This Alison answerde, "Who is ther
That knokketh so? I warante it a theef."
      "Why, nay," quod he, "God woot, my sweete leef,
685 I am thyn Absolon, my deerelyng.
Of gold," quod he, "I have thee broght a ryng.
My mooder yaf it me, so God me save;
Ful fyn it is, and therto wel ygrave.
This wol I yeve thee, if thou me kisse."
690       This Nicholas was risen for to pisse,
And thoughte he wolde amenden al the jape;
He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape.
And up the wyndowe dide he hastily,
And out his ers he putteth pryvely
695 Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon;
And therwith spak this clerk, this Absolon,
"Spek, sweete bryd, I noot nat where thou art."


      This Alison replied: "Now who is there?
And who knocks so? I'll warrant it's a thief."
      "Why no," quoth he, "God knows, my sweet roseleaf,
685 I am your Absalom, my own darling!
Of gold," quoth he, "I have brought you a ring;
My mother gave it me, as I'll be saved;
Fine gold it is, and it is well engraved;
This will I give you for another kiss."
690       This Nicholas had risen for a piss,
And thought that it would carry on the jape
To have his arse kissed by this jack-a-nape.
And so he opened window hastily,
And put his arse out thereat, quietly,
695 Over the buttocks, showing the whole bum;
And thereto said this clerk, this Absalom,
"O speak, sweet bird, I know not where thou art."

      This Nicholas anon leet fle a fart,
As greet as it had been a thonder-dent,
700 That with the strook he was almoost yblent;
And he was redy with his iren hoot,
And Nicholas amydde the ers he smoot,
      Of gooth the skyn an hande brede aboute,
The hoote kultour brende so his toute,
705 And for the smert he wende for to dye.
As he were wood, for wo he gan to crye,
"Help! Water! Water! Help for Goddes herte!"


      This Nicholas just then let fly a fart
As loud as it had been a thunder-clap,
700 And well-nigh blinded Absalom, poor chap;
But he was ready with his iron hot
And Nicholas right in the arse he got.
      Off went the skin a hand's-breadth broad, about,
The coulter burned his bottom so, throughout,
705 That for the pain he thought that he should die.
And like one mad he started in to cry,
"Help! Water! Water! For God's dear heart!"

      This carpenter out of his slomber sterte,
And herde oon crien 'water' as he were wood,
710 And thoughte, "Allas, now comth Nowelis flood!"
He sit hym up withouten wordes mo,
And with his ax he smoot the corde atwo,
And doun gooth al; he foond neither to selle,
Ne breed ne ale, til he cam to the celle
715 Upon the floor, and ther aswowne he lay.
      Up stirte hire Alison and Nicholay,
And criden "Out" and "Harrow" in the strete.
The neighebores, bothe smale and grete,
In ronnen for to gauren on this man,
720 That yet aswowne lay, bothe pale and wan,
For with the fal he brosten hadde his arm.
But stonde he moste unto his owene harm;
For whan he spak, he was anon bore doun
With hende Nicholas and Alisoun.
725 They tolden every man that he was wood,
He was agast so of Nowelis flood
Thurgh fantasie, that of his vanytee
He hadde yboght hym knedyng-tubbes thre,
And hadde hem hanged in the roof above;
730 And that he preyed hem, for Goddes love,
To sitten in the roof, par compaignye.
      The folk gan laughen at his fantasye;
Into the roof they kiken and they cape;
And turned al his harm unto a jape.
735 For what so that this carpenter answerde,
It was for noght, no man his reson herde.
With othes grete he was so sworn adoun
That he was holde wood in al the toun;
For every clerk anonright heeld with oother.
740 They seyde, "The man is wood, my leeve brother";
And every wight gan laughen at this stryf.
Thus swyved was this carpenteris wyf,
For al his kepyng and his jalousye;
And Absolon hath kist hir nether ye;
745 And Nicholas is scalded in the towte.
This tale is doon, and God save al the rowte!


      This carpenter out of his sleep did start,
Hearing that "Water!" cried as madman would,
710 And thought, "Alas, now comes down Noel's flood!"
He struggled up without another word
And with his axe he cut in two the cord,
And down went all; he did not stop to trade
In bread or ale till he'd the journey made,
715 And there upon the floor he swooning lay.
      Up started Alison and Nicholay
And shouted "Help!" and "Hello!" down the street.
The neighbours, great and small, with hastening feet
Swarmed in the house to stare upon this man,
720 Who lay yet swooning, and all pale and wan;
For in the falling he had smashed his arm.
He had to suffer, too, another harm,
For when he spoke he was at once borne down
By clever Nicholas and Alison.
725 For they told everyone that he was odd;
He was so much afraid of "Noel's" flood,
Through fantasy, that out of vanity
He'd gone and bought these kneading-tubs, all three,
And that he'd hung them near the roof above;
730 And that he had prayed them, for God's dear love,
To sit with him and bear him company.
      The people laughed at all this fantasy;
Up to the roof they looked, and there did gape,
And so turned all his injury to a jape.
735 For when this carpenter got in a word,
'Twas all in vain, no man his reasons heard;
With oaths imprenive he was so sworn down,
That he was held for mad by all the town;
For every clerk did side with every other.
740 They said: "The man is crazy, my dear brother."
And everyone did laugh at all this strife.
Thus screwed was the carpenter's goodwife,
For all his watching and his jealousy;
And Absalom has kissed her lower eye;
745 And Nicholas has burned his butt painfully.
This tale is done, and God save all the company!

磨房主的故事看完了。这个好短

       Whan folk hadde laughen at this nyce cas
Of Absolon and hende Nicholas,
Diverse folk diversely they seyde,
But for the moore part they loughe and pleyde.
5 Ne at this tale I saugh no man hym greve,
But it were oonly Osewold the Reve.
Bycause he was of carpenteres craft,
A litel ire is in his herte ylaft;
He gan to grucche, and blamed it a lite.


       When all had laughed their fill at this nice pass
Of Absalon and clever Nicholas,
Various people made various comment after;
But most of them dissolved in laughter
5 Nor at this tale did I see one man grieve,
Unless it were only old Oswald the Reeve,
Because he was a carpenter by trade.
A little anger in his heart was made,
And he began to grouse and grumble a bit.


10        "So theek," quod he, "ful wel koude I thee quite
With bleryng of a proud milleres eye,
If that me liste speke of ribaudye.
But ik am oold, me list no pley for age,
Gras-tyme is doon, my fodder is now forage,
15 This white top writeth myne olde yeris,
Myn herte is also mowled as myne heris,
But if I fare as dooth an open-ers, -
That ilke fruyt is ever lenger the wers,
Til it be roten in mullok or in stree.
20 We olde men, I drede, so fare we,
Til we be roten kan we nat be rype.
We hoppen ay whil that the world wol pype,
For in oure wyl ther stiketh evere a nayl,
To have an hoor heed and a grene tayl,
25 As hath a leek, for thogh oure myght be goon,
Oure wyl desireth folie evere in oon.
For whan we may nat doon, than wol we speke,
Yet in oure asshen olde is fyr yreke.


10        "As I am," said he, "very well could I thee quit
With blearing of a haughty miller's eye,
If I but chose to speak of ribaldry
But I am old; I will not play, for age;
Grass time is done, my fodder is rummage,
15 This white top reveals my old years,
My heart, too, is as mouldy as my hairs,
Unless I be like medlar, all perverse.
That same fruit increasingly grows worse,
Until it's rotten in mullock or straw.
20 We old men, I fear, obey this law:
Until we're rotten, we cannot be ripe;
We always hop along, while the world will pipe.
Our will is always catching on the nail,
To have, if hoary head, a verdant tail,
25 As has the leek; for though our strength be gone,
Our wish is yet for folly till life's done.
For when we may not act, then will we speak;
Yet in our ashes is there fire to reek


       "Foure gleedes han we whiche I shal devyse, -
30 Avauntyng, liyng, anger, coveitise;
Thise foure sparkles longen unto eelde.
Oure olde lemes mowe wel been unweelde,
But wyl ne shal nat faillen, that is sooth.
And yet ik have alwey a coltes tooth,
35 As many a yeer as it is passed henne
Syn that my tappe of lif bigan to renne.
For sikerly, whan I was bore, anon
Deeth drough the tappe of lyf, and leet it gon,
And ever sithe hath so the tappe yronne,
40 Til that almoost al empty is the tonne.
The streem of lyf now droppeth on the chymbe;
The sely tonge may wel rynge and chymbe
Of wrecchednesse that passed is ful yoore.
With olde folk, save dotage, is namoore!"


       "Four embers have we, which I shall confess:
30 Boasting and lying, anger, covetousness;
These four sparks belong to old age.
Our old limbs may no longer be able to rage,
But lust will never fail us, that is truth.
And yet I have had always a colt's tooth,
35 As many years as now are past and done
Since first my tap of life began to run.
For certainly, when I was born, so long ago,
Death turned my tap of life and let it flow;
And ever since the tap has done its task
40 Till now, there's little left, an empty flask.
The stream of life now drips upon the chime;
The silly tongue may well ring out the time
Of wretchedness that passed so long before;
For old people, except for dotage, there's no more."

45        Whan that oure Hoost hadde herd this sermonyng,
He gan to speke as lordly as a kyng,
He seide, "What amounteth al this wit?
What shul we speke alday of hooly writ?
The devel made a reve for to preche,
50 And of a soutere a shipman, or a leche.
Sey forth thy tale, and tarie nat the tyme.
Lo Depeford, and it is half-wey pryme.
Lo Grenewych, ther many a shrewe is inne!
It were al tyme thy tale to bigynne."
55        "Now sires," quod this Osewold the Reve,
"I pray yow alle, that ye nat yow greve,
Thogh I answere, and somdeel sette his howve,
For leveful is with force force of-showve.


45        Now when our host had heard this sermoning,
Then did he speak as lordly as a king;
He said: "To what amounts, now, all this wit?
Why should we talk all day of holy writ?
The devil made a preacher of a reeve,
50 And of a cobbler, a sailor or doctor I believe.
Tell, forth your tale, and do not waste the time.
Here's Deptford! And it is half way to prime.
There's Greenwich town that many a scoundrel's in;
It is quite time your story should begin."
55        "Now, sirs," then Oswald the Reeve replied
"I pray you all, that none will be dissatisfied
Though I reply and somewhat make a fool of him;
It's lawful to meet force with force therein."


       "This dronke Millere hath ytoold us heer
60 How that bigyled was a carpenteer,
Peraventure in scorn, for I am oon.
And, by youre leve, I shal hym quite anoon;
Right in his cherles termes wol I speke.
I pray to God his nekke mote to-breke;
65 He kan wel in myn eye seen a stalke,
But in his owene he kan nat seen a balke."


       "This drunken miller has related here
60 How was beguiled and fooled a carpenter
Perhaps in scorn of me, for I am one.
So, by your leave, I'll pay back what he's done;
All in his own rude language will I speak.
I only pray to God his neck may break.
65 For in my eye he knows the straw to find,
But to the beam in his own eye, he's blind."

       At TRUMPYNGTOUN, nat fer fro Cantebrigge,
Ther gooth a brook, and over that a brigge,
Upon the whiche brook ther stant a melle;
70 And this is verray sooth that I yow telle.
A millere was ther dwellynge many a day;
As any pecok he was proud and gay.
Pipen he koude and fisshe, and nettes beete,
And turne coppes, and wel wrastle and sheete;
75 Ay by his belt he baar a long panade,
And of a swerd ful trenchant was the blade.
A joly poppere baar he in his pouche;
Ther was no man, for peril, dorste hym touche.
A Sheffeld thwitel baar he in his hose.
80 Round was his face, and camus was his nose;
As piled as an ape was his skulle.
He was a market-betere atte fulle.
Ther dorste no wight hand upon hym legge,
That he ne swoor he sholde anon abegge.
85 A theef he was for sothe of corn and mele,
And that a sly, and usaunt for to stele.
His name was hoote deynous Symkyn.
A wyf he hadde, ycomen of noble kyn;
The person of the toun hir fader was.
90 With hire he yaf ful many a panne of bras,
For that Symkyn sholde in his blood allye.
She was yfostred in a nonnerye;
For Symkyn wolde no wyf, as he sayde,
But she were wel ynorissed and a mayde,
95 To saven his estaat of yomanrye.
And she was proud, and peert as is a pye.
A ful fair sighte was it upon hem two;
On halydayes biforn hire wolde he go
With his typet wound aboute his heed,
100 And she cam after in a gyte of reed;
And Symkyn hadde hosen of the same.
Ther dorste no wight clepen hire but 'dame';
Was noon so hardy that went by the weye
That with hire dorste rage or ones pleye,
105 But if he wolde be slayn of Symkyn
With panade, or with knyf, or boidekyn.
For jalous folk ben perilous everemo;
Algate they wolde hire wyves wenden so.
And eek, for she was somdel smoterlich,
110 She was as digne as water in a dich,
And ful of hoker and of bisemare.
Hir thoughte that a lady sholde hire spare,
What for hire kynrede and hir nortelrie
That she hadde lerned in the nonnerie.


       At Trumpington, not far away from Cambridge,
There goes a brook, and over that a bridge,
Upon the side of which brook stands a mill as well;
70 And this is very truth that I to you tell.
A miller was there dwelling, many and many a day;
As any peacock he was proud and gay.
He could mend nets, and he could fish, and flute,
Drink and turn cups, and wrestle well, and shoot;
75 Always in his leathern belt he did parade
A sword with a long trenchant blade.
In his pocket he carried a pretty knife;
No man who dared to touch him, on loss of life.
A long knife from Sheffield he carried in his hose;
80 Round was his face and turned-up was his nose.
As bald as any ape's head was his skull;
He was a quarrelsome swaggerer to the full.
No man dared a hand on him to lay,
Because he swore he'd make the beggar pay.
85 A thief he was, it's true, of corn and meal,
And sly at that, accustomed well to steal.
His name was known as arrogant Simpkin.
A wife he had who came of gentle kin;
The parson of the town her father was.
90 With her he gave very many a pan of brass,
To insure that Simpkin became his family.
She had been bred up in a nunnery;
For Simpkin would not have a wife, he said,
Unless she were a virgin and well-bred
95 To preserve his estate of yeoman stock.
And she was proud and bold as a magpie cock.
A handsome sight it was to see those two;
On holy days before her he would go
With a broad tippet bound about his head;
100 And she came after in a skirt of red,
Simpkin's stockings were dyed to match that same.
No man dared to call her aught but 'dame';
Nor was there one so hardy, in the way,
That dared flirt with her or attempt to play,
105 Unless he wanted to be slain by Simpkin the Swagger
With cutlass or with knife or with a dagger.
For jealous folk are dangerous, you know,
At least they'd have their wives to think them so.
Besides, because she was a dirty bitch,
110 She was as high as water in a ditch;
And full of disdain and full of sneering.
She thought a lady should be quite willing
To greet her for her kin and family
Having been brought up in that nunnery.


115        A doghter hadde they bitwixe hem two
Of twenty yeer, withouten any mo,
Savynge a child that was of half yeer age;
In cradel it lay and was a propre page.
This wenche thikke and wel ygrowen was,
120 With kamus nose, and eyen greye as glas,
With buttokes brode, and brestes rounde and hye;
But right fair was hire heer, I wol nat lye.


115        A daughter had they got between the two,
Of twenty years, and no more children, no,
Except a boy baby that was six months old;
It lay in cradle and was strong and bold.
This girl rather thick and well developed was,
120 With nose tip-tilted and eyes blue as glass,
With buttocks broad, and breasts round and high,
But right fair was her hair, I will not lie.


       This person of the toun, for she was feir,
In purpos was to maken hire his heir,
125 Bothe of his catel and his mesuage,
And straunge he made it of hir mariage.
His purpos was for to bistowe hire hye
Into som worthy blood of auncetrye;
For hooly chirches good moot been despended
130 On hooly chirches blood, that is descended.
Therfore he wolde his hooly blood honoure
Though that he hooly chirche sholde devoure.


       The parson of the town, since she was fair,
Who intended to make of her his heir,
125 Both of his possessions and of his estate,
But all this hinged upon a proper mate.
He was resolved that he'd bestow her fully
Into some blood of worthy ancestry;
For Holy Church's goods must be expended
130 On Holy Church's blood, as it's descended.
Therefore he'd honour thus his holy blood,
Though Holy Church itself became his food.

       Greet sokene hath his millere, out of doute,
With whete and malt of al the land aboute;
135 And nameliche ther was a greet collegge
Men clepen the Soler Halle at Cantebregge;
Ther was hir whete and eek hir malt ygrounde.
And on a day it happed, in a stounde,
Sik lay the maunciple on a maladye;
140 Men wenden wisly that he sholde dye.
For which this millere stal bothe mele and corn
And hundred tyme moore than biforn;
For therbiforn he stal but curteisly,
But now he was a theef outrageously,
145 For which the wardeyn chidde and made fare.
But therof sette the millere nat a tare;
He cracketh boost, and swoor it was nat so.
       Thanne were ther yonge povre scolers two,
That dwelten in this halle, of which I seye.
150 Testif they were, and lusty for to pleye,
And oonly for hire myrthe and revelrye,
Upon the wardeyn bisily they crye
To yeve hem leve, but a litel stounde,
To goon to mille and seen hir corn ygrounde;
155 And hardily they dorste leye hir nekke
The millere sholde not stele hem half a pekke
Of corn by sleighte, ne by force hem reve;
And at the laste the wardeyn yaf hem leve.
John highte that oon, and Aleyn highte that oother;
160 Of o toun were they born, that highte Strother,
Fer in the north, I kan nat telle where.


       Large tolls this miller took, beyond a doubt,
With wheat and malt from all the lands about;
135 Of which I'd specify among them all
A Cambridge college known as Soler Hall;
He ground their wheat and all their malt he ground.
And on a day it happened, as they found,
Their manciple lay very sick in bed
140 That all men surely thought he would be dead.
Whereon this miller stole both wheat and flour
A hundredfold more than he used to cheat before;
For theretofore he stole but cautiously,
But now he was a thief outrageously,
145 At which the warden scolded and raised hell;
The miller snapped his fingers, truth to tell,
And bluffed and boosted and denied it all.
       There were two poor young students, from this hall,
That dwelt within this college whereof I say.
150 Willful they were and lusty, full of play,
And, all for amusement as if a hobby,
After the warden eagerly did they lobby
To give them leave, at least for this one round,
To go to mill and see their grain ground;
155 And boldly they proclaimed they'd bet their neck
The miller should not steal one half a peck
Of grain, by trick, nor yet by force should thieve;
And at the last the warden gave them leave.
John was the one and Alain was that other;
160 In one town were they born, a town called Strother,
Far in the north, I cannot tell you 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,
165 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!
Hou fares thy faire doghter and thy wyf?"


       This Alain, he made ready all his gear,
And on a horse loaded the sack anon.
Forth went Alain the clerk, and also John,
165 With good sword and with buckler at their side.
John knew the way, - they didn't need a guide, -
And at the mill he dropped the sack of grain.
"Ah, Simon, hail, good day," first spoke Alain.
"How is it with your fair daughter and your wife?"

170        "Aleyn, welcome," quod Symkyn, "by my lyf!
And John also, how now, what do ye heer?"
       "Symond," quod John, "by God, nede has na peer.
Hym boes serve hymself that has na swayn,
Or elles he is a fool, as clerkes sayn.
175 Oure manciple, I hope he wil be deed,
Swa werkes ay the wanges in his heed;
And forthy is I come, and eek Alayn,
To grynde oure corn and carie it ham agayn;
I pray yow spede us heythen that ye may."
180        "It shal be doon," quod Symkyn, "by my fay!
What wol ye doon whil that is in hande?"
       "By God, right by the hopur wil I stande,"
Quod John, "and se howgates the corn gas in.
Yet saugh I nevere, by my fader kyn,
185 How that the hopur wagges til and fra."
       Aleyn answerde, "John, and wiltow swa?
Thanne wil I be bynethe, by my croun,
And se how that the mele falles doun
Into the trough; that sal be my disport.
190 For John, y-faith, I may been of youre sort;
I is as ille a millere as ar ye."
       This millere smyled of hir nycetee,
And thoghte, "Al this nys doon but for a wyle.
They wene that no man may hem bigyle,
195 But by my thrift, yet shal I blere hir ye,
For al the sleighte in hir philosophye.
The moore queynte crekes that they make,
The moore wol I stele whan I take.
In stide of flour yet wol I yeve hem bren.
200 'The gretteste clerkes been noght wisest men,'
As whilom to the wolf thus spak the mare.
Of al hir art ne counte I noght a tare."
       Out at the dore he gooth ful pryvely,
Whan that he saugh his tyme, softely.
205 He looketh up and doun til he hath founde
The clerkes hors, ther as it stood ybounde
Bihynde the mille, under a levesel;
And to the hors he goth hym faire and wel;
He strepeth of the brydel right anon.
210 And whan the hors was laus, he gynneth gon
Toward the fen, ther wilde mares renne,
And forth with 'wehee,' thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne


170        "Alain! Welcome," said Simpkin, "by my life,
And John also. Now? What do you do here?"
       "Simon," said John, "by God, need makes no peer;
He must himself serve who's no servant, eh?
Or else he's but a fool, as all clerks say.
175 Our manciple - I hope he'll soon be dead,
So aching are the grinders in his head -
And therefore am I come here with Alain
To grind our corn and carry it home again;
I pray you speed us much as you can and may."
180        "It shall be done," said Simpkin, "by my fay.
What will you do the while it is in hand?"
       "By God, right by the hopper will I stand,"
Said John, "and see just how the corn goes in;
I never have seen, by my father's kin,
185 Just how the hopper waggles to and fro."
       Alain replied: "Well, John, and will you so?
Then will I get beneath it, by my crown,
To see there how the meal comes sifting down
Into the trough; and that shall be my sport.
190 For, John, in faith, I must be of your sort;
I am as bad a miller as you be."
       The miller smiled at this, their simplicity,
And thought: "All this is done but for a wile;
They think there is no man may them beguile;
195 But, by my skill, I will yet blur their eyes,
For all the tricks in their philosophies.
The more odd tricks and stratagems they make,
The more I'll steal when I begin to take.
In place of flour I'll give them only bran.
200 'The greatest clerk is not the wisest man,'
As once unto the grey wolf said the mare.
But all their arts - I rate them not a tare."
       Out of the door he went, then, secretly,
When he saw his chance, and quietly;
205 He looked up and looked down, until he found
The students' horse where it stood, securely bound.
Behind the mill, under an arbour green;
And to the horse he went, then, still unseen;
He took the bridle off him and at once,
210 When the said horse was free and saw his chance,
Toward the fen, for wild mares ran therein,
And with a 'whinny' he went, through thick and thin.

       This millere gooth agayn, no word he seyde,
But dooth his note, and with the clerkes pleyde,
215 Til that hir corn was faire and weel ygrounde.
And whan the mele is sakked and ybounde,
This John goth out and fynt his hors away,
And gan to crie "Harrow!" and "Weylaway!
Oure hors is lorn, Alayn, for Goddes banes,
220 Step on thy feet! Com of man, man, al atanes!
Allas, our wardeyn has his palfrey lorn."
This Aleyn al forgat, bothe mele and corn;
Al was out of his mynde his housbonderie.
"What, whilk way is he geen?" he gan to crie.
225        The wyf cam lepynge inward with a ren.
She seyde, "Allas! youre hors goth to the fen
With wilde mares, as faste as he may go.
Unthank come on his hand that boond hym so,
And he that bettre sholde han knyt the reyne!"
230        "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 ne had thow pit the capul in the lathe?
235 Ilhayl! by God, Alayn, thou is a fonne!"
       Thise sely clerkes han ful faste yronne
Toward the fen, bothe Aleyn and eek John.
       And whan the millere saugh that they were gon,
He half a busshel of hir flour hath take,
240 And bad his wyf go knede it in a cake.
He seyde, "I trowe the clerkes were aferd
Yet kan a millere make a clerkes berd,
For al his art; now lat hem goon hir weye!
Lo, wher he gooth! ye, lat the children pleye.
245 They gete hym 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 hym heere!'
But shortly, til that it was verray nyght,
250 They koude nat, though they dide al hir myght,
Hir capul cacche, he ran alwey so faste,
Til in a dych they caughte hym atte laste.


       This miller straight went back and no word said,
But does his business and with these students played,
215 Until their corn was fairly, fully ground.
But when the flour was sacked and the ears bound,
This John went out, to find his horse away,
And so he cried: "Hello!" and "Weladay!
Our horse is lost! Alain, for God's bones
220 Get to your feet, come out, man, now, at once!
Alas, our warden's palfrey's gone and lost!"
This Alain forgot all, flour, corn and cost,
Clean out of mind was all his cautiousness and care,
"What? Which way did he go?" he cried. "Where?"
225        The wife came running from the house, and then
She said: "Alas! Your horse went to the fen,
With the wild mares, as fast as he could go.
A curse lies on the hand that tied him so,
And him that better should have knit the reins!"
230        "Alas!" said John, "Alain, for Jesus' pains,
Lay down your sword, and I will mine also;
I am as fleet, God knows, as is a roe;
By God's heart, he shall not escape us both!
Why didn't you put him in the barn? My oath!
235 Bad luck, by God, Alain, you are a fool!"
       These foolish students began to run and roll
Toward the marshes, both Alain and John.
       And when the miller saw that they were gone,
He half a bushel of their flour did take
240 And bade his wife go knead it and bread make.
He said: "I think those clerks some trickery feared;
Yet can a miller match a clerkling's beard,
For all their learning; let them go their way.
Look where they go, yea, let the children play,
245 They'll catch him not so easily, on my crown!"
       Those simple clerks went running up and down
With "Look out! Halt! Halt! here! 'Ware the rear!
Go whistle, you, and I will watch him here!"
But briefly, it wasn't until night
250 They could not, though they put forth all their might,
That horse to catch, he always ran so fast,
Till in a ditch they trapped him at the last.

       Wery and weet, as beest is in the reyn,
Comth sely John, and with him comth Aleyn.
255 "Allas," quod John, "the day that I was born!
Now are we dryve til hethyng and til scorn.
Oure corn is stoln, men wil us fooles calle,
Bathe the wardeyn and oure felawes alle,
And namely the millere, weylaway!"
260        Thus pleyneth John as he gooth by the way
Toward the mille, and Bayard in his hond.
The millere sittynge by the fyr he fond,
For it was nyght, and forther myghte they noght;
But for the love of God they hym bisoght
265 Of herberwe and of ese, as for hir peny.
       The millere seyde agayn, "If ther be eny,
Swich as it is, yet shal ye have youre part.
Myn hous is streit, but ye han lerned art;
Ye konne by arguments make a place
270 A myle brood of twenty foot of space.
Lat se now if this place may suffise,
Or make it rowm with speche, as is your gise."
       "Now, Symond," seyde John, "by seint Cutberd,
Ay is thou myrie, and this is faire answerd.
275 I have herd seyd, 'Man sal taa of twa thynges
Slyk as he fyndes, or taa slyk as he brynges.'
But specially I pray thee, hooste deere,
Get us som mete and drynke, and make us cheere,
And we wil payen trewely atte fulle.
280 With empty hand men may na haukes tulle;
Loo, heere oure silver, redy for to spende."
       This millere into toun his doghter sende
For ale and breed, and rosted hem a goos,
And booned hire hors, it sholde namoore go loos;
285 And in his owene chambre hem made a bed,
With sheetes and with chalons faire yspred,
Noght from his owene bed ten foot or twelve.
His doghter hadde a bed, al by hirselve,
Right in the same chambre by and by.
290 It myghte be no bet, and cause why?
Ther was no roumer herberwe in the place.
They soupen and they speke, hem to solace,
And drynken evere strong ale atte beste.
Aboute mydnyght wente they to reste.
295        Wel hath this millere vernysshed 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.
To bedde he goth, and with hym goth his wyf.
300 As any jay she light was and jolyf,
So was hir joly whistle wel ywet.
The cradel at hir beddes feet is set,
To rokken, and to yeve the child to sowke.
And whan that dronken al was in the crowke,
305 To bedde wente the doghter right anon;
To bedde goth Aleyn and also John;
Ther nas na moore, - hem nebede no dwale.
This millere hath so wisely bibbed ale
That as an hors he fnorteth in his sleep,
310 Ne of his tayl bihynde he took no keep.
His wyf bar hym a burdon, a ful strong;
Men myghte hir rowtyng heere two furlong;
The wenche rowteth eek, par compaignye.


       Weary and wet, as beast is in the rain,
Came foolish John and with him came Alain.
255 "Alas," said John, "the day that I was born!
Now are we bound toward mockery and scorn.
Our corn is stolen, folk will call us fools,
The warden and the fellows at the schools,
And specially this miller. What a day!"
260        Thus John complained as he went on his way
Toward the mill, with Bayard once more bound.
The miller sitting by the fire he found,
For it was night, and farther could they not;
But, for the love of God, they him besought
265 For shelter and for supper, for their penny.
       The miller said to them: "If there be any,
Such as it is, that you shall have your part.
My house is small, but you have learned your art;
You can, by metaphysics, make a place
270 A full mile wide in twenty feet of space.
Let us see now if this place will suffice,
Or make more room with speech, by some device."
       "Now, Simon," said John, "by Saint Cuthbert's beard,
You're always merry and have well answered.
275 As I've heard, man shall take one of two things:
Such as he finds, or take such as he brings.
But specially, I pray you, mine host dear,
Give us some meat and drink and some good cheer,
And we will pay you, truly, to the full.
280 With empty hand no man takes hawk or gull;
Well, here's our silver, ready to be spent."
       This miller to the town his daughter sent
For ale and bread, and roasted them a goose,
And tied their horse, that it might not go loose;
285 And then in his own chamber made a bed,
With sheets and with good blankets fairly spread,
Not from his bed more than ten feet or twelve.
The daughter had a bed all by herself,
In the same chamber with them, by and by;
290 It could not well be improved, and for why?
There was no larger lodging in the place.
They ate and talked, and gained some small solace,
And drank strong ale, that evening, of the best.
Then about midnight all they went to rest.
295        Well had this miller varnished his bald head,
For pale he was of drinking, and not red.
He hiccoughed and he mumbled through his nose,
As he were chilled, with humours lachrymose.
To bed he went, his wife and he together.
300 She was as jolly as a jay in feather,
So copiously was her gay whistle wet.
The cradle near her bed's foot-board was set,
Handy for rocking and for giving suck.
And when they'd drunk up all there was in crock,
305 To bed went miller's daughter, and thereupon
To bed went Alain and to bed went John.
There was no more; no sleeping drug was needed.
This miller had drunk so much ale unheeded
That, like a horse, he snorted in his sleep,
310 While of his tail behind he kept no keep.
His wife joined in his chorus, and so strong,
Men might have heard her snores a full furlong;
And the girl snored, as well, for company.

       Aleyn the clerk, that herde this melodye,
315 He poked John, and seyde, "Slepestow?
Herdestow evere slyk a sang er now?
Lo, swilk a complyn is ymel hem alle,
A wilde fyr upon thair bodyes falle!
Wha herkned evere slyk a ferly thyng?
320 Ye, they sal have the flour of il endyng.
This lange nyght ther tydes me na reste;
But yet, nafors, al sal be for the beste.
For, John," seyde he, "als evere moot I thryve,
If that I may, yon wenche wil I swyve.
325 Som esement has lawe yshapen us;
For, John, ther is a lawe that says thus,
That gif a man in a point be agreved,
That in another he sal be reveled.
Oure corn is stoln, sothly, it is na nay,
330 And we han had an il fit al this day;
And syn I sal have neen amendement
Agayn my los, I will have esement.
By Goddes sale, it sal neen other bee!"
       This John answerde, "Alayn, avyse thee!
335 The millere is a perilous man, "he seyde,
"And gif that he out of his sleep abreyde,
He myghte doon us bathe a vileynye."
       Aleyn answerde, "I counte hym nat a flye."
And up he rist, and by the wenche he crepte.
340 This wenche lay uprighte, and faste slepte,
Til he so ny was, er she myghte espie,
That it had been to late for to crie,
And shortly for to seyn, they were aton.
Now pley, Aleyn, for I wol speke of John.


       Alain the clerk, who heard this melody,
315 He poked at John and said: "Asleep? But how?
Have you ever heard such a noice before now?
Lo, what a compline is among them all!
Now may the wild-fire on their bodies fall!
Who ever heard so outlandish a thing?
320 But they shall have the flour of ill ending.
Through this long night there'll be for me no rest;
But never mind, 'twill all be for the best.
For, John," said he, "as ever I'll take my luck,
As, if I can, that very wench I'll fuck.
325 Some compensation the law allows to us;
For, John, there is a statute which says thus,
That if a man in one point be aggrieved,
Yet in another shall he be relieved.
Our corn is stolen, there's no denial to that,
330 An evil time all this day we had.
But since I may not have amending, now,
Against my loss I'll set some fun - and how!
By God's great soul it shall not be otherwise!"
       This John replied: "Alain, let me advise.
335 The miller is a dangerous man," he said,
"And if he be awakened, I'm afraid
He may well do us both an injury."
       But Alain said: "I count him not a flea."
And up he rose and to the girl he crept.
340 This wench lay on her back and soundly slept,
Until he'd come so near, before she might spy,
It was too late to struggle then, or cry;
And, to be brief, these two were soon at one.
Now play, Alain! For I will speak of John.

345        This John lith stille a furlong wey or two,
And to hymself 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 somwhat for his harm;
350 He has the milleres doghter in his arm.
He auntred hym, and has his nedes sped,
And I lye as a draf-sak in my bed;
And when this jape is tald another day,
I sal been halde a daf, a cokenay!
355 I wil arise and auntre it, by my fayth!
'Unhardy is unseely,' thus men sayth."
And up he roos, and softely he wente
Unto the cradel, and in his hand it hente,
And baar it softe unto his beddes feet.


345        This John lay still for a short time, or so,
Pitied himself and lamented for all his woe.
"Alas," said he, "this is a wicked jape!
Now may I say that I am but an ape.
Yet has my friend, there, something for his harms;
350 He has the miller's daughter in his arms.
He ventured, and his pains are now all fled,
While I lie like a sack of rubbish in bed;
And when this joke is told, another day,
I shall be held an ass, a softie, yea!
355 I will arise and chance it, by my fay!
'Unhardy is unhappy,' as they say."
And up he rose, and softly then he went
Unto the cradle, he took it in his hand,
And bore it over to his own foot-board.


360        Soon after this the wyf hir rowtyng leet,
And gan awake, and wente hire out to pisse,
And cam agayn, and gan hir cradel mysse
And groped heer and ther, but she found noon.
"Allas!" quod she, "I hadde almoost mysgoon;
365 I hadde almoost goon to the clerkes bed.
Ey, benedicite! thanne hadde I foule ysped."
And forth she gooth til she the cradel fond.
She gropeth alwey forther with hir hond,
And foond the bed, and thoghte noght but good,
370 By cause that the cradel by it stood,
And nyste wher she was, for it was derk;
But faire and wel she creep in to the clerk,
And lith ful stille, and wolde han caught a sleep.
Withinne a while this John the clerk up leep,
375 And on this goode wyf he leith on soore.
So myrie a fit ne hadde she nat ful yoore;
He priketh harde and depe as he were mad.
This joly lyf han thise two clerkes lad
Til that the thriddle cok bigan to synge.


360        Soon after this the wife no longer snored,
But woke and rose and went outside to piss,
And came again and did the cradle miss,
And groped round, here and there, but found it not.
"Alas!" thought she, "my way I have forgot.
365 I nearly found myself in the clerks' bed.
Eh, bless me, but that were wrong!" she said.
And on, until by cradle she did stand.
And, groping a bit farther with her hand,
She found the bed, and thought of nothing but good,
370 Because her baby's cradle by it stood;
And knew not where she was, for it was dark;
But calmly then she crept in by the clerk,
And lay right still, and would have gone to sleep.
But within a moment this John the clerk did leap,
375 And on this good wife did he vigorously lie.
No such merry time she'd known in years gone by.
He pierces her hard and deep, like one gone mad.
And so a jolly life these two clerks had
Till the third cock began to crow and sing.

380        Aleyn wax wery in the dawenynge,
For he had swonken al the longe nyght,
And seyde, "Fare weel, Malyne, sweete wight!
The day is come, I may no lenger byde;
But everemo, wher so I go or ryde,
385 I is thyn awen clerk, swa have I seel!"
       "Now, deere lemman," quod she, "go, far weel!
But er thow go, o thyng I wol thee telle:
Whan that thou wendest homward by the melle,
Right at the entre of the dore bihynde
390 Thou shalt a cake of half a busshel fynde
That was ymaked of thyn owene mele,
Which that I heelp my sire for to stele.
And, goode lemman, God thee save and kepe!"
And with that word almoost she gan to wepe.
395        Aleyn up rist, and thoughte, "Er that it dawe
I wol crepen in by my felawe,"
And fond the cradel with his hand anon.
"By God," thoughte he, al wrang I have mysgon.
Myn heed is toty of my swynk to-nyght,
400 That makes me that I ga nat aright.
I woot wel by the cradel I have mysgo;
Heere lith the millere and his wyf also."
And forth he goth, a twenty devel way,
Unto the bed ther as the millere lay.
405 He wende have cropen by his felawe John,
And by the millere in the 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.
410 For by that lord called is seint Jame,
As I have thries in this shorte nyght
Swyved the milleres doghter bolt upright,
Whil thow hast, as a coward, been agast."


380        Alain grew weary in the grey dawning,
For he had laboured hard through all the night;
And said: "Farewell, now, Melanie, sweet delight!
The day is come, I may no longer bide;
But evermore, whether I walk or ride,
385 I am your own clerk, so may I have weal."
       "Now, sweetheart," said she, "go and fare you well!
But before you go, there's one thing I must tell.
When you go walking homeward past the mill,
Right at the entrance, just the door behind,
390 You shall a loaf of half a bushel find
That was baked up of your own flour, a deal
Of which I helped my father for to steal.
And, darling, may God save you now and keep!"
And with that word she almost had to weep.
395        Alain arose and thought: "Before it is dawn,
I will go creep in softly by friend John."
And found the cradle quickly thereupon.
"By God!" thought he, "all wrong I must have gone;
My head is dizzy from my work tonight,
400 And that's why I have failed to go aright.
I know well, by this cradle, I am wrong,
For here the miller and his wife belong."
And on he went, and on the devil's way,
Unto the bed wherein the miller lay.
405 He thought to have crept in by comrade John,
So, to the miller, in he got anon,
And caught him round the neck, and softly spake,
Saying: "You, John, you old swine's head, awake,
For Christ's own soul, and hear a noble work,
410 For by Saint James, and as I am a clerk,
I have, three times in this short night, no lack,
Screwed that old miller's daughter on her back,
While you, like any coward, were terrified."

       "Ye, false harlot," quod the millere, "hast?
415 A, false traitor! false clerk!" quod he,
Tow shalt be deed, by Goddes dignitee!
Who dorste be so boold to disparage
My doghter, that is come of swich lynage?'
And by the throte-bolle he caughte Alayn,
420 And he hente hym despitously agayn,
And on the nose he smoot hym with his fest.
Doun ran the blody streem upon his brest;
And in the floor, with nose and mouth tobroke,
They walwe as doon two pigges in a poke;
425 And up they goon, and doun agayn anon,
Til that the millere sporned at a stoon,
And doun he fil bakward upon his wyf,
That wiste no thyng of this nyce stryf;
For she was falle aslepe a lite wight
430 With John the clerk, that waked hadde al nyght,
And with the fal out of hir sleep she breyde.
"Help! hooly croys of Bromeholm," she seyde,
'In manus tuas! Lord, to thee I calle!
Awak, Symond! The feend is on me falle.
435 Myn herte is broken; help! I nam but deed
Ther lyth oon upon my wombe and on myn heed.
Help. Symkyn, for the false clerkes fighte!"
       This John stirte up as faste as ever he myghte,
And graspeth by the walles to and fro,
440 To fynde a staf; and she stirte up also,
And knew the estres bet than dide this John,
And by the wal a staf she foond anon,
And saugh a litel shymeryng of a light,
For at an hole in shoon the moone bright;
445 And by that light she saugh hem bothe two,
But sikerly she nyste who was who,
But as she saugh a whit thyng in hir ye.
And whan she gan this white espye,
She wende the clerk hadde wered a volupeer,
450 And with the staf she drow ay neer and neer,
And wende han hit this Aleyn at the fulle,
And smoot the millere on the pyled skulle,
That doun he gooth, and cride, "Harrow! I dye!"
Thise clerkes beete hym weel and lete hym lye;
455 And greythen hem, and tooke hir hors anon,
And eek hire mele, and on hir wey they gon.
And at the mille yet they tooke hir cake
Of half a busshel flour, ful wel ybake.
       Thus is the proude millere wel ybete,
460 And hath ylost the gryndynge of the whete,
And payed for the soper everideel
Of Aleyn and of John, that bette hym weel.
His wyf is swyved, and his doghter als.
Lo, swich it is a millere to be fals!
465 And therfore this proverbe is seyd ful sooth,
'Hym thar nat wene wel that yvele dooth';
A gylour shal hymself bigyled be.
And God, that sitteth heighte in magestee,
Save al this compaignye, grete and smale!
470 Thus have I quyt the Millere in my tale.


       "You scoundrel, you did what?" the miller cried,
415 Ah, false traitor and treacherous clerk!" raged he,
"You shall be killed, by God's own dignity!
Who dares be bold enough to bring to shame
My daughter, who is born of such a name?"
And by the throat, then, he caught Alain.
420 And pitilessly he handled this hapless man,
And on the nose he smashed him with his fist.
Down ran the bloody stream upon his breast;
With broken mouth and nose on the floor,
They moved as pigs in a bag, searching for a door.
425 And up they came, and down they both went, prone,
Until the miller stumbled on a stone,
And staggered and fell down backwards on his wife,
Who nothing knew of all this silly strife;
For she had fallen asleep with John the clerk
430 Tired of all their labour in the dark.
But at the fall, from sleep she started out.
"Help, holy Cross of Bromholm!" did she shout,
"In manus tuas, Lord, to You I call!
Simon, awake, the Fiend is on us all
435 My heart is broken, help, I'm almost dead!
There lies one on my womb, one on my head!
Help, Simpkin, for these treacherous clerks do fight!"
       John started up, as fast as well he might,
And searched along the wall, and to and fro,
440 To find a staff; and she arose also,
And knowing the room better than did John,
She found a staff against the wall, thereupon;
And then she saw a little ray of light,
For through a hole the moon was shining bright;
445 And by that light she saw the struggling two,
But certainly she knew not who was who,
Except she saw a white thing with her eye.
And when she did this same white thing espy,
She thought the clerk had worn a nightcap here.
450 And with the staff she nearer drew, and near,
And, thinking to hit Alain on his poll,
She fetched the miller on his bald white skull,
And down he went, crying out, "Help, help, I die!"
The two clerks beat him well and let him lie;
455 And clothed themselves, and took their horse straightway,
And got their flour, and were gone on their way.
And at the mill they found the well-made cake
Which of their meal the miller's wife did bake.
       Thus soundly beaten is the haughty miller,
460 And received no pay for putting wheat in the grinder,
And paid for the two suppers, completely,
Of Alain, and of John, who've tricked him fairly.
His wife is screwed, also his daughter sweet;
Thus it befalls a miller who's a cheat.
465 And therefore is this proverb said with truth,
"An evil end to evil man, forsooth."
The cheater shall himself well cheated be.
And God, who sits on high in majesty,
Except all this company, both strong and frail!
470 Thus have I repaid this miller with my tale.

       The COOK of Londoun, whil the Reve spak,
For joye him thoughte, he clawed him on the bak.
"Ha! ha!" quod he, "for Criste passioun,
This miller hadde a sharp conclusioun
5 Upon his argument of herbergage.
Wel seyde Salomon in his langage,
`Ne bryng nat every man into thyn hous,'
For herberwynge by nyghte is perilous.
Wel oghte a man avysed for to be,
10 Whom that be broghte into his pryvetee.
I pray to God so yeve me sorwe and care,
If evere sitthe I highte Hogge of Ware,
Herde I a millere bettre yset awerk.
He hadde a jape of malice in the derk.
15 But God forbede that we stynte heere,
And therfore, if ye vouche-sauf to heere
A tale of me that am a povre man,
I wol yow telle, as wel as evere I kan,
A litel jape that fil in oure citee."


       The cook from London, while the reeve yet spoke,
Patted his back with pleasure at the joke.
"Ha, ha!" laughed he, "by Christ's great suffering,
This miller had a mighty sharp ending
5 Upon his argument of harbourage!
For well says Solomon, in his language,
'Bring thou not every man into thine house;'
For harbouring by night is dangerous.
Well ought a man to know the man that he
10 Has brought into his own security.
I pray God give me sorrow and much care
If ever, since I have been Hodge of Ware,
Heard I of miller better brought to mark.
A wicked jest was played him in the dark.
15 But God forbid that we should leave off here;
And therefore, if you'll lend me now an ear,
From what I know, who am but a poor man,
I will relate, as well as ever I can,
A little trick was played in our city."

20        Oure Hoost answerde and seide, "I graunte it thee,
Now telle on, Roger, looke that it be good,
For many a pastee hastow laten blood,
And many a Jakke of Dovere hastow soold
That hath been twies hoot and twies coold.
25 Of many a pilgrim hastow Cristes curs,
For of thy percely yet they fare the wors,
That they han eten with thy stubbel goos,
For in thy shoppe is many a flye loos.
Now telle on, gentil Roger, by thy name,
30 But yet I pray thee, be nat wroth for game;
A man may seye ful sooth in game and pley."


20        Our host replied: "I grant it readily.
Now tell on, Roger; see that it be good;
For many a pasty have you robbed of blood,
And many a Jack of Dover have you sold
That has been heated twice and twice grown cold.
25 From many a pilgrim have you had Christ's curse,
For of your parsley they yet fare the worse,
Which they have eaten with your stubble goose;
For in your shop full many a fly is loose.
Now tell on, gentle Roger, by your name.
30 But yet, I pray, don't mind if I make game,
A man may tell the truth when it's in play."


       "Thou seist ful sooth," quod Roger, "by my fey;
But `sooth pley quaad pley,' as the Flemyng seith.
And therfore, Herry Bailly, by thy feith,
35 Be thou nat wrooth, er we departen heer,
Though that my tale be of an hostileer.
But nathelees I wol nat telle it yit,
But er we parte, ywis, thou shalt be quit."
And ther-with-al he lough and made cheere,
40 And seyde his tale, as ye shul after heere.


       "You say the truth," said Roger, "by my fay!
But 'true jest, bad jest' as the Fleming saith.
And therefore, Harry Bailey, on your faith,
35 Be you not angry before we finish here,
If my tale should concern an inn-keeper.
Nevertheless, I'll tell not that one yet,
But before we part your jokes will I upset."
And thereon did he laugh, in great good cheer,
40 And told his tale, as you shall hereafter hear.

       A prentys whilom dwelled in oure citee,
And of a craft of vitailliers was hee.
Gaillard he was as goldfynch in the shawe,
Broun as a berye, a propre short felawe,
45 With lokkes blake, ykembd ful fetisly.
Dauncen he koude so wel and jolily
That he was cleped Perkyn Revelour.
He was as ful of love and paramour
As is the hyve ful of hony sweete:
50 Wel was the wenche with hym myghte meete.
At every bridale wolde he synge and hoppe;
He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.
For whan ther any ridyng was in Chepe,
Out of the shoppe thider wolde he lepe -
55 Til that he hadde al the sighte yseyn,
And daunced wel, he wolde nat come ayeyn -
And gadered hym a meynee of his sort
To hoppe and synge and maken swich disport;
And ther they setten stevene for to meete
60 To pleyen at the dys in swich a streete.
For in the toune nas ther no prentys
That fairer koude caste a paire of dys
Than Perkyn koude, and therto he was free
Of his dispense, in place of pryvetee.
65 That fond his maister wel in his chaffare;
For often tyme he foond his box ful bare.
For sikerly a prentys revelour
That haunteth dys, riot, or paramour,
His maister shal it in his shoppe abye,
70 Al have he no part of the mynstralcye.
For thefte and riot, they been convertible
Al konne he pleye on gyterne or ribible.
Revel and trouthe, as in a lowe degree,
They been ful wrothe al day, as men may see.


       There lived a 'prentice, once, in our city,
And of the craft of victuallers was he;
Happy he was as goldfinch in the glade,
Brown as a berry, short, and thickly made,
45 With black hair that he combed right prettily.
He could dance well, and that so jollily,
That he was nicknamed Perkin Reveller.
He was as full of love, I may aver,
As is a beehive full of honey sweet;
50 Well for the wench that with him chanced to meet.
At every bridal would he sing and hop,
Loving the tavern better than the shop.
When there was any festival in Cheap,
Out of the shop and thither would he leap,
55 And, till the whole procession he had seen,
And danced his fill, he'd not return again.
He gathered many fellows of his sort
To dance and sing and make all kinds of sport.
And they would have appointments for to meet
60 And play at dice in such, or such, a street.
For in the whole town was no apprentice
Who better knew the way to throw the dice
Than Perkin; and therefore he was right free
With money, when in chosen company.
65 His master found this out in business there;
For often-times he found the till was bare.
For certainly a revelling bond-boy
Who loves dice, wine, dancing, and girls of joy -
His master, in his shop, shall feel the effect,
70 Though no part have he in this said respect;
For theft and riot always comrades are,
And each alike he played on gay guitar.
Revels and truth, in one of low degree,
Do battle always, as all men may see.


75        This joly prentys with his maister bood,
Til he were ny out of his prentishood,
Al were he snybbed bothe erly and late,
And somtyme lad with revel to Newegate.
But atte laste his maister hym bithoghte,
80 Upon a day, whan he his papir soughte,
Of a proverbe that seith this same word,
'Wel bet is roten appul out of hoord
Than that it rotie al the remenaunt.'
So fareth it by a riotous servaunt;
85 It is ful lasse harm to lete hym pace,
Than he shende alle the servantz in the place
Therfore his maister yaf hym acquitance,
And bad hym go, with sorwe and with meschance!
And thus this joly prentys hadde his leve.
90 Now lat hym riote al the nyghte or leve.
And for ther is no theef withoute a lowke,
That helpeth hym to wasten and to sowke
Of that he brybe kan or borwe may,
Anon he sente his bed and his array
95 Unto a compeer of his owene sort,
That lovede dys, and revel, and disport,
And hadde a wyf that heeld for contenance
A shoppe, and swyved for hir sustenance.


75        This 'prentice shared his master's fair abode
Till he was nigh out of his 'prenticehood,
Though he was checked and scolded early and late,
And sometimes led, for drinking, to Newgate;
But at the last his master did take thought,
80 Upon a day, when he his ledger sought,
On an old proverb wherein is found this word:
"Better take rotten apple from the hoard
Than let it lie to spoil the good ones there."
So with a drunken servant should it fare;
85 It is less ill to let him go, apace,
Than ruin all the others in the place.
Therefore he freed and cast him loose to go
His own road unto future care and woe;
And thus this jolly 'prentice had his leave.
90 Now let him riot all night long, or thieve.
But since there's never thief without a buck
To help him waste his money and to suck
All he can steal or borrow by the way,
At once he sent his bed and his array
95 To one he knew, a fellow of his sort,
Who loved the dice and revels and all sport,
And had a wife that kept, for countenance,
A shop, and whored to gain her sustenance.




(Chaucer did not finish this tale.)

残念，厨师的故事居然没有写完

       Oure Hooste saugh wel that the brighte sonne
The ark of his artificial day hath ronne
The ferthe part, and half an houre and moore;
And though he were nat depe expert in loore,
5 He wiste it was the eightetethe day
Of Aprill, that is messager to May;
And saugh wel, that the shadwe of every tree
Was as in lengthe the same quantitee
That was the body erect that caused it,
10 And therfore by the shadwe he took his wit
That Phebus, which that shoon so clere and brighte,
Degrees was fyve and fourty clombe on highte;
And for that day, as in that latitude,
It was ten at the clokke, he gan conclude,
15 And sodeynly he plighte his hors aboute.-


       Our good host saw well that the shining sun
The are of artificial day had run
A quarter part, plus half an hour or more;
And though not deeply expert in such lore,
5 He reckoned that it was the eighteenth day
Of April, which is the prelude to May;
And saw well that the shadow of each tree
Was, as to length, of even quantity
As was the body upright causing it.
10 And therefore by the shade he had the wit
To know that Phoebus, shining there so bright,
Had climbed degrees full forty-five in height;
And that, that day, and in that latitude,
It was ten of the clock, he did conclude,
15 And suddenly he put his horse about.


       "Lordynges," quod he, "I warne yow, al this route,
The fourthe party of this day is gon.
Now for the love of God and of Seint John,
Leseth no tyme, as ferforth as ye may.
20 Lordynges, the tyme wasteth nyght and day,
And steleth from us, what pryvely slepynge,
And what thurgh necligence in oure wakynge,
As dooth the streem, that turneth nevere agayn,
Descendynge fro the montaigne into playn.
25 Wel kan Senec and many a philosophre
Biwaillen tyme, moore than gold in cofre.
For 'Los of catel may recovered be,
But los of tyme shendeth us,' quod he.
It wol nat come agayn, withouten drede,
30 Namoore than wole Malkynes maydenhede,
Whan she hath lost it in hir wantownesse.
Lat us nat mowlen thus in ydelnesse.


       "Masters," said he, "I warn all of this rout,
A quarter of this present day is gone;
Now for the love of God and of Saint John,
Lose no more time, or little as you may;
20 Masters, the time is wasting night and day,
And steals away from us, what with our sleeping
And with our sloth, when we awake are keeping,
As does the stream, that never turns again,
Descending from the mountain to the plain.
25 And well may Seneca, and many more,
Bewail lost time far more than gold in store.
'For chattels lost may yet recovered be,
But time lost ruins us for aye,' says he.
It will not come again, it is a pity,
30 Not any more than will Mag's virginity
When she has lost it in her wantonness;
Let's not grow mouldy thus in idleness.


       Sir Man of Lawe," quod he, "so have ye blis,
Telle us a tale anon, as forward is.
35 Ye been submytted thurgh youre free assent
To stonden in this cas at my juggement.
Acquiteth yow as now of youre biheeste,
Thanne have ye do youre devoir atte leeste."


       Sir Lawyer," said he, "as you have hope of bliss,
Tell us a tale, as our agreement is;
35 You have submitted, by your free assent,
To stand, in this case, to my sole judgment;
Acquit yourself, keep promise with the rest,
And you'll have done your duty, at the least."