The Canterbury Tales | The Miller’s Tale - Page 4
Your wife I shall not lose, there is no doubt,
Go, now, your way, and speedily get about,(375)
But when you have, for you and her and me,
Procured these kneading-tubs, or beer-vats, three,
Then you shall hang them near the roof-tree high,
That no man our purveyance may espy.
And when you thus have done, as I have said,(380)
And have put in our drink and meat and bread,
Also an axe to cut the ropes in two
When the flood comes, that we may float and go,
And cut a hole, high up, upon the gable,
Upon the garden side, over the stable,(385)
That we may freely pass forth on our way
When the great rain and flood are gone that day—
Then shall you float as merrily, I’ll stake,
As does the white duck after the white drake.
Then I will call, ‘Ho, Alison! Ho, John!(390)
Be cheery, for the flood will pass anon.’
And you will say, ‘Hail, Master Nicholay!
Good morn, I see you well, for it is day!’
And then shall we be barons all our life
Of all the world, like Noah and his wife.(395)
“But of one thing I warn you now, outright.
Be well advised, that on that very night
When we have reached our ships and got aboard,
Not one of us must speak or whisper word,
Nor call, nor cry, but sit in silent prayer;(400)
For this is God’s own bidding, hence—don’t dare!
“Your wife and you must hang apart, that in
The night shall come no chance for you to sin
Either in looking or in carnal deed.
These orders I have told you, go, God speed!(405)
Tomorrow night, when all men are asleep,
Into our kneading-tubs will we three creep
And sit there, still, awaiting God’s high grace.
Go, now, your way, I have no longer space
Of time to make a longer sermoning.(410)
Men say thus: ‘Send the wise and say no thing.’
You are so wise it needs not that I teach;
Go, save our lives, and that I do beseech.”
This sill carpenter went on his way.
Often he cried “Alas!” and “Welaway!”(415)
And to his wife he told all, privately;
But she was better taught thereof than he
How all this rigmarole was to apply.
Nevertheless she acted as she’d die,
And said: “Alas! Go on your way anon,(420)
Help us escape, or we are lost, each one;
I am your true and lawfully wedded wife;
Go, my dear spouse, and help to save our life.”
Lo, what a great thing is affection found!
Men die of imagination, I’ll be bound,(425)
So deep an imprint may the spirit take.
This hapless carpenter began to quake;
He thought now, verily, that he could see
Old Noah’s flood come wallowing like the sea
To drown his Alison, his honey dear.(430)
He wept, he wailed, he made but sorry cheer,
He sighed and made full many a sob and sough.
He went and got himself a kneading-trough
And, after that, two tubs he somewhere found
And to his dwelling privately sent round,(435)
And hung them near the roof, all secretly.
With his own hand, then, made he ladders three,
To climb up by the rungs thereof, it seems,
And reach the tubs left hanging to the beams;
And those he victualled tubs and kneading-trough(440)
With bread and cheese and good jugged ale, enough
To satisfy the needs of one full day.
But ere he’d put all this in such array,
He sent his servants, boy and maid, right down
Upon some errand into London town.(445)
And on the Monday, when it came on night,
He shut his door, without a candle-light,
And ordered everything as it should be.
And shortly after up they climbed, all three;
They sat while one might plow a furlong-way.(450)
“Now, by Our Father, hush!” said Nicholay,
And “Hush!” said John, and “Hush!” said Alison.
This carpenter, his loud devotion done,
Sat silent, saying mentally a prayer,
And waiting for the rain, to hear it there.(455)
The deathlike sleep of utter weariness
Fell on this wood-wright even (as I guess)
About the curfew time, or little more;
For travail of his spirit he groaned sore,
And soon he snored, for badly his head lay.(460)
Down by the ladder crept his Nicholay,
And Alison, right softly down she sped.
Without more words they went and got in bed
Even where the carpenter was wont to lie.
There was the revel and the melody!(465)
And thus lie Alison and Nicholas,
In joy that goes by many an alias,
Until the bells for lauds began to ring
And friars to the chancel went to sing.
This parish clerk, this amorous Absalom,(470)
Whom love has made so woebegone and dumb,
Upon the Monday was down Osney way,
With company, to find some sport and play;
And there he chanced to ask a cloisterer,
Privately, after John the carpenter.(475)
This monk drew him apart, out of the kirk,
And said: “I have not seen him here at work
Since Saturday; I think well that he went
For timber, that the abbot has him sent;
For he is wont for timber thus to go,(480)
Remaining at the grange a day or so;
Or else he’s surely at his house today;
But which it is I cannot truly say.”
This Absalom right happy was and light,
And thought: “Now is the time to wake all night;(485)
For certainly I saw him not stirring
About his door since day began to spring.
So may I thrive, as I shall, at cock’s crow,
Knock cautiously upon the window low
Which is so placed upon his bedroom wall.(490)
To Alison then will I tell of all
My love-longing, and thus I shall not miss
That at the least I’ll have her lips to kiss.
Some sort of comfort shall I have, I say,
My mouth’s been itching all this livelong day;(495)
That is a sign of kissing at the least.
Al night I dreamed, too, I was at a feast.
Go, now, your way, and speedily get about,(375)
But when you have, for you and her and me,
Procured these kneading-tubs, or beer-vats, three,
Then you shall hang them near the roof-tree high,
That no man our purveyance may espy.
And when you thus have done, as I have said,(380)
And have put in our drink and meat and bread,
Also an axe to cut the ropes in two
When the flood comes, that we may float and go,
And cut a hole, high up, upon the gable,
Upon the garden side, over the stable,(385)
That we may freely pass forth on our way
When the great rain and flood are gone that day—
Then shall you float as merrily, I’ll stake,
As does the white duck after the white drake.
Then I will call, ‘Ho, Alison! Ho, John!(390)
Be cheery, for the flood will pass anon.’
And you will say, ‘Hail, Master Nicholay!
Good morn, I see you well, for it is day!’
And then shall we be barons all our life
Of all the world, like Noah and his wife.(395)
“But of one thing I warn you now, outright.
Be well advised, that on that very night
When we have reached our ships and got aboard,
Not one of us must speak or whisper word,
Nor call, nor cry, but sit in silent prayer;(400)
For this is God’s own bidding, hence—don’t dare!
“Your wife and you must hang apart, that in
The night shall come no chance for you to sin
Either in looking or in carnal deed.
These orders I have told you, go, God speed!(405)
Tomorrow night, when all men are asleep,
Into our kneading-tubs will we three creep
And sit there, still, awaiting God’s high grace.
Go, now, your way, I have no longer space
Of time to make a longer sermoning.(410)
Men say thus: ‘Send the wise and say no thing.’
You are so wise it needs not that I teach;
Go, save our lives, and that I do beseech.”
This sill carpenter went on his way.
Often he cried “Alas!” and “Welaway!”(415)
And to his wife he told all, privately;
But she was better taught thereof than he
How all this rigmarole was to apply.
Nevertheless she acted as she’d die,
And said: “Alas! Go on your way anon,(420)
Help us escape, or we are lost, each one;
I am your true and lawfully wedded wife;
Go, my dear spouse, and help to save our life.”
Lo, what a great thing is affection found!
Men die of imagination, I’ll be bound,(425)
So deep an imprint may the spirit take.
This hapless carpenter began to quake;
He thought now, verily, that he could see
Old Noah’s flood come wallowing like the sea
To drown his Alison, his honey dear.(430)
He wept, he wailed, he made but sorry cheer,
He sighed and made full many a sob and sough.
He went and got himself a kneading-trough
And, after that, two tubs he somewhere found
And to his dwelling privately sent round,(435)
And hung them near the roof, all secretly.
With his own hand, then, made he ladders three,
To climb up by the rungs thereof, it seems,
And reach the tubs left hanging to the beams;
And those he victualled tubs and kneading-trough(440)
With bread and cheese and good jugged ale, enough
To satisfy the needs of one full day.
But ere he’d put all this in such array,
He sent his servants, boy and maid, right down
Upon some errand into London town.(445)
And on the Monday, when it came on night,
He shut his door, without a candle-light,
And ordered everything as it should be.
And shortly after up they climbed, all three;
They sat while one might plow a furlong-way.(450)
“Now, by Our Father, hush!” said Nicholay,
And “Hush!” said John, and “Hush!” said Alison.
This carpenter, his loud devotion done,
Sat silent, saying mentally a prayer,
And waiting for the rain, to hear it there.(455)
The deathlike sleep of utter weariness
Fell on this wood-wright even (as I guess)
About the curfew time, or little more;
For travail of his spirit he groaned sore,
And soon he snored, for badly his head lay.(460)
Down by the ladder crept his Nicholay,
And Alison, right softly down she sped.
Without more words they went and got in bed
Even where the carpenter was wont to lie.
There was the revel and the melody!(465)
And thus lie Alison and Nicholas,
In joy that goes by many an alias,
Until the bells for lauds began to ring
And friars to the chancel went to sing.
This parish clerk, this amorous Absalom,(470)
Whom love has made so woebegone and dumb,
Upon the Monday was down Osney way,
With company, to find some sport and play;
And there he chanced to ask a cloisterer,
Privately, after John the carpenter.(475)
This monk drew him apart, out of the kirk,
And said: “I have not seen him here at work
Since Saturday; I think well that he went
For timber, that the abbot has him sent;
For he is wont for timber thus to go,(480)
Remaining at the grange a day or so;
Or else he’s surely at his house today;
But which it is I cannot truly say.”
This Absalom right happy was and light,
And thought: “Now is the time to wake all night;(485)
For certainly I saw him not stirring
About his door since day began to spring.
So may I thrive, as I shall, at cock’s crow,
Knock cautiously upon the window low
Which is so placed upon his bedroom wall.(490)
To Alison then will I tell of all
My love-longing, and thus I shall not miss
That at the least I’ll have her lips to kiss.
Some sort of comfort shall I have, I say,
My mouth’s been itching all this livelong day;(495)
That is a sign of kissing at the least.
Al night I dreamed, too, I was at a feast.
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