not a word.
An hole he fond ful low upon the bord,
Ther as the cat was wont in for to crepe,
And at that hole he loked in ful depe,

And at the last he had of him a sight.
This Nicholas sat ever gaping upright, —
As he had kyked on the newe Mone.

Adoun he goth, and telleth his maister sone, In what array he saw this ilke man.

This carpenter to blissen him began,
And said; "Now helpe us Seinte Frideswide.
A man wote litel what shal him betide.
This man is fallen with his astronomie
In som woodnesse or in som agonie.
I thought ay wel how that it shulde be.
Men shulde not know of Goddes privetee.
Ya blessed be alway a lewed man,
That nought but only his beleve can.
So ferd another clerk with astronomie;
He walked in the felds for to prie

Upon the sterres, what there shuld befalle,
Till he was in a marlepit yfalle.

He saw not that. But yet by Seint Thomas
Me reweth sore of hendy Nicholas:
He shal be rated of his studying,

If that I may, by Jesus, Heven king.

"Get me a staf, that I may underspore While that thou, Robin, hevest of the dore: He shal out of his studying, as I gesse." And to the chambre dore he gan him dresse. His knave was a strong carl for the nones, And by the haspe he haf it of at ones; Into the flore the dore fell anon.

This Nicholas sat ay as stille as a ston, And ever he gaped upward into the eire. This carpenter wead he were in despeire, And hent him by the shulders mightily, And shoke him hard, and cried spitously;