The Canterbury Tales · The Reeve’s Tale · The Tale 1220 (1/2)

The Tale1220

At Trompington, not far from Cantebrig,1221

There goes a brook, and over that a brig,

Upon the whichë brook there stands a mill:

And this is very sooth that I you tell.

A miller was there dwelling many a day,

As any peacock he was proud and gay:

Pipen he could, and fish, and nettës bete,1222

And turnë cups, and wrestle well, and shete.1223

Aye by his belt he bare a long pavade,1224

And of his sword full trenchant was the blade.

A jolly popper1225 bare he in his pouch;

There was no man for peril durst him touch.

A Sheffield whittle bare he in his hose.

Round was his face, and camuse1226 was his nose.

As pilled1227 as an apë’s was his skull.

He was a market-beter at the full.1228

There durstë no wight hand upon him legge,1229

That he ne swore anon he should abegge.1230

A thief he was, for sooth, of corn and meal,

And that a sly, and used well to steal.

His name was hoten deinous Simekin.1231

A wife he haddë, come of noble kin:

The parson of the town her father was.

With her he gave full many a pan of brass,

For that Simkin should in his blood ally.

She was y-foster’d in a nunnery:

For Simkin wouldë no wife, as he said,

But she were well y-nourish’d, and a maid,

To saven his estate and yeomanry:

And she was proud, and pert as is a pie.1232

A full fair sight it was to see them two;

On holy days before her would he go

With his tippét1233 y-bound about his head;

And she came after in a gite1234 of red,

And Simkin haddë hosen of the same.

There durstë no wight call her aught but Dame:

None was so hardy, walking by that way,

That with her either durstë rage or play,1235

But if1236 he would be slain by Simekin

With pavade, or with knife, or bodëkin.

For jealous folk be per’lous evermo’:

Algate1237 they would their wivës wendë so.1238

And eke for she was somewhat smutterlich,1239

She was as dign1240 as water in a ditch,

And all so full of hoker,1241 and bismare.1242

Her thoughtë that a lady should her spare,1243

What for her kindred, and her nortelrie1244

That she had learned in the nunnery.

One daughter haddë they betwixt them two

Of twenty year, withouten any mo,

Saving a child that was of half year age,

In cradle it lay, and was a proper page.1245

This wenchë thick and well y-growen was,

With camuse nose, and eyen gray as glass;

With buttocks broad, and breastës round and high;

But right fair was her hair, I will not lie.

The parson of the town, for she was fair,1246

In purpose was to make of her his heir

Both of his chattels and his messuage,

And strange he made it of1247 her marriáge.

His purpose was for to bestow her high

Into some worthy blood of ancestry.

For holy Church’s good may be dispended1248

On holy Church’s blood that is descended.

Therefore he would his holy blood honoúr,

Though that he holy Churchë should devour.

Great soken1249 hath this miller, out of doubt,

With wheat and malt, of all the land about;

And namëly1250 there was a great collége

Men call the Soler Hall at Cantebrege,1251

There was their wheat and eke their malt y-ground.

And on a day it happed in a stound,1252

Sick lay the manciple1253 of a malady,

Men weened wisly1254 that he shouldë die.

For which this miller stole both meal and corn

An hundred timës morë than beforn.

For theretofore he stole but courteously,

But now he was a thief outrageously.

For which the warden chid and madë fare,1255

But thereof set the miller not a tare;1256

He crack’d his boast,1257 and swore it was not so.

Then were there youngë poorë scholars two,

That dwelled in the hall of which I say;

Testif1258 they were, and lusty for to play;

And only for their mirth and revelry

Upon the warden busily they cry,

To give them leave for but a little stound,1259

To go to mill, and see their corn y-ground:

And hardily1260 they durstë lay their neck,

The miller should not steal them half a peck

Of corn by sleight, nor them by force bereave.1261

And at the last the warden give them leave:

John hight the one, and Alein hight the other,

Of one town were they born, that hightë Strother,1262

Far in the North, I cannot tell you where.

This Alein he made ready all his gear,

And on a horse the sack he cast anon:

Forth went Alein the clerk, and also John,

With good sword and with buckler by their side.

John knew the way, him needed not no guide,

And at the mill the sack adown he lay’th.

Alein spake first; “All hail, Simón, in faith,

How fares thy fairë daughter, and thy wife?”

“Alein, welcome,” quoth Simkin, “by my life,

And John also: how now, what do ye here?”

“By God, Simón,” quoth John, “need has no peer.1263

Him serve himself behoves that has no swain,1264

Or else he is a fool, as clerkës sayn.

Our manciple I hope1265 he will be dead,

So workës aye the wangës1266 in his head:

And therefore is I come, and eke Alein,

To grind our corn and carry it home again:

I pray you speed us hence as well ye may.”

“It shall be done,” quoth Simkin, “by my fay.

What will ye do while that it is in hand?”

“By God, right by the hopper will I stand,”

Quoth John, “and see how that the corn goes in.

Yet saw I never, by my father’s kin,

How that the hopper waggës to and fro.”

Alein answered, “John, and wilt thou so?

Then will I be beneathë, by my crown,

And see how that the mealë falls adown

Into the trough, that shall be my disport:1267

For, John, in faith I may be of your sort;

I is as ill a miller as is ye.”

This miller smiled at their nicéty,1268

And thought, “All this is done but for a wile.

They weenen1269 that no man may them beguile,

But by my thrift yet shall I blear their eye,1270

For all the sleight in their philosophy.

The more quaintë knackës1271 that they make,

The morë will I steal when that I take.

Instead of flour yet will I give them bren.1272

The greatest clerks are not the wisest men,

As whilom to the wolf thus spake the mare:1273

Of all their art ne count I not a tare.”

Out at the door he went full privily,

When that he saw his timë, softëly.

He looked up and down, until he found

The clerkës’ horse, there as he stood y-bound

Behind the mill, under a levesell:1274

And to the horse he went him fair and well,

And stripped off the bridle right anon.

And when the horse was loose, he gan to gon

Toward the fen, where wildë marës run,

Forth, with “Wehee!” through thick and eke through thin.

This miller went again, no word he said,

But did his note,1275 and with these clerkës play’d,1276

Till that their corn was fair and well y-ground.

And when the meal was sacked and y-bound,

Then John went out, and found his horse away,

And gan to cry, “Harow, and well-away!

Our horse is lost: Alein, for Goddë’s bones,

Step on thy feet; come off, man, all at once:

Alas! our warden has his palfrey lorn.”1277

This Alein all forgot, both meal and corn;

All was out of his mind his husbandry:1278

“What, which way is he gone?” he gan to cry.

The wife came leaping inward at a renne,1279

She said; “Alas! your horse went to the fen

With wildë mares, as fast as he could go.

Unthank1280 come on his hand that bound him so,

And his that better should have knit the rein.”

“Alas!” quoth John, “Alein, for Christë’s pain

Lay down thy sword, and I shall mine also.

I is full wight,1281 God wate,1282 as is a roe.

By Goddë’s soul he shall not scape us bathe.1283

Why n’ had thou put the capel1284 in the lathe?1285

Ill hail, Alein, by God thou is a fonne.”1286

These silly clerkës have full fast y-run

Toward the fen, both Alein and eke John;

And when the miller saw that they were gone,

He half a bushel of their flour did take,

And bade his wife go knead it in a cake.

He said; “I trow, the clerkës were afeard,

Yet can a miller make a clerkë’s beard,1287

For all his art: yea, let them go their way!

Lo where they go! yea, let the children play:

They get him not so lightly, by my crown.”

These silly clerkës runnen up and down

With “Keep, keep; stand, stand; jossa,1288 warderere.

Go whistle thou, and I shall keep1289 him here.”

But shortly, till that it was very night

They couldë not, though they did all their might,

Their capel catch, he ran alway so fast:

Till in a ditch they caught him at the last.

Weary and wet, as beastës in the rain,

Comes silly John, and with him comes Alein.

“Alas,” quoth John, “the day that I was born!

Now are we driv’n till hething1290 and till scorn.

Our corn is stol’n, men will us fonnës1291 call,

Both the wardén, and eke our fellows all,

And namëly1292 the miller, well-away!”

Thus plained John, as he went by the way

Toward the mill, and Bayard1293 in his hand.

The miller sitting by the fire he fand.1294

For it was night, and forther1295 might they not,

But for the love of God they him besought

Of herberow and easë,1296 for their penny.1297

The miller said again, “If there be any,

Such as it is, yet shall ye have your part.

Mine house is strait, but ye have learned art;

Ye can by arguments maken a place

A milë broad, of twenty foot of space.

Let see now if this placë may suffice,

Or make it room with speech, as is your guise.”1298

“Now, Simon,” said this John, “by Saint Cuthberd

Aye is thou merry, and that is fair answér’d.

I have heard say, man shall take of two things,

Such as he findës, or such as he brings.

But specially I pray thee, hostë dear,

Gar1299 us have meat and drink, and make us cheer,

And we shall pay thee truly at the full:

With empty hand men may not hawkës tull.1300

Lo here our silver ready for to spend.”

This miller to the town his daughter send

For ale and bread, and roasted them a goose,

And bound their horse, he should no more go loose:

And them in his own chamber made a bed.

With sheetës and with chalons1301 fair y-spread,

Not from his owen bed ten foot or twelve:

His daughter had a bed all by herselve,

Right in the samë chamber by and by:1302

It might no better be, and causë why⁠—

There was no roomer herberow1303 in the place.

They suppen, and they speaken of solace,

And drinken ever strong ale at the best.

Aboutë midnight went they all to rest.

Well had this miller varnished his head;

Full pale he was, fordrunken, and nought red.1304

He yoxed,1305 and he spake thorough the nose,

As he were in the quakke,1306 or in the pose.1307

To bed he went, and with him went his wife,

As any jay she light was and jolife,1308

So was her jolly whistle well y-wet.

The cradle at her beddë’s feet was set,

To rock, and eke to give the child to suck.

And when that drunken was all in the crock1309

To beddë went the daughter right anon,

To beddë went Alein, and also John.

There was no morë; needed them no dwale.1310

This miller had so wisly1311 bibbed ale,

That as a horse he snorted in his sleep,

Nor of his tail behind he took no keep.1312

His wife bare him a burdoun,1313 a full strong;

Men might their routing1314 hearen a furlong.

The wenchë routed eke for company.

Alein the clerk, that heard this melody,

He poked John, and saidë: “Sleepest thou?

Heardest thou ever such a song ere now?

Lo what a compline1315 is y-mell1316 them all.

A wildë fire upon their bodies fall,

Who hearken’d ever such a ferly1317 thing?

Yea, they shall have the flow’r of ill ending!

This longë night there tidës1318 me no rest.

But yet no force,1319 all shall be for the best.

For, John,” said he, “as ever may I thrive,

If that I may, yon wenchë will I swive.1320

Some easëment has law y-shapen1321 us.

For, John, there is a law that sayeth thus,

That if a man in one point be aggriev’d,

That in another he shall be reliev’d.

Our corn is stol’n, soothly it is no nay,

And we have had an evil fit to-day.

And since I shall have none amendëment

Against my loss, I will have easëment:

By Goddë’s soul, it shall none, other be.”

This John answér’d; “Alein, avisë thee:1322

The miller is a perilous man,” he said,

“And if that he out of his sleep abraid,1323

He mightë do us both a villainy.”1324

Alein answér’d; “I count him not a fly.”

And up he rose, and by the wench he crept.

This wenchë lay upright, and fast she slept,

Till he so nigh was, ere she might espy,

That it had been too latë for to cry:

And, shortly for to say, they were at one.

Now play, Alein, for I will speak of John.

This John lay still a furlong way or two,1325

And to himself he madë ruth1326 and woe.

“Alas!” quoth he, “this is a wicked jape;1327

Now may I say, that I is but an ape.

Yet has my fellow somewhat for his harm;

He has the miller’s daughter in his arm:

He auntred1328 him, and hath his needës sped,

And I lie as a draff-sack in my bed;

And when this jape is told another day,

I shall be held a daffe1329 or a cockenay:1330

I will arise, and auntre it, by my fay:

Unhardy is unsely,1331 as men say.”

And up he rose, and softëly he went

Unto the cradle, and in his hand it hent,1332

And bare it soft unto his beddë’s feet.

Soon after this the wife her routing lete,1333

And gan awake, and went her out to piss,

And came again, and gan the cradle miss,

And groped here and there, but she found none.

“Alas!” quoth she, “I had almost misgone,

I had almost gone to the clerkës’ bed.

Ey! benedicite, then had I foul y-sped.”

And forth she went, till she the cradle fand.

She groped alway farther with her hand,

And found the bed, and thoughtë not but good,1334

Becausë that the cradle by it stood,

And wist not where she was, for it was derk;

But fair and well she crept in by the clerk,

And lay full still, and would have caught a sleep.

Within a while this John the Clerk up leap,

And on this goodë wife laid on full sore;

So merry a fit had she not had full yore.1335

He pricked hard and deep, as he were mad.