Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

  And when this joke is told another day,

  I shall be held a fool, a sap:

  I will arise and risk it, by my faith!

  Unbold is unlucky, thus men say.”

  And up he rose and softly he went

  To the cradle, and in his hand it held,

  And bore it softly to his bed’s foot.

  Soon after this the wife her snoring ceased,

  And began to wake, and went her out to piss,

  And came again, and found her cradle missing,

  And groped here and there, but it was gone.

  “Alas!” said she, “I had almost stepped wrong;

  I had almost gone to the scholars’ bed—

  Eh, benedicite, then had I wrong been!”

  And forth she went until she the cradle found;

  She groped ever further with her hand,

  And found the bed, and thought nought but good,

  By cause that the cradle by it stood,

  And knew not where she was, for it was dark;

  But fair and well she crept in with the scholar,

  And lay full still, and would have asleep fallen.

  Within a while this John the scholar up leapt,

  And on this good wife he at it hard set.

  So merry a bout she had not in a long time had;

  He priketh harde and depe as he were mad.

  This joly lyf han thise two clerkes lad

  Til that the thridde cok bigan to singe.

  Aleyn wex wery in the daweninge.

  For he had swonken al the longe night;

  And seyde, “far wel, Malin, swete wight!

  The day is come, I may no lenger byde;

  But evermo, wher so I go or ryde,

  I is thyn awen clerk, swa have I seel!”

  “Now dere lemman,” quod she, “go, far weel!

  But er thou go, o thing I wol thee telle,

  Whan that thou wendest homward by the melle,

  Right at the entree of the dore bihinde,

  Thou shalt a cake of half a busshel finde

  That was y-maked of thyn owne mele,

  Which that I heelp my fader for to stele.

  And, gode lemman, god thee save and kepe!”

  And with that word almost she gan to wepe.

  Aleyn up-rist, and thoughte, “er that it dawe,

  I wol go crepen in by my felawe;”

  And fond the cradel with his hand anon.

  “By god,” thoghte he, “al wrang I have misgon;

  Myn heed is toty of my swink to-night,

  That maketh me that I go nat aright.

  I woot wel by the cradel, I have misgo,

  Heer lyth the miller and his wyf also.”

  And forth he goth, a twenty devel way,

  Un-to the bed ther-as the miller lay.

  He wende have cropen by his felawe John;

  And by the miller in he 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.

  For by that lord that called is seint Jame,

  As I have thryes, in this shorte night,

  Swyved the milleres doghter bolt-upright,

  Whyl thow hast as a coward been agast.”

  “Ye, false harlot,” quod the miller, “hast?

  A! false traitour! false clerk!” quod he,

  He pricked long and deep as if he were mad.

  This jolly life have these two scholars led

  Till the third cock began to sing.

  Allen waxed weary at the dawning,

  For he had worked all the long night,

  And said, “Farewell, Molly, sweet one!

  The day is come, I may no longer stay;

  But evermore, wherever I ride or go,

  I am your own scholar, as I hope for joy!”

  “Now, dear sweetheart,” said she, “go, farewell!

  But before you go, one thing I will you tell:

  When that you wend home by the mill,

  Right at the entry of the door behind,

  You shall a cake of half a bushel find

  That was made of your own meal,

  Which I helped my sire to steal.

  And, good sweetheart, God you save and keep!”

  And with that word she almost began to weep.

  Allen up rose, and thought, “Before that it dawns,

  I will go creep by my fellow,”

  And found the cradle with his hand anon.

  “By God,” thought he, “All wrong have I gone.

  My head is light from my work tonight:

  That makes me go not aright.

  I know well by the cradle I have gone wrong—

  Here lie the miller and his wife also.”

  And forth he went, to the devil straight,

  To the bed where the miller lay—

  He meant to creep by his fellow John—

  And by the miller in he crept anon,

  And caught him by the neck, and soft he spoke.

  He said, “You, John, you swine’s head, awaken

  For Christ’s soul, and hear a great joke.

  For by that lord who is called Saint James,

  So I have thrice in this short night

  Made love to the miller’s daughter bolt upright,

  While you have as a coward been afraid.”

  “You, false rascal,” said the miller, “have?

  Ah! false traitor! false scholar!” said he,

  “Thou shalt be deed, by goddes dignitee!

  Who dorste be so bold to disparage

  My doghter, that is come of swich linage?”

  And by the throte-bolle he caughte Alayn.

  And he hente hymn despitously agayn,

  And on the nose he smoot him with his fest.

  Doun ran the blody streem up-on his brest;

  And in the floor, with nose and mouth to-broke,

  They walwe as doon two pigges in a poke.

  And up they goon, and doun agayn anon,

  Til that the miller sporned at a stoon,

  And doun he fil bakward up-on his wyf,

  That wiste no-thing of this nyce stryf;

  For she was falle aslepe a lyte wight

  With John the clerk, that waked hadde al night.

  And with the fal, out of hir sleep she breyde—

  “Help, holy corys of Bromeholm,” she seyde,

  “In manus tuas! lord, to thee I calle!

  Awak, Symond! the feend is on us falle,

  Myn herte is broken, help, I nam but deed;

  There lyth oon up my wombe and up myn heed;

  Help, Simkin, for the false clerkes fighte.”

  This John sterte up as faste as ever he mighte,

  And graspeth by the walles to and fro,

  To finde a staf; and she sterte up also,

  And knew the estres bet than dide this John,

  And by the wal a staf she fond anon,

  And saugh a litel shimering of a light,

  For at an hole in shoon the mone bright;

  And by that light she saugh hem bothe two,

  But sikerly she niste who was who,

  But as she saugh a whyt thing in hir ye.

  And whan she gan the whyte thing espye,

  She wende the clerk hadde wered a volupeer.

  And with the staf she drough ay neer and neer,

  And wende han hit this Aleyn at the fulle,

  And smoot the miller on the pyled skulle,

  That doun he gooth and cryde, “harrow! I dye!”

  Thise clerkes bete him weel and lete him lye;

  “You shall be dead, by God’s dignity!

  Who would dare be so bold to dishonor

  My daughter, who is come of such high birth?”

  And by the Adam’s apple he caught Allen;

  And Allen held him fiercely in turn,

  And on the nose he smote him with his fist—r />
  Down ran the blood stream upon his breast.

  And on the floor, with nose and mouth broken,

  They wallowed as do two pigs in a poke.

  And up they go, and down again anon,

  Till that the miller tripped on a stone,

  And down he fell backward upon his wife,

  Who knew nothing of this silly strife,

  For she had fallen asleep for a bit

  With John the scholar, who waked had all night;

  And with the fall, out of her sleep she started.

  “Help, holy cross of Bromholm,”5 she said,

  “In manus tuas!6 Lord, to you I call!

  Awake, Simon! the fiend is on me fallen,

  My heart is broken, help, I am almost dead:

  There lies someone on my womb and on my head.

  Help, Simkin, for the false scholars fight.”

  This John leapt up as fast as ever he might,

  And groped along the walls to and fro,

  To find a staff; and she leapt up also,

  And knew the place better than did this John,

  And by the wall a staff she found anon,

  And saw a little shimmering of a light—

  For at a hole in shone the moon bright—

  And by that light she saw them both two,

  And truly she knew not who was who,

  Except that she saw a white thing in her eye.

  And when she did this white thing espy,

  She thought the scholar had worn a nightcap,

  And with the staff she drew ever near and nearer,

  And thinking to hit Allen at the full,

  And smote the miller on the bald skull

  So down he went and cried, “Help! I die!”

  These scholars beat him well and let him lie,

  And greythen hem, and toke hir hors anon,

  And eek hir mele, and on hir wey they gon.

  And at the mille yet they tok hir cake

  Of half a busshel flour, ful wel y-bake.

  Thus is the proude miller wel y-bete,

  And hath y-lost the grinding of the whete,

  And payed for the soper every-deel

  Of Aleyn and of John, that bette him weel.

  His wyf is swyved, and his doghter als;

  Lo, swich it is a miller to be fals!

  And therfore this proverbe is seyd ful sooth,

  “Him thar nat wene wel that yvel dooth;

  A gylour shal him-self bigyled be.”

  And God, that sitteth heighe in magestee,

  Save al this companye grete and smale!

  Thus have I quit the miller and my tale.

  And gathered themselves, and took their horse anon,

  And also their flour, and on their way they went.

  And at the mill they took their cake

  Of half a bushel flour, full well baked.

  Thus is the proud miller well beaten,

  And has lost the grinding of the wheat,

  And paid for the supper complete

  Of Allen and John, who beat him well;

  His wife is enjoyed, and his daughter also.

  Lo, so it goes for a miller false!

  And therefore this proverb is said so true,

  “He should not expect good who will evil do;

  A beguiler shall himself beguiled be.”

  And God, who sits high in majesty,

  Save all this company great and small!

  Thus I have repaid the Miller in my tale.

  The Tale of the Wyf of Bathe

  The Prologue

  “EXPERIENCE, THOUGH NOON AUCTORITEE

  Were in this world, were right y-nough to me

  To speke of wo that is in mariage;

  For, lordinges, sith I twelf yeer was of age,

  Thonked be god that is eterne on lyve,

  Housbondes at chirche-dore I have had fyve

  For I so ofte have y-wedded be;

  And alle were worthy men in hir degree.

  But me was told certeyn, nat longe agon is,

  That sith that Crist ne wente never but onis

  To wedding in the Cane of Galilee,

  That by the same ensample taughte he me

  That I ne sholde wedded be but ones.

  Herke eek, lo! which a sharp word for the nones

  Besyde a welle Jesus, god and man,

  Spak in repreve of the Samaritan:

  ‘Thou hast y-had fyve housbondes,’ quod he,

  ‘And thilke man, the which that hath now thee,

  Is noght thyn housbond;’ thus seyde he certeyn;

  What that he mente ther-by, I can nat seyn;

  But that I axe, why that the fifthe man

  Was noon housbond to the Samaritan?

  How manye mighte she have in mariage?

  Yet herde I never tellen in myn age

  Upon this nombre diffinicioun;

  Men may devyne and glosen up and doun.

  But wel I woot expres, with-oute lye,

  God bad us for to wexe and multiplye;

  That gentil text can I wel understonde.

  Eek wel I woot he seyde, myn housbonde

  Sholde lete fader and moder, and take me;

  But of no nombre mencioun made he,

  Of bigamye or of octogamye;

  Why sholde men speke of it vileinye?

  Lo, here the wyse king, dan Salomon;

  The Wife of Bath’s Tale

  The Prologue

  “EXPERIENCE, THOUGH NO OTHER authority

  Were in this world, is quite enough for me

  To speak of woe that is in marriage:

  For, lordings, since I twelve years was of age,

  Thanks be to God who is eternally alive,

  Husbands at church door have I had five

  (If I so often might have wedded be)1

  And all were worthy in their degree.2

  But I was told, truly, not long ago,

  That since Christ never went but once

  To wedding in the Cana of Galilee,3

  That by the same example taught he me

  That I should not be wedded but once.

  Harken, also, to the sharp word,

  Beside a well, that Jesus, God and man,

  Spoke in reproof to the Samaritan:4

  ‘You have had five husbands,’ said he,

  ‘And that same man who now has you

  Is not your husband;’ thus said he certain.

  What he meant thereby I cannot say,

  Except I ask, why the fifth man

  Was not husband to the Samaritan?

  How many might she have in marriage?

  Yet never have I heard tell in all my time

  Of this number an explanation.

  Men may interpret and gloss up and down,

  But well I know especially, without lie,

  God bade us for to increase and multiply:

  That noble text can I well understand.

  Also well I know he said, my husband

  Should leave father and mother, and take to me;

  But of no number mention made he,

  Of in succession how many.

  Why should men then speak of it reproachfully?

  Lo, here the wise king, Lord Solomon;

  I trowe he hadde wyves mo than oon;

  As, wolde god, it leveful were to me

  To be refresshed half so ofte as he!

  Which yifte of god hadde he for alle his wyvis!

  No man hath swich, that in this world alyve is.

  God woot, this noble king, as to my wit,

  The firste night had many a mery fit

  With ech of hem, so wel was him on lyve!

  Blessed be god that I have wedded fyve!

  Welcome the sixte, whan that ever he shal.

  For sothe, I wol nat kepe me chast in al;

  Whan myn housbond is fro the world y-gon,

  Som Cristen man shal wedde me anon;

  For thanne th‘apostle seith, that I
am free

  To wedde, a godd’s half, wher it lyketh me.

  He seith that to be wedded is no sinne;

  Bet is to be wedded than to brinne.

  What rekketh me, thogh folk seye vileinye

  Of shrewed Lameth and his bigamye?

  I woot wel Abraham was an holy man,

  And Jacob eek, as ferforth as I can;

  And ech of hem hadde wyves mo than two;

  And many another holy man also.

  Whan saugh ye ever, in any maner age,

  That hye god defended mariage

  By expres word? I pray you, telleth me;

  Or wher comanded he virginitee?

  I woot as wel as ye, it is no drede,

  Th’apostel, whan he speketh of maydenhede;

  He seyde, that precept ther-of hadde he noon.

  Men may conseille a womman to been oon

  But conseilling is no comandement;

  He putte it in our owene jugement

  For hadde god comanded maydenhede,

  Thanne hadde he dampned wedding with the dede;

  And certes, if ther were no seed y-sowe,

  Virginitee, wher-of than sholde it growe?

  Poul dorste nat comanden atte leste

  A thing of which his maister yaf noon heste.

  I believe he had wives more than one.

  Would to God it were allowed for me

  To be refreshed half so often as he!

  What a gift of God had he for all his wives!

  No man has such, who in the world alive now is.

  God knows this noble king, so far as I can see,

  The first night had many a merry fight

  With each of them, so lucky was his life!

  Blessed be God that I have wedded five,

  Welcome the sixth, whenever he arrives!

  For in truth I will not keep myself all chaste.

  When my husband is from this world gone

  Some Christian man shall wed me anon;

  For then the apostle says that I am free

  To wed, on God’s behalf, where it pleases me.

  He says that to be wedded is no sin:

  Better to be wedded than to burn.

  What matters it to me though folk speak badly

  Of cursed Lamech and his bigamy?

  I know well that Abraham was a holy man,

  And Jacob also, as far as I know;

  And each of them had wives more than two,

  And many another holy man also.

  Where can you see, in whatever age,

  That high God forbade marriage

  By express word? I pray you, tell me.

  Or where commanded he virginity?

  I know as well as you, it is no doubt,

  The Apostle, when he spoke of maidenhood,

  He said commandment thereof had he none.

  Men may counsel a woman to be one,