The Prologue

When that the Knight had thus his talë 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 memóry;907
And namëly the gentles every one.908
Our Host then laugh’d and swore, “So may I gon,909
This goes aright; unbuckled is the mail;910
Let see now who shall tell another tale:
For truëly this game is well begun.
Now telleth ye, Sir Monk, if that ye conne,911
Somewhat, to quiten912 with the Knightë’s tale.”
The Miller that fordrunken was all pale,913
So that unnethes914 upon his horse he sat,
He would avalen915 neither hood nor hat,
Nor abide916 no man for his courtesy,
But in Pilatë’s voice917 he gan to cry,
And swore by armës, and by blood, and bones,
“I can a noble talë for the nones,918
With which I will now quite919 the Knightë’s tale.”
Our Host saw well how drunk he was of ale,
And said; “Robin, abide, my levë920 brother,
Some better man shall tell us first another:
Abide, and let us workë thriftily.”921
“By Goddë’s soul,” quoth he, “that will not I,
For I will speak, or ellës go my way!”
Our Host answer’d; “Tell on a devil way;922
Thou art a fool; thy wit is overcome.”
“Now hearken,” quoth the Miller, “all and some:
But first I make a protestatioún.
That I am drunk, I know it by my soun’:
And therefore if that I misspeak or say,
Wite923 it the ale of Southwark, I you pray:
For I will tell a legend and a life
Both of a carpenter and of his wife,
How that a clerk hath set the wrightë’s cap.”924
The Reeve answér’d and saidë, “Stint thy clap,925
Let be thy lewëd drunken harlotry.
It is a sin, and eke a great folly
To apeiren926 any man, or him defame,
And eke to bringë wives in evil name.
Thou may’st enough of other thingës sayn.”
This drunken Miller spake full soon again,
And saidë, “Levë brother Osëwold,
Who hath no wifë, he is no cuckóld.
But I say not therefore that thou art one;
There be full goodë wivës many one.
Why art thou angry with my talë now?
I have a wife, pardie, as well as thou,
Yet n’old927 I, for the oxen in my plough,
Taken upon me morë than enough,
To deemen928 of myself that I am one;
I will believë well that I am none.
An husband should not be inquisitive
Of Goddë’s privity, nor of his wife.
So he may findë Goddë’s foison929 there,
Of the remnant needeth not to enquére.”

What should I more say, but that this Millére
He would his wordës for no man forbear,
But told his churlish930 tale in his mannére;
Me thinketh, that I shall rehearse it here.
And therefore every gentle wight I pray,
For Goddë’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 ellës falsen931 some of my mattere.
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 storial932 thing that toucheth gentiless,
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 harlotry933 they toldë bothë two.
Avise you934 now, and put me out of blame;
And eke men should not make earnest of game.935

The Tale

Whilom there was dwelling in Oxenford
A richë gnof,936 that guestës held to board,937
And of his craft he was a carpentér.
With him there was dwelling a poor scholér,
Had learned art, but all his fantasy
Was turned for to learn astrology.
He coudë938 a certain of conclusions
To deemë939 by interrogations,
If that men asked him in certain hours,
When that men should have drought or ellës show’rs:
Or if men asked him what shouldë fall
Of everything, I may not reckon all.

This clerk was called Hendy940 Nicholas;
Of dernë941 love he knew and of solace;
And therewith he was sly and full privy,
And like a maiden meekë for to see.
A chamber had he in that hostelry
Alone, withouten any company,
Full fetisly y-dight942 with herbës swoot,943
And he himself was sweet as is the root
Of liquorice, or any setewall.944
His Almagest,945 and bookës great and small,
His astrolabe,946 belonging to his art,
His augrim stonës,947 layed fair apart
On shelvës couched948 at his beddë’s head,
His press y-cover’d with a falding949 red.
And all above there lay a gay psalt’ry
On which he made at nightës melody,
So sweetëly, that all the chamber rang:
And Angelus ad virginem950 he sang.
And after that he sung the kingë’s note;
Full often blessed was his merry throat.
And thus this sweetë clerk his timë spent
After his friendës finding and his rent.951

This carpenter had wedded new a wife,
Which that he loved morë 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 bélike952 a cuckóld.
He knew not Cato,953 for his wit was rude,
That bade a man wed his similitude.
Men shouldë wedden after their estate,
For youth and eld954 are often at debate.
But since that he was fallen in the snare,
He must endure (as other folk) his care.

Fair was this youngë wife, and therewithal
As any weasel her body gent955 and small.
A seint956 she weared, barred all of silk,
A barm-cloth957 eke as white as morning milk
Upon her lendës,958 full of many a gore.959
White was her smock,960 and broider’d all before,
And eke behind, on her collar about
Of coal-black silk, within and eke without.
The tapës961 of her whitë volupere962
Were of the samë suit of her collére;
Her fillet broad of silk, and set full high:
And sickerly963 she had a likerous964 eye.
Full small y-pulled were her browës two,
And they were bent,965 and black as any sloe.
She was well more blissful on to see966
Than is the newë perjenetë967 tree;
And softer than the wool is of a wether.
And by her girdle hung a purse of leather,
Tassel’d with silk, and pearlëd with latoun.968
In all this world to seeken up and down
There is no man so wise, that coudë thenche969
So gay a popelot,970 or such a wench.
Full brighter was the shining of her hue,
Than in the Tower the noble971 forged new.
But of her song, it was as loud and yern,972
As any swallow chittering on a bern.973
Thereto974 she couldë skip, and make a game,975
As any kid or calf following his dame.
Her mouth was sweet as braket,976 or as methe,977
Or hoard of apples, laid in hay or heath.
Wincing978 she was as is a jolly colt,
Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.
A brooch she bare upon her low collére,
As broad as is the boss of a bucklére.
Her shoon were laced on her leggës high;
She was a primerole,979 a piggesnie,980
For any lord t’ have ligging981 in his bed,
Or yet for any good yeoman to wed.

Now, sir, and eft982 sir, so befell the case,
That on a day this Hendy983 Nicholas
Fell with this youngë wife to rage and play,984
While that her husband was at Oseney,985
As clerkës be full subtle and full quaint.
And privily he caught her by the queint,
And said; “Y-wis,986 but if I have my will,
For dernë987 love of thee, leman,988 I spill.”989
And heldë her fast by the haunchë bones,
And saidë “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:990
And with her head she writhed fast away,
And said; “I will not kiss thee, by my fay.991
Why let be,” quoth she, “let be, Nicholas,
Or I will cry out harow and alas!992
Do away your handës, 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 but993 ye waitë well, and be privy,
I wot right well I am but dead,” quoth she.
“Ye mustë be full derne994 as in this case.”
“Nay, thereof care thee nought,” quoth Nicholas:
“A clerk had litherly beset his while,995
But if996 he could a carpenter beguile.”
And thus they were accorded and y-sworn
To wait a time, as I have said beforn.
When Nicholas had done thus every deal,997
And thwacked her about the lendës well,
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 Christë’s owen workës for to wirch,998
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 strutted999 as a fannë large and broad;
Full straight and even lay his jolly shode.1000
His rode1001 was red, his eyen grey as goose,
With Paulë’s windows carven1002 on his shoes.
In hosen red he went full fetisly.1003
Y-clad he was full small and properly,
All in a kirtle1004 of a light waget;1005
Full fair and thickë be the pointës set.
And thereupon he had a gay surplíce,
As white as is the blossom on the rise.1006
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 Oxenfordë tho,1007
And with his leggës castë to and fro;
And playen songës on a small ribible;1008
Thereto he sung sometimes a loud quinible.1009
And as well could he play on a gitérn.1010
In all the town was brewhouse nor tavérn,
That he not visited with his solas,1011
There as that any garnard tapstere1012 was.
But sooth to say he was somedeal squaimous1013
Of farting, and of speechë dangerous.

This Absolon, that jolly was and gay,
Went with a censer on the holy day,
Censing1014 the wivës of the parish fast;
And many a lovely look he on them cast,
And namëly1015 on this carpénter’s wife:
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.1016
This parish clerk, this jolly Absolon,
Hath in his heartë such a love-longing!
That of no wife took he none offering;
For courtesy he said he wouldë none.
The moon at night full clear and brightë shone,
And Absolon his gitern hath y-taken,
For paramours he thoughtë for to waken,
And forth he went, jolif1017 and amorous,
Till he came to the carpentérë’s house,
A little after the cock had y-crow,
And dressed him1018 under a shot1019 window,
That was upon the carpentérë’s wall.
He singeth in his voice gentle and small;
“Now, dear lady, if thy will be,
I pray that ye will rue1020 on me;”
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 bower1021 wall?”
And she answer’d her husband therewithal;
“Yes, God wot, John, I hear him every deal.”

This passeth forth; what will ye bet1022 than well?
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 lockës broad, and make him gay.
He wooeth her by means and by brocage,1023
And swore he wouldë be her owen page.
He singeth brokking1024 as a nightingale.
He sent her piment,1025 mead, and spiced ale,
And wafers1026 piping hot out of the glede:1027
And, for she was of town, he proffer’d meed.1028
For some folk will be wonnen for richéss,
And some for strokes, and some with gentiless.
Sometimes, to show his lightness and mast’ry,
He playeth Herod1029 on a scaffold high.
But what availeth him as in this case?
So loveth she the Hendy Nicholas,
That Absolon may blow the buckë’s horn:1030
He had for all his labour but a scorn.
And thus she maketh Absolon her ape,
And all his earnest turneth to a jape.1031
Full sooth is this provérb, it is no lie;
Men say right thus alway; the nighë sly
Maketh oft time the far lief to be loth.1032
For though that Absolon be wood1033 or wroth
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 Alisón
Accorded were to this conclusión,
That Nicholas shall shapë him a wile1034
The silly jealous husband to beguile;
And if so were the gamë went aright,
She shouldë sleepen in his arms all night;
For this was her desire and his also.
And right anon, withoutë wordës mo’,
This Nicholas no longer would he tarry,
But doth full soft unto his chamber carry
Both meat and drinkë for a day or tway.
And to her husband bade her for to say,
If that he asked after Nicholas,
She shouldë say, “She wist1035 not where he was;
Of all the day she saw him not with eye;
She trowed1036 he was in some maladý,
For no cry that her maiden could him call
He would answer, for nought that might befall.”
Thus passed forth all thilkë1037 Saturday,
That Nicholas still in his chamber lay,
And ate, and slept, and diddë what him list
Till Sunday, that the sunnë went to rest.1038
This silly carpenter had great marvail1039
Of Nicholas, or what thing might him ail,
And said; “I am adrad,1040 by Saint Thomas!
It standeth not aright with Nicholas:
God shieldë1041 that he died suddenly.
This world is now full tickle1042 sickerly.1043
I saw to-day a corpse y-borne to chirch,
That now on Monday last I saw him wirch.1044
“Go up,” quod he unto his knave,1045 “anon;
Clepe1046 at his door, or knockë with a stone:
Look how it is, and tell me boldëly.”
This knavë went him up full sturdily,
And, at the chamber door while that he stood,
He cried and knocked as that he were wood:1047
“What how? what do ye, Master Nicholay?
How may ye sleepen all the longë day?”
But all for nought, he heardë not a word.
An hole he found full low upon the board,
There as1048 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 kyked1049 on the newë moon.
Adown he went, and told his master soon,
In what array he saw this ilkë1050 man.

This carpenter to blissen him1051 began,
And said: “Now help us, Saintë Frideswide.1052
A man wot1053 little what shall him betide.
This man is fall’n with his astronomy
Into some woodness1054 or some agony.
I thought aye well how that it shouldë be.
Men should know nought of Goddë’s privity.1055
Yea, blessed be alway a lewëd1056 man,
That nought but only his believë can.1057
So far’d another clerk with astrónomý:
He walked in the fieldës for to pry
Upon1058 the starrës, what there should befall,
Till he was in a marlë pit y-fall.1059
He saw not that. But yet, by Saint Thomas!
Me rueth sore of1060 Hendy Nicholas:
He shall be rated of his studying,1061
If that I may, by Jesus, heaven’s king!
Get me a staff, that I may underspore1062
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.1063
His knavë was a strong carl for the nonce,
And by the hasp1064 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’d1065 he were in despair,
And hent1066 him by the shoulders mightily,
And shook him hard, and cried spitously;1067
“What, Nicholas? what how, man? look adown:
Awake, and think on Christë’s passioún.
I crouchë thee1068 from elvës, and from wights.”1069
Therewith the night-spell said he anon rights,1070
On the four halvës1071 of the house about,
And on the threshold of the door without.
“Lord Jesus Christ, and Saintë Benedight,
Blessë this house from every wicked wight,
From the night mare, the white Pater-noster;
Where wonnest1072 thou now, Saintë Peter’s sister?”
And at the last this Hendy Nicholas
Gan for to sigh full sore, and said; “Alas!
Shall all time world be lost eftsoonës1073 now?”
This carpenter answér’d; “What sayest thou?
What? think on God, as we do, men that swink.”1074
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 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!”

This carpenter out of his slumber start,
And heard one cry “Water,” as he were wood,1176
And thought, “Alas! now cometh Noë’s flood.”
He sat him up withoutë wordës mo’,
And with his axe he smote the cord in two;
And down went all; he found neither to sell
Nor bread nor ale,1177 till he came to the sell,1178
Upon the floor, and there in swoon he lay.
Up started Alison and Nicholay,
And cried out an “harow!”1179 in the street.
The neighbours allë, bothë small and great
In rannë, for to gauren1180 on this man,
That yet in swoonë lay, both pale and wan:
For with the fall he broken had his arm.
But stand he must unto his owen harm,
For when he spake, he was anon borne down
With Hendy Nicholas and Alisoún.
They told to every man that he was wood;1181
He was aghastë1182 so of Noë’s flood,
Through phantasy, that of his vanity
He had y-bought him kneading-tubbës three,
And had them hanged in the roof above;
And that he prayed them for Goddë’s love
To sitten in the roof for company.
The folk gan laughen at his phantasy.
Into the roof they kyken,1183 and they gape,
And turned all his harm into a jape.1184
For whatsoe’er this carpenter answér’d,
It was for nought, no man his reason heard.
With oathës great he was so sworn adown,
That he was holden wood in all the town.
For every clerk anon right held with other;
They said, “The man was wood, my levë1185 brother;”
And every wight gan laughen at his strife.
Thus swived1186 was the carpentérë’s wife,
For all his keeping1187 and his jealousy;
And Absolon hath kiss’d her nether eye;
And Nicholas is scalded in the tout.
This tale is done, and God save all the rout.1188