The Canterbury Tales · The Miller’s Tale · The Tale (2/3)

This carpenter went down, and came again,

And brought of mighty ale a largë quart;

And when that each of them had drunk his part,

This Nicholas his chamber door fast shet,1075

And down the carpentér by him he set,

And saidë; “John, mine host full lief1076 and dear,

Thou shalt upon thy truthë swear me here,

That to no wight thou shalt my counsel wray:1077

For it is Christë’s counsel that I say,

And if thou tell it man, thou art forlore:1078

For this vengeance thou shalt have therefor,

That if thou wrayë1079 me, thou shalt be wood.”1080

“Nay, Christ forbid it for his holy blood!”

Quoth then this silly man; “I am no blab,1081

Nor, though I say it, am I lief to gab.1082

Say what thou wilt, I shall it never tell

To child or wife, by him that harried Hell.”1083

“Now, John,” quoth Nicholas, “I will not lie;

I have y-found in my astrology,

As I have looked in the moonë bright,

That now on Monday next, at quarter night,

Shall fall a rain, and that so wild and wood,1084

That never half so great was Noë’s flood.

This world,” he said, “in less than half an hour

Shall all be dreint,1085 so hideous is the shower:

Thus shall mankindë drench,1086 and lose their life.”

This carpenter answér’d; “Alas, my wife!

And shall she drench? alas, mine Alisoún!”

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;1087

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.1088

And if thou workë wilt by good counseil,

I undertake, withoutë mast or sail,

Yet shall I savë her, and thee, and me.

Hast thou not heard how saved was Noë,

When that our Lord had warned him beforn,

That all the world with water should be lorn?”1089

“Yes,” quoth this carpenter, “full yore ago.”1090

“Hast thou not heard,” quoth Nicholas, “also

The sorrow of Noë, with his fellowship,

That he had ere he got his wife to ship?1091

Him had been lever,1092 I dare well undertake,

At thilkë1093 time, than all his wethers black,

That she had had a ship herself alone.

And therefore know’st thou what is best to be done?

This asketh haste, and of an hasty thing

Men may not preach or makë tarrying.

Anon go get us fast into this inn1094

A kneading trough, or else a kemelin,1095

For each of us; but look that they be large,

In whichë we may swim as in a barge:

And have therein vitaillë suffisant

But for one day; fie on the remenant;

The water shall aslake1096 and go away

Aboutë prime1097 upon the nextë day.

But Robin may not know of this, thy knave,1098

Nor eke thy maiden Gill I may not save:

Ask me not why: for though thou askë me

I will not tellë Goddë’s privity.

Sufficeth thee, but if thy wit be mad,1099

To have as great a grace as Noë had;

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 tubbës three,

Then shalt thou hang them in the roof full high,

So that no man our purveyance1100 espy:

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 passë forth our way,

When that the greatë shower is gone away.

Then shalt thou swim as merry, I undertake,

As doth the whitë duck after her drake:

Then will I clepe,1101 ‘How, Alison? How, John?

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 lordës all our life

Of all the world, as Noë and his wife.

But of one thing I warnë thee full right,

Be well advised, on that ilkë1102 night,

When we be enter’d into shippë’s board,

That none of us not speak a single word,

Nor clepe nor cry, but be in his prayére,

For that is Goddë’s owen hestë1103 dear.

Thy wife and thou must hangen far atween,1104

For that betwixtë 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 tubbës will we creep,

And sittë there, abiding Goddë’s grace.

Go now thy way, I have no longer space

To make of this no longer sermoníng:

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 quaintë cast was for to say.1105

But natheless she fear’d as she would dey,1106

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, dearë spouse, and help to save our life.”

Lo, what a great thing is affectión!

Men may die of imaginatión,

So deeply may impressión be take.

This silly carpenter begins to quake:

He thinketh verily that he may see

This newë flood come weltering as the sea

To drenchen1107 Alison, his honey dear.

He weepeth, waileth, maketh sorry cheer;1108

He sigheth, with full many a sorry sough.1109

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 climbë by the ranges and the stalks1110

Unto the tubbës hanging in the balks;1111

And victualed them, kemelin, trough, and tub,

With bread and cheese, and good ale in a jub,1112

Sufficing right enough as for a day.

But ere that he had made all this array,

He sent his knave, and eke his wench1113 also,

Upon his need1114 to London for to go.

And on the Monday, when it drew to night,

He shut his door withoutë candle light,

And dressed1115 every thing as it should be.

And shortly up they climbed all the three.

They sattë stillë well a furlong way.1116

“Now, Pater noster, clum,”1117 said Nicholay,

And “clum,” quoth John; and “clum,” said Alison:

This carpenter said his devotión,

And still he sat and bidded his prayére,

Awaking on the rain, if he it hear.

The deadë sleep, for weary business,

Fell on this carpenter, right as I guess,

About the curfew-time,1118 or little more,

For travail of his ghost1119 he groaned sore,

And eft he routed, for his head mislay.1120

Adown the ladder stalked Nicholay;

And Alison full soft adown she sped.

Withoutë wordës more they went to bed,

There as1121 the carpenter was wont to lie:

There was the revel, and the melody.

And thus lay Alison and Nicholas,

In business of mirth and in solace,

Until the bell of laudes1122 gan to ring,

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 cas1123 a cloisterer1124

Full privily after John the carpenter;

And he drew him apart out of the church,

And said, “I n’ot;1125 I saw him not here wirch1126

Since Saturday; I trow that he be went

For timber, where our abbot hath him sent.

For he is wont for timber for to go,

And dwellen at the Grange a day or two:

Or else he is at his own house certain.

Where that he be, I cannot soothly sayn.”1127

This Absolon full jolly was and light,

And thought, “Now is the time to wake all night,

For sickerly1128 I saw him not stirríng

About his door, since day began to spring.

So may I thrive, but I shall at cock crow

Full privily go knock at his windów,

That stands full low upon his bower wall:1129

To Alison then will I tellen all

My lovë-longing; for I shall not miss

That at the leastë way I shall her kiss.

Some manner comfort shall I have, parfay,1130

My mouth hath itched all this livelong day:

That is a sign of kissing at the least.

All night I mette1131 eke I was at a feast.

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.1132

But first he chewed grains1133 and liquorice,

To smellë sweet, ere he had combed his hair.

Under his tongue a truë love1134 he bare,

For thereby thought he to be gracious.

Then came he to the carpentérë’s house,

And still he stood under the shot window;

Unto his breast it raught,1135 it was so low;

And soft he coughed with a semisoún’.1136

“What do ye, honeycomb, sweet Alisoún?

My fairë bird, my sweet cinamomé,1137

Awaken, leman1138 mine, and speak to me.

Full little thinkë ye upon my woe,

That for your love I sweat there as1139 I go.

No wonder is that I do swelt1140 and sweat.

I mourn as doth a lamb after the teat.

Y-wis,1141 leman, I have such love-longíng,

That like a turtle true is my mourníng.

I may not eat, no morë than a maid.”

“Go from the window, thou jack fool,” she said:

“As help me God, it will not be, come ba me.1142

I love another, else I were to blamë,

Well better than thee, by Jesus, Absolon.

Go forth thy way, or I will cast a stone;

And let me sleep; a twenty devil way.”1143

“Alas!” quoth Absolon, “and well away!

That true love ever was so ill beset:

Then kiss me, since that it may be no bet,1144

For Jesus’ love, and for the love of me.”

“Wilt thou then go thy way therewith?” quoth she.

“Yea, certes, leman,” quoth this Absolon.

“Then make thee ready,” quoth she, “I come anon.”

[And unto Nicholas she said full still:1145

“Now peace, and thou shalt laugh anon thy fill.”]

This Absolon down set him on his knees,

And said; “I am a lord at all degrees:

For after this I hope there cometh more;

Leman, thy grace, and, sweetë bird, thine ore.”1146

The window she undid, and that in haste.

“Have done,” quoth she, “come off, and speed thee fast,

Lest that our neighëbours should thee espy.”

Then Absolon gan wipe his mouth full dry.

Dark was the night as pitch or as the coal,

And at the window she put out her hole,

And Absolon him fell ne bet ne werse,1147

But with his mouth he kiss’d her naked erse

Full savourly. When he was ware of this,

Aback he start, and thought it was amiss,

For well he wist a woman hath no beard.

He felt a thing all rough, and long y-hair’d,

And saidë; “Fy, alas! what have I do?”

“Te he!” quoth she, and clapt the window to;

And Absolon went forth at sorry pace.

“A beard, a beard,” said Hendy Nicholas;

“By God’s corpus, this game went fair and well.”

This silly Absolon heard every deal,1148

And on his lip he gan for anger bite;

And to himself he said, “I shall thee quite.”1149

Who rubbeth now, who frotteth1150 now his lips

With dust, with sand, with straw, with cloth, with chips,

But Absolon? that saith full oft, “Alas!

My soul betake I unto Sathanas,

But me were lever1151 than all this town,” quoth he,

“Of this despite awroken1152 for to be.

Alas! alas! that I have been y-blent.”1153

His hotë love is cold, and all y-quent.1154

For from that time that he had kiss’d her erse,

Of paramours he settë not a kers,1155

For he was healed of his malady;

Full often paramours he gan defy,

And weep as doth a child that hath been beat.

A softë pace he went over the street

Unto a smith, men callen Dan1156 Gerveis,

That in his forgë smithed plough-harnéss;

He sharped share and culter busily.

This Absolon knocked all easily,

And said; “Undo, Gerveis, and that anon.”

“What, who art thou?” “It is I, Absolon.”

“What? Absolon, what? Christë’s sweetë tree,1157

Why rise so rath?1158 hey! benedicite,

What aileth you? some gay girl,1159 God it wote,

Hath brought you thus upon the virëtote:1160

By Saint Neot, ye wot well what I mean.”

This Absolon he raughtë1161 not a bean

Of all his play; no word again he gaf,1162

For he had morë tow on his distaff1163

Than Gerveis knew, and saidë; “Friend so dear,

That hotë culter in the chimney here

Lend it to me, I have therewith to don:1164

I will it bring again to thee full soon.”

Gerveis answered; “Certes, were it gold,

Or in a pokë1165 nobles all untold,

Thou shouldst it have, as I am a true smith.

Hey! Christë’s foot, what will ye do therewith?”

“Thereof,” quoth Absolon, “be as be may;

I shall well tell it thee another day:”

And caught the culter by the coldë stele.1166

Full soft out at the door he gan to steal,

And went unto the carpentérë’s wall

He coughed first, and knocked therewithal

Upon the window, light as he did ere.1167

This Alison answered; “Who is there

That knocketh so? I warrant him a thief.”

“Nay, nay,” quoth he, “God wot, my sweetë lefe,1168

I am thine Absolon, my own darling.

Of gold,” quoth he, “I have thee brought a ring,

My mother gave it me, so God me save!

Full fine it is, and thereto well y-grave:1169

This will I give to thee, if thou me kiss.”

Now Nicholas was risen up to piss,

And thought he would amenden all the jape;1170

He shouldë kiss his erse ere that he scape:

And up the window did he hastily,

And out his erse he put full privily

Over the buttock, to the haunchë bone.

And therewith spake this clerk, this Absolon,

“Speak, sweetë bird, I know not where thou art.”

This Nicholas anon let fly a fart,

As great as it had been a thunder dent;1171

That with the stroke he was well nigh y-blent;1172

But he was ready with his iron hot,

And Nicholas amid the erse he smote.

Off went the skin an handbreadth all about.

The hotë culter burned so his tout,1173

That for the smart he weened1174 he would die;

As he were wood,1175 for woe he gan to cry,

“Help! water, water, help for Goddë’s heart!”