Chapter D: Laing Purves (5)

By process and by length of certain years All stinted* is the mourning and the tears *ended Of Greekes, by one general assent. Then seemed me there was a parlement At Athens, upon certain points and cas*: *cases Amonge the which points y-spoken was To have with certain countries alliance, And have of Thebans full obeisance. For which this noble Theseus anon Let* send after the gentle Palamon, *caused Unwist* of him what was the cause and why: *unknown But in his blacke clothes sorrowfully He came at his commandment *on hie*; *in haste* Then sente Theseus for Emily. When they were set*, and hush’d was all the place *seated And Theseus abided* had a space *waited Ere any word came from his wise breast *His eyen set he there as was his lest*, *he cast his eyes And with a sad visage he sighed still, wherever he pleased* And after that right thus he said his will. “The firste mover of the cause above When he first made the faire chain of love, Great was th’ effect, and high was his intent; Well wist he why, and what thereof he meant: For with that faire chain of love he bond* *bound The fire, the air, the water, and the lond In certain bondes, that they may not flee:<91> That same prince and mover eke,” quoth he, “Hath stablish’d, in this wretched world adown, Certain of dayes and duration To all that are engender’d in this place, Over the whiche day they may not pace*, *pass All may they yet their dayes well abridge. There needeth no authority to allege For it is proved by experience; But that me list declare my sentence*. *opinion Then may men by this order well discern, That thilke* mover stable is and etern. *the same Well may men know, but that it be a fool, That every part deriveth from its whole. For nature hath not ta’en its beginning Of no *partie nor cantle* of a thing, *part or piece* But of a thing that perfect is and stable, Descending so, till it be corruptable. And therefore of His wise purveyance* *providence He hath so well beset* his ordinance, That species of things and progressions Shallen endure by successions, And not etern, withouten any lie: This mayst thou understand and see at eye. Lo th’ oak, that hath so long a nourishing From the time that it ’ginneth first to spring, And hath so long a life, as ye may see, Yet at the last y-wasted is the tree. Consider eke, how that the harde stone Under our feet, on which we tread and gon*, *walk Yet wasteth, as it lieth by the way. The broade river some time waxeth drey*. *dry The greate townes see we wane and wend*. *go, disappear Then may ye see that all things have an end. Of man and woman see we well also, — That needes in one of the termes two, — That is to say, in youth or else in age,- He must be dead, the king as shall a page; Some in his bed, some in the deepe sea, Some in the large field, as ye may see: There helpeth nought, all go that ilke* way: *same Then may I say that alle thing must die. What maketh this but Jupiter the king? The which is prince, and cause of alle thing, Converting all unto his proper will, From which it is derived, sooth to tell And hereagainst no creature alive, Of no degree, availeth for to strive. Then is it wisdom, as it thinketh me, To make a virtue of necessity, And take it well, that we may not eschew*, *escape And namely what to us all is due. And whoso grudgeth* ought, he doth folly, *murmurs at And rebel is to him that all may gie*. *direct, guide And certainly a man hath most honour To dien in his excellence and flower, When he is sicker* of his goode name. *certain Then hath he done his friend, nor him*, no shame *himself And gladder ought his friend be of his death, When with honour is yielded up his breath, Than when his name *appalled is for age*; *decayed by old age* For all forgotten is his vassalage*. *valour, service Then is it best, as for a worthy fame, To dien when a man is best of name. The contrary of all this is wilfulness. Why grudge we, why have we heaviness, That good Arcite, of chivalry the flower, Departed is, with duty and honour, Out of this foule prison of this life? Why grudge here his cousin and his wife Of his welfare, that loved him so well? Can he them thank? nay, God wot, neverdeal*, — *not a jot That both his soul and eke themselves offend*, *hurt And yet they may their lustes* not amend**. *desires **control What may I conclude of this longe serie*, *string of remarks But after sorrow I rede* us to be merry, *counsel And thanke Jupiter for all his grace? And ere that we departe from this place, I rede that we make of sorrows two One perfect joye lasting evermo’: And look now where most sorrow is herein, There will I first amenden and begin. “Sister,” quoth he, “this is my full assent, With all th’ advice here of my parlement, That gentle Palamon, your owen knight, That serveth you with will, and heart, and might, And ever hath, since first time ye him knew, That ye shall of your grace upon him rue*, *take pity And take him for your husband and your lord: Lend me your hand, for this is our accord. *Let see* now of your womanly pity. *make display* He is a kinge’s brother’s son, pardie*. *by God And though he were a poore bachelere, Since he hath served you so many a year, And had for you so great adversity, It muste be considered, *’lieveth me*. *believe me* For gentle mercy *oweth to passen right*.” *ought to be rightly Then said he thus to Palamon the knight; directed* “I trow there needeth little sermoning To make you assente to this thing. Come near, and take your lady by the hand.” Betwixte them was made anon the band, That hight matrimony or marriage, By all the counsel of the baronage. And thus with alle bliss and melody Hath Palamon y-wedded Emily. And God, that all this wide world hath wrought, Send him his love, that hath it dearly bought. For now is Palamon in all his weal, Living in bliss, in riches, and in heal*. *health And Emily him loves so tenderly, And he her serveth all so gentilly, That never was there worde them between Of jealousy, nor of none other teen*. *cause of anger Thus endeth Palamon and Emily And God save all this faire company.

Notes to The Knight’s Tale.

1. For the plan and principal incidents of the “Knight’s Tale,” Chaucer was indebted to Boccaccio, who had himself borrowed from some prior poet, chronicler, or romancer. Boccaccio speaks of the story as “very ancient;” and, though that may not be proof of its antiquity, it certainly shows that he took it from an earlier writer. The “Tale” is more or less a paraphrase of Boccaccio’s “Theseida;” but in some points the copy has a distinct dramatic superiority over the original. The “Theseida” contained ten thousand lines; Chaucer has condensed it into less than one-fourth of the number. The “Knight’s Tale” is supposed to have been at first composed as a separate work; it is undetermined whether Chaucer took it direct from the Italian of Boccaccio, or from a French translation.

2. Highte: was called; from the Anglo-Saxon “hatan”, to bid or call; German, “Heissen”, “heisst”.

3. Feminie: The “Royaume des Femmes” — kingdom of the Amazons. Gower, in the “Confessio Amantis,” styles Penthesilea the “Queen of Feminie.”

4. Wonnen: Won, conquered; German “gewonnen.”

5. Ear: To plough; Latin, “arare.” “I have abundant matter for discourse.” The first, and half of the second, of Boccaccio’s twelve books are disposed of in the few lines foregoing.

6. Waimenting: bewailing; German, “wehklagen”

7. Starf: died; German, “sterben,” “starb”.

8. The Minotaur: The monster, half-man and half-bull, which yearly devoured a tribute of fourteen Athenian youths and maidens, until it was slain by Theseus.

9. Pillers: pillagers, strippers; French, “pilleurs.”

10. The donjon was originally the central tower or “keep” of feudal castles; it was employed to detain prisoners of importance. Hence the modern meaning of the word dungeon.

11. Saturn, in the old astrology, was a most unpropitious star to be born under.

12. To die in the pain was a proverbial expression in the French, used as an alternative to enforce a resolution or a promise. Edward III., according to Froissart, declared that he would either succeed in the war against France or die in the pain — “Ou il mourroit en la peine.” It was the fashion in those times to swear oaths of friendship and brotherhood; and hence, though the fashion has long died out, we still speak of “sworn friends.”

13. The saying of the old scholar Boethius, in his treatise “De Consolatione Philosophiae”, which Chaucer translated, and from which he has freely borrowed in his poetry. The words are “Quis legem det amantibus? Major lex amor est sibi.” (“Who can give law to lovers? Love is a law unto himself, and greater”)

14. “Perithous” and “Theseus” must, for the metre, be pronounced as words of four and three syllables respectively — the vowels at the end not being diphthongated, but enunciated separately, as if the words were printed Pe-ri-tho-us, The-se-us. The same rule applies in such words as “creature” and “conscience,” which are trisyllables.

15. Stound: moment, short space of time; from Anglo-Saxon, “stund;” akin to which is German, “Stunde,” an hour.

16. Meinie: servants, or menials, &c., dwelling together in a house; from an Anglo-Saxon word meaning a crowd. Compare German, “Menge,” multitude.

17. The pure fetters: the very fetters. The Greeks used “katharos”, the Romans “purus,” in the same sense.

18. In the medieval courts of Love, to which allusion is probably made forty lines before, in the word “parlement,” or “parliament,” questions like that here proposed were seriously discussed.

19. Gear: behaviour, fashion, dress; but, by another reading, the word is “gyre,” and means fit, trance — from the Latin, “gyro,” I turn round.

20. Before his head in his cell fantastic: in front of his head in his cell of fantasy. “The division of the brain into cells, according to the different sensitive faculties,” says Mr Wright, “is very ancient, and is found depicted in mediaeval manuscripts.” In a manuscript in the Harleian Library, it is stated, “Certum est in prora cerebri esse fantasiam, in medio rationem discretionis, in puppi memoriam” (it is certain that in the front of the brain is imagination, in the middle reason, in the back memory) — a classification not materially differing from that of modern phrenologists.

21. Dan: Lord; Latin, “Dominus;” Spanish, “Don.”

22. The “caduceus.”

23. Argus was employed by Juno to watch Io with his hundred eyes but he was sent to sleep by the flute of Mercury, who then cut off his head.

24. Next: nearest; German, “naechste”.

25. Clary: hippocras, wine made with spices.

26. Warray: make war; French “guerroyer”, to molest; hence, perhaps, “to worry.”

27. All day meeten men at unset steven: every day men meet at unexpected time. “To set a steven,” is to fix a time, make an appointment.

28. Roundelay: song coming round again to the words with which it opened.

29. Now in the crop and now down in the breres: Now in the tree-top, now down in the briars. “Crop and root,” top and bottom, is used to express the perfection or totality of anything.

30. Beknow: avow, acknowledge: German, “bekennen.”

31. Shapen was my death erst than my shert: My death was decreed before my shirt ws shaped — that is, before any clothes were made for me, before my birth.

32. Regne: Queen; French, “Reine;” Venus is meant. The common reading, however, is “regne,” reign or power.

33. Launde: plain. Compare modern English, “lawn,” and French, “Landes” — flat, bare marshy tracts in the south of France.

34. Mister: manner, kind; German “muster,” sample, model.

35. In listes: in the lists, prepared for such single combats between champion and accuser, &c.

36. Thilke: that, contracted from “the ilke,” the same.

37. Mars the Red: referring to the ruddy colour of the planet, to which was doubtless due the transference to it of the name of the God of War. In his “Republic,” enumerating the seven planets, Cicero speaks of the propitious and beneficent light of Jupiter: “Tum (fulgor) rutilis horribilisque terris, quem Martium dicitis” — “Then the red glow, horrible to the nations, which you say to be that of Mars.” Boccaccio opens the “Theseida” by an invocation to “rubicondo Marte.”

38. Last: lace, leash, noose, snare: from Latin, “laceus.”

39. “Round was the shape, in manner of compass, Full of degrees, the height of sixty pas” The building was a circle of steps or benches, as in the ancient amphitheatre. Either the building was sixty paces high; or, more probably, there were sixty of the steps or benches.

40. Yellow goldes: The sunflower, turnsol, or girasol, which turns with and seems to watch the sun, as a jealous lover his mistress.

41. Citheron: The Isle of Venus, Cythera, in the Aegean Sea; now called Cerigo: not, as Chaucer’s form of the word might imply, Mount Cithaeron, in the south-west of Boetia, which was appropriated to other deities than Venus — to Jupiter, to Bacchus, and the Muses.

42. It need not be said that Chaucer pays slight heed to chronology in this passage, where the deeds of Turnus, the glory of King Solomon, and the fate of Croesus are made memories of the far past in the time of fabulous Theseus, the Minotaur-slayer.

43. Champartie: divided power or possession; an old law-term, signifying the maintenance of a person in a law suit on the condition of receiving part of the property in dispute, if recovered.

44. Citole: a kind of dulcimer.

45. The picke-purse: The plunderers that followed armies, and gave to war a horror all their own.

46. Shepen: stable; Anglo-Saxon, “scypen;” the word “sheppon” still survives in provincial parlance.

47. This line, perhaps, refers to the deed of Jael.

48. The shippes hoppesteres: The meaning is dubious. We may understand “the dancing ships,” “the ships that hop” on the waves; “steres” being taken as the feminine adjectival termination: or we may, perhaps, read, with one of the manuscripts, “the ships upon the steres” — that is, even as they are being steered, or on the open sea — a more picturesque notion.

49. Freting: devouring; the Germans use “Fressen” to mean eating by animals, “essen” by men.

50. Julius: i.e. Julius Caesar

51. Puella and Rubeus were two figures in geomancy, representing two constellations-the one signifying Mars retrograde, the other Mars direct.

52. Calistope: or Callisto, daughter of Lycaon, seduced by Jupiter, turned into a bear by Diana, and placed afterwards, with her son, as the Great Bear among the stars.

53. Dane: Daphne, daughter of the river-god Peneus, in Thessaly; she was beloved by Apollo, but to avoid his pursuit, she was, at her own prayer, changed into a laurel-tree.

54. As the goddess of Light, or the goddess who brings to light, Diana — as well as Juno — was invoked by women in childbirth: so Horace, Odes iii. 22, says:—

“Montium custos nemorumque, Virgo, Quae laborantes utero puellas Ter vocata audis adimisque leto, Diva triformis.”

(“Virgin custodian of hills and groves, three-formed goddess who hears and saves from death young women who call upon her thrice when in childbirth”)

55. Every deal: in every part; “deal” corresponds to the German “Theil” a portion.

56. Sikerly: surely; German, “sicher;” Scotch, “sikkar,” certain. When Robert Bruce had escaped from England to assume the Scottish crown, he stabbed Comyn before the altar at Dumfries; and, emerging from the church, was asked by his friend Kirkpatrick if he had slain the traitor. “I doubt it,” said Bruce. “Doubt,” cried Kirkpatrick. “I’ll mak sikkar;” and he rushed into the church, and despatched Comyn with repeated thrusts of his dagger.

57. Kemped: combed; the word survives in “unkempt.”

58. Alauns: greyhounds, mastiffs; from the Spanish word “Alano,” signifying a mastiff.

59. Y-ment: mixed; German, “mengen,” to mix.

60. Prime: The time of early prayers, between six and nine in the morning.

61. On the dais: see note 32 to the Prologue.

62. In her hour: in the hour of the day (two hours before daybreak) which after the astrological system that divided the twenty-four among the seven ruling planets, was under the influence of Venus.

63. Adon: Adonis, a beautiful youth beloved of Venus, whose death by the tusk of a boar she deeply mourned.

64. The third hour unequal: In the third planetary hour; Palamon had gone forth in the hour of Venus, two hours before daybreak; the hour of Mercury intervened; the third hour was that of Luna, or Diana. “Unequal” refers to the astrological division of day and night, whatever their duration, into twelve parts, which of necessity varied in length with the season.

65. Smoking: draping; hence the word “smock;” “smokless,” in Chaucer, means naked.

66. Cerrial: of the species of oak which Pliny, in his “Natural History,” calls “cerrus.”

67. Stace of Thebes: Statius, the Roman who embodied in the twelve books of his “Thebaid” the ancient legends connected with the war of the seven against Thebes.

68. Diana was Luna in heaven, Diana on earth, and Hecate in hell; hence the direction of the eyes of her statue to “Pluto’s dark region.” Her statue was set up where three ways met, so that with a different face she looked down each of the three; from which she was called Trivia. See the quotation from Horace, note 54.

69. Las: net; the invisible toils in which Hephaestus caught Ares and the faithless Aphrodite, and exposed them to the “inextinguishable laughter” of Olympus.

70. Saturnus the cold: Here, as in “Mars the Red” we have the person of the deity endowed with the supposed quality of the planet called after his name.

71. The astrologers ascribed great power to Saturn, and predicted “much debate” under his ascendancy; hence it was “against his kind” to compose the heavenly strife.

72. Ayel: grandfather; French “Aieul”.

73. Testers: Helmets; from the French “teste”, “tete”, head.

74. Parements: ornamental garb, French “parer” to deck.

75. Gniding: Rubbing, polishing; Anglo-Saxon “gnidan”, to rub.

76. Nakeres: Drums, used in the cavalry; Boccaccio’s word is “nachere”.

77. Made an O: Ho! Ho! to command attention; like “oyez”, the call for silence in law-courts or before proclamations.

78. Sarge: serge, a coarse woollen cloth

79. Heart-spoon: The concave part of the breast, where the lower ribs join the cartilago ensiformis.

80. To-hewen and to-shred: “to” before a verb implies extraordinary violence in the action denoted.

81. He through the thickest of the throng etc.. “He” in this passage refers impersonally to any of the combatants.

82. Galaphay: Galapha, in Mauritania.

83. Belmarie is supposed to have been a Moorish state in Africa; but “Palmyrie” has been suggested as the correct reading.

84. As I came never I cannot telle where: Where it went I cannot tell you, as I was not there. Tyrwhitt thinks that Chaucer is sneering at Boccacio’s pompous account of the passage of Arcite’s soul to heaven. Up to this point, the description of the death-scene is taken literally from the “Theseida.”

85. With sluttery beard, and ruggy ashy hairs: With neglected beard, and rough hair strewn with ashes. “Flotery” is the general reading; but “sluttery” seems to be more in keeping with the picture of abandonment to grief.

86. Master street: main street; so Froissart speaks of “le souverain carrefour.”

87. Y-wrie: covered, hid; Anglo-Saxon, “wrigan,” to veil.

88. Emily applied the funeral torch. The “guise” was, among the ancients, for the nearest relative of the deceased to do this, with averted face.

89. It was the custom for soldiers to march thrice around the funeral pile of an emperor or general; “on the left hand” is added, in reference to the belief that the left hand was propitious — the Roman augur turning his face southward, and so placing on his left hand the east, whence good omens came. With the Greeks, however, their augurs facing the north, it was just the contrary. The confusion, frequent in classical writers, is complicated here by the fact that Chaucer’s description of the funeral of Arcite is taken from Statius’ “Thebaid” — from a Roman’s account of a Greek solemnity.

90. Lyke-wake: watching by the remains of the dead; from Anglo-Saxon, “lice,” a corpse; German, “Leichnam.”

91. Chaucer here borrows from Boethius, who says: “Hanc rerum seriem ligat, Terras ac pelagus regens, Et coelo imperitans, amor.” (Love ties these things together: the earth, and the ruling sea, and the imperial heavens)

THE MILLER’S TALE.

THE PROLOGUE.

When that the Knight had thus his tale told In all the rout was neither young nor old, That he not said it was a noble story, And worthy to be *drawen to memory*; *recorded* And *namely the gentles* every one. *especially the gentlefolk* Our Host then laugh’d and swore, “So may I gon,* *prosper This goes aright; *unbuckled is the mail;* *the budget is opened* Let see now who shall tell another tale: For truely this game is well begun. Now telleth ye, Sir Monk, if that ye conne*, *know Somewhat, to quiten* with the Knighte’s tale.” *match The Miller that fordrunken was all pale, So that unnethes* upon his horse he sat, *with difficulty He would avalen* neither hood nor hat, *uncover Nor abide* no man for his courtesy, *give way to But in Pilate’s voice<1> he gan to cry, And swore by armes, and by blood, and bones, “I can a noble tale for the nones* *occasion, With which I will now quite* the Knighte’s tale.” *match Our Host saw well how drunk he was of ale, And said; “Robin, abide, my leve* brother, *dear Some better man shall tell us first another: Abide, and let us worke thriftily.” By Godde’s soul,” quoth he, “that will not I, For I will speak, or elles go my way!” Our Host answer’d; “*Tell on a devil way*; *devil take you!* Thou art a fool; thy wit is overcome.” “Now hearken,” quoth the Miller, “all and some: But first I make a protestatioun. That I am drunk, I know it by my soun’: And therefore if that I misspeak or say, *Wite it* the ale of Southwark, I you pray: *blame it on*<2> For I will tell a legend and a life Both of a carpenter and of his wife, How that a clerk hath *set the wrighte’s cap*.” *fooled the carpenter* The Reeve answer’d and saide, “*Stint thy clap*, *hold your tongue* Let be thy lewed drunken harlotry. It is a sin, and eke a great folly To apeiren* any man, or him defame, *injure And eke to bringe wives in evil name. Thou may’st enough of other thinges sayn.” This drunken Miller spake full soon again, And saide, “Leve brother Osewold, Who hath no wife, he is no cuckold. But I say not therefore that thou art one; There be full goode wives many one. Why art thou angry with my tale now? I have a wife, pardie, as well as thou, Yet *n’old I*, for the oxen in my plough, *I would not* Taken upon me more than enough, To deemen* of myself that I am one; *judge I will believe well that I am none. An husband should not be inquisitive Of Godde’s privity, nor of his wife. So he may finde Godde’s foison* there, *treasure Of the remnant needeth not to enquere.”

What should I more say, but that this Millere He would his wordes for no man forbear, But told his churlish* tale in his mannere; *boorish, rude Me thinketh, that I shall rehearse it here. And therefore every gentle wight I pray, For Godde’s love to deem not that I say Of evil intent, but that I must rehearse Their tales all, be they better or worse, Or elles falsen* some of my mattere. *falsify And therefore whoso list it not to hear, Turn o’er the leaf, and choose another tale; For he shall find enough, both great and smale, Of storial* thing that toucheth gentiless, *historical, true And eke morality and holiness. Blame not me, if that ye choose amiss. The Miller is a churl, ye know well this, So was the Reeve, with many other mo’, And harlotry* they tolde bothe two. *ribald tales *Avise you* now, and put me out of blame; *be warned* And eke men should not make earnest of game*. *jest, fun

Notes to the Prologue to the Miller’s Tale

1. Pilate, an unpopular personage in the mystery-plays of the middle ages, was probably represented as having a gruff, harsh voice.

2. Wite: blame; in Scotland, “to bear the wyte,” is to bear the blame.

THE TALE.

Whilom there was dwelling in Oxenford A riche gnof*, that *guestes held to board*, *miser *took in boarders* And of his craft he was a carpenter. With him there was dwelling a poor scholer, Had learned art, but all his fantasy Was turned for to learn astrology. He coude* a certain of conclusions *knew To deeme* by interrogations, *determine If that men asked him in certain hours, When that men should have drought or elles show’rs: Or if men asked him what shoulde fall Of everything, I may not reckon all.

This clerk was called Hendy* Nicholas; *gentle, handsome Of derne* love he knew and of solace; *secret, earnest And therewith he was sly and full privy, And like a maiden meek for to see. A chamber had he in that hostelry Alone, withouten any company, Full *fetisly y-dight* with herbes swoot*, *neatly decorated* And he himself was sweet as is the root *sweet Of liquorice, or any setewall*. *valerian His Almagest,<1> and bookes great and small, His astrolabe,<2> belonging to his art, His augrim stones,<3> layed fair apart On shelves couched* at his bedde’s head, *laid, set His press y-cover’d with a falding* red. *coarse cloth And all above there lay a gay psalt’ry On which he made at nightes melody, So sweetely, that all the chamber rang: And Angelus ad virginem<4> he sang. And after that he sung the kinge’s note; Full often blessed was his merry throat. And thus this sweete clerk his time spent After *his friendes finding and his rent.* *Attending to his friends, and providing for the cost of his lodging* This carpenter had wedded new a wife, Which that he loved more than his life: Of eighteen year, I guess, she was of age. Jealous he was, and held her narr’w in cage, For she was wild and young, and he was old, And deemed himself belike* a cuckold. *perhaps He knew not Cato,<5> for his wit was rude, That bade a man wed his similitude. Men shoulde wedden after their estate, For youth and eld* are often at debate. *age But since that he was fallen in the snare, He must endure (as other folk) his care. Fair was this younge wife, and therewithal As any weasel her body gent* and small. *slim, neat A seint* she weared, barred all of silk, *girdle A barm-cloth* eke as white as morning milk *apron<6> Upon her lendes*, full of many a gore**. *loins **plait White was her smock*, and broider’d all before, *robe or gown And eke behind, on her collar about Of coal-black silk, within and eke without. The tapes of her white volupere* *head-kerchief <7> Were of the same suit of her collere; Her fillet broad of silk, and set full high: And sickerly* she had a likerous** eye. *certainly **lascivious Full small y-pulled were her browes two, And they were bent*, and black as any sloe. *arched She was well more *blissful on to see* *pleasant to look upon* Than is the newe perjenete* tree; *young pear-tree And softer than the wool is of a wether. And by her girdle hung a purse of leather, Tassel’d with silk, and *pearled with latoun*. *set with brass pearls* In all this world to seeken up and down There is no man so wise, that coude thenche* *fancy, think of So gay a popelot*, or such a wench. *puppet <8> Full brighter was the shining of her hue, Than in the Tower the noble* forged new. *a gold coin <9> But of her song, it was as loud and yern*, *lively <10> As any swallow chittering on a bern*. *barn Thereto* she coulde skip, and *make a game* *also *romp* As any kid or calf following his dame. Her mouth was sweet as braket,<11> or as methe* *mead Or hoard of apples, laid in hay or heath. Wincing* she was as is a jolly colt, *skittish Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt. A brooch she bare upon her low collere, As broad as is the boss of a bucklere. Her shoon were laced on her legges high; She was a primerole,* a piggesnie <12>, *primrose For any lord t’ have ligging* in his bed, *lying Or yet for any good yeoman to wed.

Now, sir, and eft* sir, so befell the case, *again That on a day this Hendy Nicholas Fell with this younge wife to rage* and play, *toy, play the rogue While that her husband was at Oseney,<13> As clerkes be full subtle and full quaint. And privily he caught her by the queint,* *cunt And said; “Y-wis,* but if I have my will, *assuredly For *derne love of thee, leman, I spill.”* *for earnest love of thee And helde her fast by the haunche bones, my mistress, I perish* And saide “Leman, love me well at once, Or I will dien, all so God me save.” And she sprang as a colt doth in the trave<14>: And with her head she writhed fast away, And said; “I will not kiss thee, by my fay*. *faith Why let be,” quoth she, “let be, Nicholas, Or I will cry out harow and alas!<15> Do away your handes, for your courtesy.” This Nicholas gan mercy for to cry, And spake so fair, and proffer’d him so fast, That she her love him granted at the last, And swore her oath by Saint Thomas of Kent, That she would be at his commandement, When that she may her leisure well espy. “My husband is so full of jealousy, That but* ye waite well, and be privy, *unless I wot right well I am but dead,” quoth she. “Ye muste be full derne* as in this case.” *secret “Nay, thereof care thee nought,” quoth Nicholas: “A clerk had *litherly beset his while*, *ill spent his time* *But if* he could a carpenter beguile.” *unless And thus they were accorded and y-sworn To wait a time, as I have said beforn. When Nicholas had done thus every deal*, *whit And thwacked her about the lendes* well, *loins He kiss’d her sweet, and taketh his psalt’ry And playeth fast, and maketh melody. Then fell it thus, that to the parish church, Of Christe’s owen workes for to wirch*, *work This good wife went upon a holy day; Her forehead shone as bright as any day, So was it washen, when she left her werk.

Now was there of that church a parish clerk, The which that was y-cleped Absolon. Curl’d was his hair, and as the gold it shone, And strutted* as a fanne large and broad; *stretched Full straight and even lay his jolly shode*. *head of hair His rode* was red, his eyen grey as goose, *complexion With Paule’s windows carven on his shoes <16> In hosen red he went full fetisly*. *daintily, neatly Y-clad he was full small and properly, All in a kirtle* of a light waget*; *girdle **sky blue Full fair and thicke be the pointes set, And thereupon he had a gay surplice, As white as is the blossom on the rise*. *twig <17> A merry child he was, so God me save; Well could he letten blood, and clip, and shave, And make a charter of land, and a quittance. In twenty manners could he trip and dance, After the school of Oxenforde tho*,<18> *then And with his legges caste to and fro; And playen songes on a small ribible*; *fiddle Thereto he sung sometimes a loud quinible* *treble And as well could he play on a gitern.* *guitar In all the town was brewhouse nor tavern, That he not visited with his solas*, *mirth, sport There as that any *garnard tapstere* was. *licentious barmaid* But sooth to say he was somedeal squaimous* *squeamish Of farting, and of speeche dangerous. This Absolon, that jolly was and gay, Went with a censer on the holy day, Censing* the wives of the parish fast; *burning incense for And many a lovely look he on them cast, And namely* on this carpenter’s wife: *especially To look on her him thought a merry life. She was so proper, and sweet, and likerous. I dare well say, if she had been a mouse, And he a cat, he would *her hent anon*. *have soon caught her* This parish clerk, this jolly Absolon, Hath in his hearte such a love-longing! That of no wife took he none offering; For courtesy he said he woulde none. The moon at night full clear and brighte shone, And Absolon his gitern hath y-taken, For paramours he thoughte for to waken, And forth he went, jolif* and amorous, *joyous Till he came to the carpentere’s house, A little after the cock had y-crow, And *dressed him* under a shot window <19>, *stationed himself.* That was upon the carpentere’s wall. He singeth in his voice gentle and small; “Now, dear lady, if thy will be, I pray that ye will rue* on me;” *take pity Full well accordant to his giterning. This carpenter awoke, and heard him sing, And spake unto his wife, and said anon, What Alison, hear’st thou not Absolon, That chanteth thus under our bower* wall?” *chamber And she answer’d her husband therewithal; “Yes, God wot, John, I hear him every deal.” This passeth forth; what will ye bet* than well? *better

From day to day this jolly Absolon So wooeth her, that him is woebegone. He waketh all the night, and all the day, To comb his lockes broad, and make him gay. He wooeth her *by means and by brocage*, *by presents and by agents* And swore he woulde be her owen page. He singeth brokking* as a nightingale. *quavering He sent her piment <20>, mead, and spiced ale, And wafers* piping hot out of the glede**: *cakes **coals And, for she was of town, he proffer’d meed.<21> For some folk will be wonnen for richess, And some for strokes, and some with gentiless. Sometimes, to show his lightness and mast’ry, He playeth Herod <22> on a scaffold high. But what availeth him as in this case? So loveth she the Hendy Nicholas, That Absolon may *blow the bucke’s horn*: *“go whistle”* He had for all his labour but a scorn. And thus she maketh Absolon her ape, And all his earnest turneth to a jape*. *jest Full sooth is this proverb, it is no lie; Men say right thus alway; the nighe sly Maketh oft time the far lief to be loth. <23> For though that Absolon be wood* or wroth *mad Because that he far was from her sight, This nigh Nicholas stood still in his light. Now bear thee well, thou Hendy Nicholas, For Absolon may wail and sing “Alas!”

And so befell, that on a Saturday This carpenter was gone to Oseney, And Hendy Nicholas and Alison Accorded were to this conclusion, That Nicholas shall *shape him a wile* *devise a stratagem* The silly jealous husband to beguile; And if so were the game went aright, She shoulde sleepen in his arms all night; For this was her desire and his also. And right anon, withoute wordes mo’, This Nicholas no longer would he tarry, But doth full soft unto his chamber carry Both meat and drinke for a day or tway. And to her husband bade her for to say, If that he asked after Nicholas, She shoulde say, “She wist* not where he was; *knew Of all the day she saw him not with eye; She trowed* he was in some malady, *believed For no cry that her maiden could him call He would answer, for nought that might befall.” Thus passed forth all thilke* Saturday, *that That Nicholas still in his chamber lay, And ate, and slept, and didde what him list Till Sunday, that* the sunne went to rest. *when This silly carpenter *had great marvaill* *wondered greatly* Of Nicholas, or what thing might him ail, And said; “I am adrad*, by Saint Thomas! *afraid, in dread It standeth not aright with Nicholas: *God shielde* that he died suddenly. *heaven forbid!* This world is now full fickle sickerly*. *certainly I saw to-day a corpse y-borne to chirch, That now on Monday last I saw him wirch*. *work “Go up,” quod he unto his knave*, “anon; *servant. Clepe* at his door, or knocke with a stone: *call Look how it is, and tell me boldely.” This knave went him up full sturdily, And, at the chamber door while that he stood, He cried and knocked as that he were wood:* *mad “What how? what do ye, Master Nicholay? How may ye sleepen all the longe day?” But all for nought, he hearde not a word. An hole he found full low upon the board, Where as the cat was wont in for to creep, And at that hole he looked in full deep, And at the last he had of him a sight. This Nicholas sat ever gaping upright, As he had kyked* on the newe moon. *looked <24> Adown he went, and told his master soon, In what array he saw this ilke* man. *same

This carpenter to *blissen him* began, *bless, cross himself* And said: “Now help us, Sainte Frideswide.<25> A man wot* little what shall him betide. *knows This man is fall’n with his astronomy Into some woodness* or some agony. *madness I thought aye well how that it shoulde be. Men should know nought of Godde’s privity*. *secrets Yea, blessed be alway a lewed* man, *unlearned That *nought but only his believe can*. *knows no more So far’d another clerk with astronomy: than his “credo.”* He walked in the fieldes for to *pry Upon* the starres, what there should befall, *keep watch on* Till he was in a marle pit y-fall.<26> He saw not that. But yet, by Saint Thomas! *Me rueth sore of* Hendy Nicholas: *I am very sorry for* He shall be *rated of* his studying, *chidden for* If that I may, by Jesus, heaven’s king! Get me a staff, that I may underspore* *lever up While that thou, Robin, heavest off the door: He shall out of his studying, as I guess.” And to the chamber door he gan him dress* *apply himself. His knave was a strong carl for the nonce, And by the hasp he heav’d it off at once; Into the floor the door fell down anon. This Nicholas sat aye as still as stone, And ever he gap’d upward into the air. The carpenter ween’d* he were in despair, *thought And hent* him by the shoulders mightily, *caught And shook him hard, and cried spitously;* *angrily “What, Nicholas? what how, man? look adown: Awake, and think on Christe’s passioun. I crouche thee<27> from elves, and from wights*. *witches Therewith the night-spell said he anon rights*, *properly On the four halves* of the house about, *corners And on the threshold of the door without. “Lord Jesus Christ, and Sainte Benedight, Blesse this house from every wicked wight, From the night mare, the white Pater-noster; Where wonnest* thou now, Sainte Peter’s sister?” *dwellest And at the last this Hendy Nicholas Gan for to sigh full sore, and said; “Alas! Shall all time world be lost eftsoones* now?” *forthwith This carpenter answer’d; “What sayest thou? What? think on God, as we do, men that swink.*” *labour This Nicholas answer’d; “Fetch me a drink; And after will I speak in privity Of certain thing that toucheth thee and me: I will tell it no other man certain.”

This carpenter went down, and came again, And brought of mighty ale a large quart; And when that each of them had drunk his part, This Nicholas his chamber door fast shet*, *shut And down the carpenter by him he set, And saide; “John, mine host full lief* and dear, *loved Thou shalt upon thy truthe swear me here, That to no wight thou shalt my counsel wray*: *betray For it is Christes counsel that I say, And if thou tell it man, thou art forlore:* *lost<28> For this vengeance thou shalt have therefor, That if thou wraye* me, thou shalt be wood**.” *betray **mad “Nay, Christ forbid it for his holy blood!” Quoth then this silly man; “I am no blab,* *talker Nor, though I say it, am I *lief to gab*. *fond of speech* Say what thou wilt, I shall it never tell To child or wife, by him that harried Hell.” <29>

“Now, John,” quoth Nicholas, “I will not lie, I have y-found in my astrology, As I have looked in the moone bright, That now on Monday next, at quarter night, Shall fall a rain, and that so wild and wood*, *mad That never half so great was Noe’s flood. This world,” he said, “in less than half an hour Shall all be dreint*, so hideous is the shower: *drowned Thus shall mankinde drench*, and lose their life.” *drown This carpenter answer’d; “Alas, my wife! And shall she drench? alas, mine Alisoun!” For sorrow of this he fell almost adown, And said; “Is there no remedy in this case?” “Why, yes, for God,” quoth Hendy Nicholas; “If thou wilt worken after *lore and rede*; *learning and advice* Thou may’st not worken after thine own head. For thus saith Solomon, that was full true: Work all by counsel, and thou shalt not rue*. *repent And if thou worke wilt by good counseil, I undertake, withoute mast or sail, Yet shall I save her, and thee, and me. Hast thou not heard how saved was Noe, When that our Lord had warned him beforn, That all the world with water *should be lorn*?” *should perish* “Yes,” quoth this carpenter,” *full yore ago*.” *long since* “Hast thou not heard,” quoth Nicholas, “also The sorrow of Noe, with his fellowship, That he had ere he got his wife to ship?<30> *Him had been lever, I dare well undertake, At thilke time, than all his wethers black, That she had had a ship herself alone.* *see note <31> And therefore know’st thou what is best to be done? This asketh haste, and of an hasty thing Men may not preach or make tarrying. Anon go get us fast into this inn* *house A kneading trough, or else a kemelin*, *brewing-tub For each of us; but look that they be large, In whiche we may swim* as in a barge: *float And have therein vitaille suffisant But for one day; fie on the remenant; The water shall aslake* and go away *slacken, abate Aboute prime* upon the nexte day. *early morning But Robin may not know of this, thy knave*, *servant Nor eke thy maiden Gill I may not save: Ask me not why: for though thou aske me I will not telle Godde’s privity. Sufficeth thee, *but if thy wit be mad*, *unless thou be To have as great a grace as Noe had; out of thy wits* Thy wife shall I well saven out of doubt. Go now thy way, and speed thee hereabout. But when thou hast for her, and thee, and me, Y-gotten us these kneading tubbes three, Then shalt thou hang them in the roof full high, So that no man our purveyance* espy: *foresight, providence And when thou hast done thus as I have said, And hast our vitaille fair in them y-laid, And eke an axe to smite the cord in two When that the water comes, that we may go, And break an hole on high upon the gable Into the garden-ward, over the stable, That we may freely passe forth our way, When that the greate shower is gone away. Then shalt thou swim as merry, I undertake, As doth the white duck after her drake: Then will I clepe,* ‘How, Alison? How, John? *call Be merry: for the flood will pass anon.’ And thou wilt say, ‘Hail, Master Nicholay, Good-morrow, I see thee well, for it is day.’ And then shall we be lordes all our life Of all the world, as Noe and his wife. But of one thing I warne thee full right, Be well advised, on that ilke* night, *same When we be enter’d into shippe’s board, That none of us not speak a single word, Nor clepe nor cry, but be in his prayere, For that is Godde’s owen heste* dear. *command Thy wife and thou must hangen far atween*, *asunder For that betwixte you shall be no sin, No more in looking than there shall in deed. This ordinance is said: go, God thee speed To-morrow night, when men be all asleep, Into our kneading tubbes will we creep, And sitte there, abiding Godde’s grace. Go now thy way, I have no longer space To make of this no longer sermoning: Men say thus: Send the wise, and say nothing: Thou art so wise, it needeth thee nought teach. Go, save our lives, and that I thee beseech.”

This silly carpenter went forth his way, Full oft he said, “Alas! and Well-a-day!,’ And to his wife he told his privity, And she was ware, and better knew than he What all this *quainte cast was for to say*. *strange contrivance But natheless she fear’d as she would dey, meant* And said: “Alas! go forth thy way anon. Help us to scape, or we be dead each one. I am thy true and very wedded wife; Go, deare spouse, and help to save our life.” Lo, what a great thing is affection! Men may die of imagination, So deeply may impression be take. This silly carpenter begins to quake: He thinketh verily that he may see This newe flood come weltering as the sea To drenchen* Alison, his honey dear. *drown He weepeth, waileth, maketh *sorry cheer*; *dismal countenance* He sigheth, with full many a sorry sough.* *groan He go’th, and getteth him a kneading trough, And after that a tub, and a kemelin, And privily he sent them to his inn: And hung them in the roof full privily. With his own hand then made he ladders three, To climbe by *the ranges and the stalks* *the rungs and the uprights* Unto the tubbes hanging in the balks*; *beams And victualed them, kemelin, trough, and tub, With bread and cheese, and good ale in a jub*, *jug Sufficing right enough as for a day. But ere that he had made all this array, He sent his knave*, and eke his wench** also, *servant **maid Upon his need* to London for to go. *business And on the Monday, when it drew to night, He shut his door withoute candle light, And dressed* every thing as it should be. *prepared And shortly up they climbed all the three. They satte stille well *a furlong way*. *the time it would take “Now, Pater noster, clum,”<32> said Nicholay, to walk a furlong* And “clum,” quoth John; and “clum,” said Alison: This carpenter said his devotion, And still he sat and bidded his prayere, Awaking on the rain, if he it hear. The deade sleep, for weary business, Fell on this carpenter, right as I guess, About the curfew-time,<33> or little more, For *travail of his ghost* he groaned sore, *anguish of spirit* *And eft he routed, for his head mislay.* *and then he snored, Adown the ladder stalked Nicholay; for his head lay awry* And Alison full soft adown she sped. Withoute wordes more they went to bed, *There as* the carpenter was wont to lie: *where* There was the revel, and the melody. And thus lay Alison and Nicholas, In business of mirth and in solace, Until the bell of laudes* gan to ring, *morning service, at 3.a.m. And friars in the chancel went to sing.

This parish clerk, this amorous Absolon, That is for love alway so woebegone, Upon the Monday was at Oseney With company, him to disport and play; And asked upon cas* a cloisterer** *occasion **monk Full privily after John the carpenter; And he drew him apart out of the church, And said, “I n’ot;* I saw him not here wirch** *know not **work Since Saturday; I trow that he be went For timber, where our abbot hath him sent. And dwellen at the Grange a day or two: For he is wont for timber for to go, Or else he is at his own house certain. Where that he be, I cannot *soothly sayn.*” *say certainly* This Absolon full jolly was and light, And thought, “Now is the time to wake all night, For sickerly* I saw him not stirring *certainly About his door, since day began to spring. So may I thrive, but I shall at cock crow Full privily go knock at his window, That stands full low upon his bower* wall: *chamber To Alison then will I tellen all My love-longing; for I shall not miss That at the leaste way I shall her kiss. Some manner comfort shall I have, parfay*, *by my faith My mouth hath itched all this livelong day: That is a sign of kissing at the least. All night I mette* eke I was at a feast. *dreamt Therefore I will go sleep an hour or tway, And all the night then will I wake and play.” When that the first cock crowed had, anon Up rose this jolly lover Absolon, And him arrayed gay, *at point devise.* *with exact care* But first he chewed grains<34> and liquorice, To smelle sweet, ere he had combed his hair. Under his tongue a true love <35> he bare, For thereby thought he to be gracious.