For eche of us; but loke that they ben large,
In which we mowen fwimme as in a barge;
And have therin vitaille fuffifant

But for a day; fie on the remenant;
The water fhall aflake and gon away
Abouten prime upon the nexte day.
But Robin may not wete of this thy knave,
Ne cke thy mayden Gille I may not save:
Axe not why; for though thou axe me,
I wol not tellen Goddes privetee.
Sufficeth thee, but if thy wittes madde,
To have as gret a grace as Noe hadde.
Thy wif fhal I wel faven out of doute.
Go now thy way, and fpede thee hereaboute.
But whan thou haft for hire, and thee, and me,
Ygeten us these kneding tubbes thre,
Than fhalt thou hang hem in the roofe ful hie,
That no man of our purveyance efpie:
And whan thou haft don thus as I have faid,
Aad haft our vitaille faire in hem ylaid,
And eke an axe to fmite the cord a-two
Whan that the water cometh, that we may go
And breke an hole on high upon the gable
Unto the gardin ward, over the stable,
That we may frely paffen forth our way,
Whan that the grete fhoure is gon away,
Than fhal thou fwim as mery, I undertake,
As doth the white doke after hire drake;
Than wol I clepe, How, Alifon! how, John!
Be mery, for the flood wol paffe anon.
And thou wolt fain, Haile! Maister Nicholay,
Good morwe! I fee thee wel, for it is day.
And than fhall we be lordes all our lif
Of all the world, as Noe and his wif.
But of o thing I warne thee ful right,
Be wel avised on that ilke night,
That we ben entred into fhippes bord,
That non of us ne speke not o word,
Ne clepe ne crie, but be in his praiere,
For it is Goddes owen hefte dere.

Thy wif and thou moste hangen fer a-twinne, For that betwixen you fhal be no finne, No more in loking than ther fhall in dede. This ordinance is faid; go, God thee fpede. To morwe at night, whan men ben all aflepe, Into our kneding tubbes wol we crepe, And fitten ther, abiding Goddes grace. Go now thy way, I have no lenger space To make of this, no lenger fermoning: Men fain thus, Send the wife, and fay nothing: Thou art fo wife it nedeth thee nought teche. Go, fave our lives, and that I thee befeche. This fely carpenter goth forth his way, Ful oft he faid Alas! and Wala wa! And to his wif he told his privatee, And the was ware, and knew it bet than he What all this queinte caft was for to fey; But natheles the ferde as fhe wold dey, And faid, Alas! go forth thy way anon; Helpe us to fcape, or we be ded eche on : I am thy trewe veray wedded wif; Go, dere spouse! and helpe to fave our lif. Lo, what a gret thing is affection! Men may die of imagination,

So depe may impreffion be take.
This fely carpenter beginneth quake;
Him thinketh veraily that he may fee
Noes flood comen walwing as the fee
To drenchen Alison, his honey dere :
He wepeth, waileth, maketh fory chere;
He fiketh, with ful many a fory swough.
He goth and geteth him a kneding trough,
And after a tubbe and a kemelin,
And prively he sent hem to his in,
And heng hem in the roof in privetee.

His owen hond than made he ladders threef,
To climben by the renges and the stalkes
Unto the tubbes honging in the balkes;
And hem vitailled, kemelin, trough, and tubbe,
With bred and chefe, and good ale in a jubbe,
Sufficing right ynow as for a day.

But er that he had made all this array

He fent his knave, and eke his wenche alfo,
Upon his nede to London for to go.
And on the Monday, whan it drew to night,
He fhette his dore, withouten candel light,
And dressed all thing as it fhulde bee;
And fhortly up they clomben alle three.
They fitten ftille wel a furlong way.
Now, Pater-nofler, Clum, faid Nicholay,
And Clum, quod John, and Clum, faid Alison:
This carpenter faid his devotion,
And still he fit, and biddeth his praiere,
Awaiting on the rain, if he it here.

The dede flepe, for wery befineffe,
Fell on this carpenter, right as I geffe,
Abouten curfew time, or litel more.
For travaille of his goft he groneth fore,
And eft he routeth, for his hed miflay.
Doun of the ladder ftalketh Nicholay,
And Alifon ful foft adoun hire fpedde.
Withouten wordes mo they went to bedde,
Ther as the carpenter was wont to lie;
Ther was the revel and the melodie.
And thus lith Alison and Nicholas
In befineffe of mirthe and in folas,
Til that the bell of laudes gan to ring,
And freres in the chancel gon to fing.

This parish clerk, this amorous Absolon,
That is for love alway fo wo-begon,
Upon the Monday was at Ofenay
With compagnie, him to difport and play,
And asked upon cas a cloisterer
Ful prively after John the carpenter;
And he drew him apart out of the chirche.
He faid, I no't, I faw him not here wirche
Sith Saturday; I trow that he be went
For timbre ther our abbot hath him fent;
For he is wont for timbre for to go,
And dwellen at the Grange a day or two;
Or elles he is at his hous certain :
Wher that he be I cannot fothly sain.

This Abfolon ful joly was and light,

And thoughte, now is time to wake al night,

+ With his own hand. So Gower, Conf. Amant. fol. ¡6.b. The crafte Mynerve of wolle fonde, And made cloth her owen hende,

For fikerly I faw him nat ftiring
About his dore fin day began to fpring.
So mote I thrive I fhal at cockes crow
Ful prively go kuocke at his window,
That ftant full low upon his boures wall:
To Alifon wol I now tellen all

My love longing; for yet I fhall not miffe
That at the lefte way I fhal hire kiffe.
Some maner comfort fhal I have parfay,
My mouth hath itched al this longe day;
That is a figne of kiffing at the lefte:
All night me mette cke I was at a feste:
Therfore I wol go flepe an houre or twey,
And all the night than wol I wake and pley.
Whan that the firfte cock hath crowe, anon
Up rift this joly lover Abfolon,
And him arayeth gay, at point devife;
But first he cheweth grein and licorife,
To fmellen fote or he had spoke with here.
Under his tonge a trewe love he bere,
For therby wend he to ben gracious.
He cometh to the carpenteres hous,
And ftill he ftant under the fhot window;
Unto his breft it raught, it was fo low;
And foft he cougheth with a femifoun.

What do ye, honycombe, fwete Alifoun,
My faire bird, my fwete finamome!
Awaketh, lemman min, and fpeketh to me.
Ful litel thinken ye upon my wo,
That for your love I fwete ther as I go.
No wonder is though that I fwelte and fwete,
I mourne as doth a lamb after the tete.
Ywis, lemman, I have fwiche love longing
That like a turtel trewe is my mourning.
I may not ete no more than a maid.
Go fro the window, jacke fool, the faid:
As helpe me God it wol not be, compame.
I love another, or elles I were to blame,
Wel bet than thee by Jefu, Abfolon.
Go forth thy way, or wol caft a fton;
And let me flepe; a twenty divel way.

Alas! (quod Absolon) and wala wa!
That trewe love was ever fo yvel befette :
Ihan kiffe me, fin that it may be no bette,
For Jefus love, and for the love of me.

Wilt thou than go thy way therwith? quod fhe.
Ya certes, lemman, quod this Abfolon.
Than make thee redy, (quod fhe) I come anon.
This Abfolon doun fet him on his knees,
And faide, I am a lord at all degrees:
For after this I hope ther cometh more;
Lemman, thy grace, and, fwete bird! thyn ore.
The window fhe undoth, and that in hafte.
Have don, (quod fhe) come of, and fpede thee fafte,
Left that our neighboures thee efpie.

This Abfolon gan wipe his mouth ful drie.
Derke was the night as pitch or as the cole,
And at the window fhe put out hire hole,
And Abfolon him felle ne bet ne wers,
But with his mouth he kift hire naked ers
Ful favorly, er he was ware of this.

Abak he fterte, and thought it was amis,
For wel he wift a woman hath no berd.
He felt a thing all rowe, and long yherd,

And faide, Fy, alas! what have I do?

Te he, quod fhe, and clapt the window to j And Abfolon goth forth a fory pas.

A berd, a berd! faid Hendy Nicholas;
By Goddes corpus this goth faire and wel.
This fely Abfolon herd every del,

And on his lippe he gan for anger bite,
And to himself he faid I fhal thee quite.
Who rubbeth now, who froteth now his lippes
With duft, with fond, with ftraw, with cloth, with
But Abfolon? that faith full oft Alas! (chippes,

My foule betake I unto Sathanas

But me were lever than all this toun (quod he)
Of this defpit awroken for to be.
Alas! alas! that I ne had yblent.

His hote love is cold and all yqueint;
For fro that time that he had kift hire ers
Of paramours ne raught he not a kers,
For he was heled of his maladie;
Ful often paramours he gan defie,
And wepe as doth a child that is ybete."
A fofte pas he went him over the ftrete
Until a fmith man callen Dan Gerveis,
That in his forge fmithed plow-harneis;
He fharpeth fhare and cultre befily.
This Abfolon knocketh all efily,
And faid, Undo, Gerveis, and that anon.

What, who art thou? It am I Abfolon.
What, Abfolon? what, Chriftes fwete tre,
Why rife ye fo rath? ey benedicite!

What eileth you? fome gay girle, God it wote,
Hath brought you thus upon the viretote :
By Seint Neote ye wote wel what I mene.
This Abfolon ne raughte not a bene
Of all his play; no word again he yaf:
He hadde more tawe on his diftaf
Than Gerveis knew, and faide, Frend fo dere,
That hote culter in the cheminee here
As lene it me, I have therwith to don;
I wol it bring again to thee ful fone.

Gerveis anfwered, Certes were it gold,
Or in a poke nobles all untold,
Thou fhuideft it have, as I am trewe fmith."
Ey, Criftes foot, what wol ye don therwith?
Therof, quod Abfolon, be as be may,

I fhal wel tellen thee another day;
And caught the culter by the colde ftele.
Ful foft out at the dore he gan to ftele,
And went unto the carpenteres wall;
He coughed firft, and knocked therwithall
Upon the window, right as he did er.
This Alifon anfwered, Who is ther
That knocketh fo? I warrant him a thefe.
Nay, nay, (quod he) God wot, my fwete lefe,
I am thin Abfolon, thy dereling.

Of gold (quod he) I have thee brought a ring;
My mother yave it me, fo God me fave,
Ful fine it is, and therto wel ygrave;
This wol I yeven thee if thou me kisse.

This Nicholas was rifen for to piffe,
And thought he wolde amenden all the jape,
He fhulde kiffe his ers er that he scape;
And up the window did he haftily,
And out his ers he putteth privily

Over the buttok, to the hanche bon;
And therwith fpake this clerk, this Absolon,
Speke fwete bird, I n'ot not wher thou art.
This Nicholas anon let fleen a fart
As gret as it had been a thonder dint,
That with the ftroke he was wel nie yblint;
And he was redy with his yren hote,
And Nicholas amid the ers he fmote.

Off goth the skinne an hondbrede al aboute.
The hote culter brenned fo his toute,
That for the fmert he wened for to die;
As he were wood for wo he gan to crie
Helpe, water, water! help for Goddes herte!
This carpenter out of his fiumber fterte,
And herd on crie Water as he were wood,
And thought, alas! now cometh Noes flood.
He fet him up withouten wordes mo,
And with his axe he fmote the cord atwo,
And crun goth all; he fond neyther to felle
Ne breed ne ale til he came to the felle,
Upon the flore, and ther afwoune he lay.
Up fterten Alifon and Nicholay,
And crieden, Out and harrow in the frete.
The neighboures bothe smale and grete
Irannen for to gauren on this man,
That yet afwonne lay'bothe pale and wan,

For with the fall he broften hath his arm.
But ftenden he muft unto his owen harm,
For whan he spake he was anon bore doun
With Hendy Nicholas and Alfoun.
They tolden every man that he was wood,
He was agafte fo of Noes flood
Thurgh fantafie, that of his vanitee
He had ybought him kneding tubbes three,
And had hem honged in the roof above,
And that he praied hem for Goddes love
To fitten in the roof par compagnie.

The folk gan laughen at his fantafie.
Into the roof they kyken and they gape,
And turned all his harm into a jape.
For what fo that this carpenter answerd
It was for nought, no man his refon herd.
With othes gret he was fo fworne adoun
That he was holden wood in all the tour,
For everich clerk anon right heid with other g
They said the man was wood, my leve brother;
And every wight gan laughen at this frif.

Thus fwived was the carpenteres wif

For all his keping and his jaloufie,
And Abfolon hath kift hire nether eye,
And Nicholas is icaided in the toute.

This Tale is don, and God fave all the route,

VOL. I.

HAN folk han laughed at this nice cas
Of Abfolon and Hendy Nicholas,
Diverse folk diverfely they saide,

But for the more part they lought and plaide;
Ne at this Tale I faw no man greve
But it were only Ofewold the Reve:
Because he was of carpenteres craft
A litel ire is in his herte ylaft;
He gan to grutch and blamen it a lite.

Se the ik, quod he, ful wel coude I him quite
With blering of a proude milleres eye,
If that me lift to speke of ribaudrie.
But ik am olde; me lift not play for age;
Gras time is don, my foddre is now forage:
This white top writeth mine old yeres ;
Min herte is alfo moulded as min heres;
But if I fare as doth an open ers,
That ilke fruit is ever lenger the wers
Til it be roten in mullok or in ftre.

We olde men, I drede, fo faren we;
Til we be roten can we not be ripe;

We hoppe alway while that the world wol pipe;
For in our will ther ftiketh ever a nayl,
To have an hore hed and a grene tayl,

As hath a leke; for though our might be gon
Our will defireth folly ever in on;
For whan we may not don than wol we speken,
Yet in our afhen cold is fire yreken.

Four gledes han we which I fhal devife,
Avaunting, lying, anger, and covetife;
Thefe foure fparkes longen unto elde;
Our olde limes mow wel ben unwelde,
But will ne fhall not faillen that is fothe:
And yet have I alway a coltes tothe,
As many a yere as it passed henne
Sin that my tappe of lif began to renne:

For fikerly whan I was borne anon
Deth drow the tappe of lif and let it gon;
And ever fith hath so the tappe yronne,
Til that almost all empty is the tonne;

The ftreme of lif now droppeth on the chimbe*.
The fely tonge may wel ringe and chimbe
Of wretchedneffe that paffed is ful yore:
With olde folk fave dotage is no more.

Whan that our Hofte had herd this fermoning,
He gan to fpeke as lordly as a king,
And fayde, What amounteth all this wit?
What, fhall we fspeke all day of holy writ?
The devil made a Reve for to preche,
Or of a fouter a fhipman or a leche.

Say forth thy Tale, and tary not the time;
Lo Depeford, and it is half way prime :
Lo Grenewich, ther many a fhrew is inne :
It were al time thy Tale to beginne.

Now, fires, quod this Ofewold the Reve,
I pray you alle that ye not you greve
Though I answere, and fomdel fet his howve
For leful is with force force off to fhowve.

This dronken Miller hath ytold us here
How that begiled was a carpentere,
Paraventure in fcorne, for I am on;
And by your leve I fhal him quite anon:
Right in his cherles termes wol I fpeke;
I pray to God his necke mote to breke.
He can wel in min eye feen a stalk,
But in his owen he cannot seen a balk.

Kime, Teut. means the prominency of the flaves beyond the head of the barrel. The imagery is very exact and beautiful

Ar Trompington, not fer fro Cantebrigge,
Ther goth a brook, and over that a brigge,
Spon the whiche brook ther ftont a melle;
And this is veray fothe that I you telle.
A miller was ther dwelling many a day,
As any peacock he was proude and gay:
Pipen he coude, and fifhe, and nettes bete,
And turnen cuppes, and wraftlen wel and fhete.
Ay by his belt he bare a long pavade,
And of a fwerd ful trenchant was the blade:
A joly popper bare he in his pouche.
Ther n'as no man for peril dorft him touche.
A Shefeld thwitel bare he in his hose :

Round was his face, and camufe was his nose :
As pilled as an ape was his skull:
He was a market-beter at the full.
Ther dorfte no wight hond upon him legge,
That he ne swore he shuld anon abegge.

A these he was forfoth of corne and mele,
And that a flie, and ufant for to ftele :
His name was hoten Deinous Simekin †.
A wif he hadde comen of noble kin :
The perfon of the toun hire father was:
With hire he yaf ful many a panne of bras
For that Simkin fhuld in his blood allie:
She was yfoftered in a nonnerie;
For Simkin wolde no wif, as he fayde,
But he were wel ynourished and a mayde,
To ven his eftat of yemanrie :
And the was proud and pert as is a pie.
A ful faire fight was it upon hem two.
On holy dayes beforne hire wold he go
With his tipet ybounde about his hed,
And the came after in a gite of red,
And Simkin hadde hofen of the fame.
Ther dorfte no wight clepen her but Dame :

* Denyfe Simkin, the miller of Trompington, deceiveth two clarkes of Soller's hall in Cambridge in ftealing their sorn, but they fo manage their matters that they revenge the wrong to the full. This Tale is imitated from Boccace, Novel the 6th, Day the 9th.---This you may pass over if you please. Urry. + His name was Simon, of which Simekin is the dimimuitive, and from his difdainful infolent manners he had acquired the furname of Deinous, juft as Nicholas, in the former tale, was cleped Hendy from the very oppofite behaviour. A great number of our furnames have been derived from qualities of the mind, and it is reasonable to fuppofe that at the beginning they were merely pernas, like what we call nicknames. It is probable that the ufe of hereditary furnames was not even in Chaucer's tune fully eftablished among the lower claffes of people.

Was non fo hardy, that went by the way,
That with hire dorfte rage or ones play,
But if he wolde be flain of Simikin
With pavade, or with knif or bodekin;
(For jalous folk ben perilous evermo,
Algate they wold hir wives wenden fo.)
And eke, for fhe was fomdel fmoterlich,
She was as digne as water in a dich,
And al fo ful of hoker and of bifmare,
Hire thoughte that a ladie fhuld hire fpare,
What for hire kinrede and hire nortelrie
That she had lerned in the nonnerie.

A doughter hadden they betwix hem two
Of twenty yere, withouten any mo,
Saving a child that was of half yere age;
In cradle it lay, and was a propre page.
This wenche thicke and wel ygrowen was,
With camufe nose and eyen grey as glas;
With buttokes brode, and breftes round and hie,
But right faire was hir here, I wol not lie.

The perfon of the toun, for fhe was faire,
In purpos was to maken hire his haire
Both of his catel and of his mefuage,
And ftrange he made it of hire mariage.
His purpos was for to bestow hire hie
Into fome worthy blood of ancestrie,
For holy chirches good mote ben despended
On holy chirches blood that is defcended;
Therfore he wolde his holy blood honoure
Though that he holy chirche fhuld devoure.

Gret foken hath this miller out of doute
With whete and malt of all the land aboute,
And namely ther was a gret college
Men clep the Soler hall at Cantebrege,
Ther was hir whete and eke hir malte yground.
And on a day it happed in a stound
Sike lay the manciple on a maladie,
Men wenden wifly that he shulde die;
For which this miller ftale both mele and corn
An hundred times more than beforn,
For therbeforn he stale but curteisly,
But now he was a thefe outrageously,
For which the wardein chidde and made fare,
But therof fet the miller not a tare;
He craked bost, and swore it n'as not so,

Than were ther yonge poure fcolores two That dwelten in the halle of which I fay; Teftif they were, and lufty for to play,