The Tale
At Trompington, not far from Cantebrig,
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,
And turnë cups, and wrestle well, and shete.
Aye by his belt he bare a long pavade,
And of his sword full trenchant was the blade.
A jolly popper 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 camuse was his nose.
As pilled as an apë’s was his skull.
He was a market-beter at the full.
There durstë no wight hand upon him legge,
That he ne swore anon he should abegge.
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.
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.
A full fair sight it was to see them two;
On holy days before her would he go
With his tippét y-bound about his head;
And she came after in a gite 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,
But if he would be slain by Simekin
With pavade, or with knife, or bodëkin.
For jealous folk be per’lous evermo’:
Algate they would their wivës wendë so.
And eke for she was somewhat smutterlich,
She was as dign as water in a ditch,
And all so full of hoker, and bismare.
Her thoughtë that a lady should her spare,
What for her kindred, and her nortelrie
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.
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,
In purpose was to make of her his heir
Both of his chattels and his messuage,
And strange he made it of her marriáge.
His purpose was for to bestow her high
Into some worthy blood of ancestry.
For holy Church’s good may be dispended
On holy Church’s blood that is descended.
Therefore he would his holy blood honoúr,
Though that he holy Churchë should devour.
Great soken hath this miller, out of doubt,
With wheat and malt, of all the land about;
And namëly there was a great collége
Men call the Soler Hall at Cantebrege,
There was their wheat and eke their malt y-ground.
And on a day it happed in a stound,
Sick lay the manciple of a malady,
Men weened wisly 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,
But thereof set the miller not a tare;
He crack’d his boast, and swore it was not so.
Then were there youngë poorë scholars two,
That dwelled in the hall of which I say;
Testif 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,
To go to mill, and see their corn y-ground:
And hardily they durstë lay their neck,
The miller should not steal them half a peck
Of corn by sleight, nor them by force bereave.
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,
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.
Him serve himself behoves that has no swain,
Or else he is a fool, as clerkës sayn.
Our manciple I hope he will be dead,
So workës aye the wangës 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:
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,
And thought, “All this is done but for a wile.
They weenen that no man may them beguile,
But by my thrift yet shall I blear their eye,
For all the sleight in their philosophy.
The more quaintë knackës that they make,
The morë will I steal when that I take.
Instead of flour yet will I give them bren.
The greatest clerks are not the wisest men,
As whilom to the wolf thus spake the mare:
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:
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, and with these clerkës play’d,
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.”
This Alein all forgot, both meal and corn;
All was out of his mind his husbandry:
“What, which way is he gone?” he gan to cry.
The wife came leaping inward at a renne,
She said; “Alas! your horse went to the fen
With wildë mares, as fast as he could go.
Unthank 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, God wate, as is a roe.
By Goddë’s soul he shall not scape us bathe.
Why n’ had thou put the capel in the lathe?
Ill hail, Alein, by God thou is a fonne.”
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,
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, warderere.
Go whistle thou, and I shall keep 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 hething and till scorn.
Our corn is stol’n, men will us fonnës call,
Both the wardén, and eke our fellows all,
And namëly the miller, well-away!”
Thus plained John, as he went by the way
Toward the mill, and Bayard in his hand.
The miller sitting by the fire he fand.
For it was night, and forther might they not,
But for the love of God they him besought
Of herberow and easë, for their penny.
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.”
“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,
Gar 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.
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 chalons 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:
It might no better be, and causë why—
There was no roomer herberow 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.
He yoxed, and he spake thorough the nose,
As he were in the quakke, or in the pose.
To bed he went, and with him went his wife,
As any jay she light was and jolife,
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 crock
To beddë went the daughter right anon,
To beddë went Alein, and also John.
There was no morë; needed them no dwale.
This miller had so wisly bibbed ale,
That as a horse he snorted in his sleep,
Nor of his tail behind he took no keep.
His wife bare him a burdoun, a full strong;
Men might their routing 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 compline is y-mell them all.
A wildë fire upon their bodies fall,
Who hearken’d ever such a ferly thing?
Yea, they shall have the flow’r of ill ending!
This longë night there tidës me no rest.
But yet no force, all shall be for the best.
For, John,” said he, “as ever may I thrive,
If that I may, yon wenchë will I swive.
Some easëment has law y-shapen 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:
The miller is a perilous man,” he said,
“And if that he out of his sleep abraid,
He mightë do us both a villainy.”
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,
And to himself he madë ruth and woe.
“Alas!” quoth he, “this is a wicked jape;
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 auntred 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 daffe or a cockenay:
I will arise, and auntre it, by my fay:
Unhardy is unsely, as men say.”
And up he rose, and softëly he went
Unto the cradle, and in his hand it hent,
And bare it soft unto his beddë’s feet.
Soon after this the wife her routing lete,
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,
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.
He pricked hard and deep, as he were mad.
This jolly life have these two clerkës lad,
Till that the thirdë cock began to sing.
Alein wax’d weary in the morrowing,
For he had swonken all the longë night,
And saidë; “Farewell, Malkin, my sweet wight.
The day is come, I may no longer bide,
But evermore, where so I go or ride,
I is thine owen clerk, so have I hele.”
“Now, dearë leman,” quoth she, “go, farewele:
But ere thou go, one thing I will thee tell.
When that thou wendest homeward by the mill,
Right at the entry of the door behind
Thou shalt a cake of half a bushel find,
That was y-maked of thine owen meal,
Which that I help’d my father for to steal.
And goodë leman, God thee save and keep.”
And with that word she gan almost to weep.
Alein uprose and thought, “Ere the day daw
I will go creepen in by my felláw:”
And found the cradle with his hand anon.
“By God!” thought he, “all wrong I have misgone:
My head is totty of my swink tonight,
That maketh me that I go not aright.
I wot well by the cradle I have misgo’;
Here lie the miller and his wife also.”
And forth he went a twenty devil way
Unto the bed, there as the miller lay.
He ween’d t’ have creeped by his fellow John,
And by the miller in he crept anon,
And caught him by the neck, and gan him shake,
And said; “Thou John, thou swinë’s-head, awake
For Christë’s soul, and hear a noble game!
For by that lord that called is Saint Jame,
As I have thriës in this shortë night
Swived the miller’s daughter bolt-upright,
While thou hast as a coward lain aghast.”
“Thou falsë harlot,” quoth the miller, “hast?
Ah, falsë traitor, falsë clerk,” quoth he,
“Thou shalt be dead, by Goddë’s dignity,
Who durstë be so bold to disparáge
My daughter, that is come of such lineáge?”
And by the throatë-ball he caught Alein,
And he him hent dispiteously again,
And on the nose he smote him with his fist;
Down ran the bloody stream upon his breast:
And in the floor with nose and mouth all broke
They wallow, as do two pigs in a poke.
And up they go, and down again anon,
Till that the miller spurned on a stone,
And down he backward fell upon his wife,
That wistë nothing of this nicë strife:
For she was fall’n asleep a little wight
With John the clerk, that waked had all night:
And with the fall out of her sleep she braid.
“Help, holy cross of Bromëholm,” she said;
“In manus tuas! Lord, to thee I call.
Awake, Simón, the fiend is on me fall;
Mine heart is broken; help; I am but dead:
There li’th one on my womb and on mine head.
Help, Simkin, for these falsë clerks do fight”
This John start up as fast as e’er he might,
And groped by the wallës to and fro
To find a staff; and she start up also,
And knew the estres better than this John,
And by the wall she took a staff anon:
And saw a little shimmering of a light,
For at an hole in shone the moonë bright,
And by that light she saw them both the two,
But sickerly she wist not who was who,
But as she saw a white thing in her eye.
And when she gan this whitë thing espy,
She ween’d the clerk had wear’d a volupere;
And with the staff she drew aye nere and nere,
And ween’d to have hit this Alein at the full,
And smote the miller on the pilled skull,
That down he went, and cried, “Harow! I die.”
These clerkës beat him well, and let him lie,
And greithen them, and take their horse anon,
And eke their meal, and on their way they gon:
And at the mill door eke they took their cake
Of half a bushel flour, full well y-bake.
Thus is the proudë miller well y-beat,
And hath y-lost the grinding of the wheat,
And payed for the supper every deal
Of Alein and of John, that beat him well;
His wife is swived, and his daughter als;
Lo, such it is a miller to be false.
And therefore this proverb is said full sooth,
“Him thar not winnen well that evil do’th;
A guiler shall himself beguiled be:”
And God that sitteth high in majesty
Save all this company, both great and smale.
Thus have I quit the Miller in my tale.