Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

  Ther been ful gode wyves many oon,

  And ever a thousand gode ayeyns oon badde,

  That knowestow wel thy-self, but-if thou madde.

  Why artow angry with my tale now?

  I have a wyf, pardee, as well as thou,

  Yet nolde I, for the oxen in my plogh,

  Taken up-on me more than y-nogh,

  As demen of my-self that I were oon;

  I wol beleve wel that I am noon.

  And housbond shal nat been inquisitif

  Of goddes privetee, nor of his wyf.

  So he may finde goddes foyson there,

  Of the remenant nedeth nat enquere.”

  What sholde I more seyn, but this Millere

  He nolde his wordes for no man forbere,

  But tolde his cherles tale in his manere;

  M‘athynketh that I shal reherce it here.

  And ther-fore every gentil wight I preye,

  For goddes love, demeth nat that I seye

  Of evel entente, but that I moot reherce

  Hir tales alle, be they bettre or werse,

  Or elles falsen som of my matere.

  And therfore, who-so list it nat y-here,

  Turne over the leef, and chese another tale;

  For he shal finde y-nowe, grete and smale,

  Of storial thing that toucheth gentillesse,

  And eek moralitee and holinesse;

  Blameth nat me if that ye chese amis.

  The Miller is a cherl, ye knowe wel this;

  The Reeve answered and said, “Shut your trap!

  Forget your rude drunken smut.

  It is a sin and also a great folly

  To injure any man, or him defame,

  And to bring wives into ill-repute.

  You may enough of other things say.”

  This drunken Miller spoke full soon again,

  And said, “Dear brother Oswald,

  Who has no wife, he is no cuckold.

  But I say not therefore that you are one;

  There be full good wives many a one,

  And even a thousand good for every one bad.

  You know that yourself, unless you’re mad.

  Why are you angry with my tale now?

  I have a wife, by God, as well as you,

  Yet would I not, for the oxen in my plow,

  Take upon me more worries than enough,

  As to imagine myself a cuckold;

  I well believe that I am not one.

  A husband shall not be inquisitive

  Of God’s secrets, nor of his wife.

  So he may find God’s bounty there,

  Of the rest he need not inquire.”

  What should I say more, but this Miller

  He would his words no man spare,

  But told his churl’s tale in his manner.

  I regret I must repeat it here.

  And therefore every genteel person I pray,

  For God’s love, deem it not that I speak

  From evil intent, but that I must retell

  His tales all, be they better or worse,

  Or else falsify my subject matter.

  And therefore, whoso wishes it not to hear,

  Turn over the page, and choose another tale;

  For he shall find enough, great and small,

  Of historical things that touch on the genteel,

  And also morality and holiness.

  Blame me not if you choose amiss.

  The Miller is a churl, you know well this;

  So was the Reve, and othere many mo,

  And harlotrye they tolden bothe two.

  Avyseth yow and putte me out of blame;

  And eek men shal nat make ernest of game.

  The Tale

  Whylom ther was dwellinge at Oxenford

  A riche gnof, that gestes heeld to bord,

  And of his craft he was a Carpenter.

  With him ther was dwellinge a povre scoler,

  Had lerned art, but al his fantasye

  Was turned for to lerne astrologye,

  And coude a certeyn of conclusiouns

  To demen by interrogaciouns,

  If that men axed him in certein houres,

  Whan that men sholde have droghte or elles shoures,

  Or if men axed him what sholde bifalle

  Of every thing, I may nat rekene hem alle.

  This clerk was cleped hende Nicholas;

  Of derne love he coude and of solas;

  And ther-to he was sleigh and ful privee,

  And lyk a mayden meke for to see.

  A chambre hadde he in that hostelrye

  Allone, with-outen any companye,

  Ful fetisly y-dight with herbes swote;

  And he him-self as swete as is the rote

  Of licorys, or any cetewale.

  His Almageste and bokes grete and smale,

  His astrelabie, longinge for his art,

  His augrim-stones layen faire a-part

  On shelves couched at his beddes heed:

  His presse y-covered with a falding reed.

  And al above ther lay a gay sautrye,

  On which he made a nightes melodye

  So swetely, that al the chambre rong;

  And Angelus ad virginem he song;

  And after that he song the kinges note;

  Ful often blessed was his mery throte.

  And thus this swete clerk his tyme spente

  So was the Reeve and others more,

  And ribaldry they told both two.

  Be advised and put me out of blame;

  And do not take in earnest what is a game.

  The Tale

  Once upon a time there was dwelling at Oxford

  A rich churl, who took in lodgers,

  And by trade he was a carpenter.

  With him there was dwelling a poor scholar,

  Who studied the liberal arts, but all his fancy

  Was turned to learn astrology,

  And he knew a number of operations

  With which to provide explanations,

  If men asked him in certain hours

  When men should have drought or showers,

  Or if men asked him what should befall

  Of every thing, I cannot count them all.

  This scholar was called polite Nicholas.

  Of secret love he knew and of pleasure;

  And thereto he was sly and secretive,

  And like a maiden meek to look upon.

  A room had he in that boardinghouse

  Alone, without any company,

  Full neatly arranged with herbs sweet;

  And he himself as sweet as is the root

  Of licorice, or any ginger spice.

  His treatise by Ptolemy on astronomy,

  His astrolabe,2 belonging to his art,

  His augrim-stones3 lay fair apart

  On shelves placed at his bed’s head;

  His clothes chest covered with wool cloth red.

  And on it lay a pretty zither,

  On which he made nightly melody

  So sweetly, that all the chamber rang,

  And an Annunciation hymn he sang,

  And after that he sang the king’s note,4

  Full often blessed was his merry throat.

  And thus this sweet student his living spent

  After his freendes finding and his rente.

  This Carpenter had wedded newe a wyf

  Which that he lovede more than his lyf;

  Of eightetene yeer she was of age.

  Jalous he was, and heeld hir narwe in cage,

  For she was wilde and yong, and he was old,

  And demed him-self ben lyk a cokewold.

  He knew nat Catoun, for his wit was rude,

  That bad man sholde wedde his similitude.

  Men sholde wedden after hir estaat,

  For youthe and elde is often at debaat.

  But sith that he was fallen in the snare,

  He moste endure, as other folk, his care.
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  Fair was this yonge wyf, and ther-with-al

  As any wesele hir body gent and smal.

  A ceynt she werede barred al of silk,

  A barmclooth eek as whyt as morne milk

  Up-on hir lendes, ful of many a gore.

  Whyt was hir smok and brouded al bifore

  And eek bihinde, on hir coler aboute,

  Of col-blak silk, with-inne and eek with-oute.

  The tapes of hir whyte voluper

  Were of the same suyte of hir coler;

  Hir filet brood of silk, and set ful hye:

  And sikerly she hadde a likerous ye.

  Ful smale y-pulled were hir browes two,

  And tho were bent, and blake as any sloo.

  She was ful more blisful on to see

  Than is the newe pere-jonette tree;

  And softer than the wolle is of a wether.

  And by hir girdel heeng a purs of lether

  Tasseld with silk, and perled with latoun.

  In al this world, to seken up and doun,

  There nis no man so wys, that coude thenche

  So gay a popelote, or swich a wenche.

  Ful brighter was the shyning of hir hewe

  Than in the tour the noble y-forged newe.

  But of hir song, it was as loude and yerne

  As any swalwe sittinge on a berne.

  From a private income and gifts from friends.

  This carpenter had newly wedded a wife

  Whom he loved more than his life;

  Of eighteen years she was of age.

  Jealous he was, and held her as in a cage,

  For she was wild and young, and he was old

  And deemed himself likely to be a cuckold.

  He knew not Cato, for he was untaught,

  Who bade man should wed his counterpart.

  Men should wed according to their condition,

  For youth and age often are in opposition.

  But since he was fallen in the snare,

  He must endure, as other folk, his care.

  Fair was this young wife, and all in all

  As any weasel her body graceful and small.

  A belt she wore striped all of silk;

  An apron also as white as morning milk

  Upon her loins, very fully cut.

  White was her dress, and embroidered all before

  And also behind, on her collar about,

  Of coal-black silk, within and without.

  The strings of her white bonnet

  Were of the same kind as her collar;

  Her headband broad of silk, and set full high.

  And certainly she had a lecherous eye:

  Full small plucked were her brows two,

  And they were arched, and black as any berry.

  She was full more blissful for to see

  Than is the blossoming pear-jonette tree;

  And softer than the wool is of a wether.

  And by her waist hung a purse of leather

  Tasseled with silk, and studded with metal.

  In all this world, to seek up and down,

  There is no man so wise who could imagine

  So gay a baby doll, or such a wench.

  Full brighter was the shining of her complexion

  Than in the Tower the coin of new-forged gold.

  But as to her song, it was lively and loud

  As any swallow sitting on a barn.

  Ther-to she coude skippe and make game,

  As any kide or calf folwinge his dame.

  Hir mouth was swete as bragot or the meeth

  Or hord of apples leyd in hey or heeth.

  Winsinge she was, as is a joly colt,

  Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.

  A brooch she baar up-on hir lowe coler,

  As brood as is the bos of a bocler.

  Hir shoes were laced on hir legges hye;

  She was a prymerole, a pigges-nye

  For any lord to leggen in his bedde,

  Or yet for any good yeman to wedde.

  Now sire, and eft sire, so bifel the cas,

  That on a day this hende Nicholas

  Fil with this yonge wyf to rage and pleye,

  Whyl that hir housbond was at Oseneye,

  As clerkes ben ful subtile and ful queynte;

  And prively he caughte hir by the queynte,

  And seyde, “y-wis, but if ich have my wille,

  For derne love of thee, lemman, I spille.”

  And heeld hir harde by the haunche-bones,

  And seyde, “lemman, love me al at-ones,

  Or I wol dyen, also god me save!”

  And she sprong as a colt doth in the trave,

  And with hir heed she wryed faste awey,

  And seyde, “I wol nat kisse thee, by my fey,

  Why, lat be,” quod she, “lat be, Nicholas,

  Or I wol crye out ‘harrow’ and ‘alias.’

  Do wey your handes for your curteisye!”

  This Nicholas gan mercy for to crye,

  And spak so faire, and profred hir so faste,

  That she hir love him graunted atte laste,

  And swoor hir ooth, by seint Thomas of Kent,

  That she wol been at his comandement,

  Whan that she may hir leyser wel espye.

  “Myn housbond is so ful of jalousye,

  That but ye wayte wel and been privee,

  I woot right wel I nam but deed,” quod she.

  “Ye moste been ful derne, as in this cas.”

  Thereto she could skip and gambol,

  As any kid or calf following his mother.

  Her mouth was sweet as honeyed ale

  Or hoard of apples laid in hay or heather.

  Skittish she was, as is a jolly colt,

  Long as a mast, and straight as an arrow.

  A brooch she bore upon her collar low,

  As broad as is the boss of a shield;

  Her shoes were laced on her legs high.

  She was a primrose, a cuckooflower,

  For any lord to lay in his bed,

  Or yet for any good yeoman to wed.

  Now sir, and again sir, so befell the case,

  That on a day this polite, clever Nicholas

  Happened with this young wife to flirt and play,

  While her husband was at Osney,5

  As scholars be full subtle and slippery.

  And in private he caught her by her quack,6

  And said, “Unless I have my will,

  My love for you will make me crack.”

  And held her hard by the bum,

  And said, “Sweetheart, love me at once,

  Or I will die, as God me save!”

  And she sprang as a colt does from the shoeing stall,

  And with her head she twisted fast away,

  And said, “I will not kiss you, by my faith.

  Why, leave off,” said she, “leave off, Nicholas,

  Or I will cry ‘help, help’nd‘alas.’

  Take your hands away, for your courtesy!”

  This Nicholas began mercy for to cry,

  And spoke so fair, and offered himself so fast,

  That she her love granted him at last,

  And swore her oath, by Saint Thomas of Kent,

  That she would be at his commandment,

  When she may her chance espy.

  “My husband is so full of jealousy,

  That unless you wait well and be discreet,

  I am as good as dead,” said she. “You must be

  Completely secret in this case.”

  “Nay ther-of care thee noght,” quod Nicholas,

  “A clerk had litherly biset his whyle,

  But-if he coude a carpenter bigyle.”

  And thus they been acorded and y-sworn

  To wayte a tyme, as I have told biforn.

  Whan Nicholas had doon thus everydeel,

  And thakked hir aboute the lendes weel,

  He kist hir swete, and taketh his sautrye,


  And pleyeth faste, and maketh melodye.

  Than fil it thus, that to the parish-chirche,

  Cristes owne werkes for to wirche,

  This gode wyf wente on an haliday;

  Hir forheed shoon as bright as any day,

  So was it wasshen whan she leet hir werk.

  Now was ther of that chirche a parish-clerk,

  The which that was y-cleped Absolon.

  Crul was his heer, and as the gold it shoon,

  And strouted as a fanne large and brode;

  Ful streight and even lay his joly shode.

  His rode was reed, his eyen greye as goos;

  With Powles window corven on his shoos,

  In hoses rede he wente fetisly

  Y-clad he was ful smal and proprely,

  Al in a kirtel of a light wachet;

  Ful faire and thikke been the poyntes set.

  And ther-up-on he hadde a gay surplys

  As whyt as is the blosme up-on the rys.

  A mery child he was, so god me save,

  Wel coude he laten blood and clippe and shave,

  And make a chartre of lond or acquitaunce.

  In twenty manere coude he trippe and daunce

  After the scole of Oxenforde tho,

  And with his legges casten to and fro,

  And pleyen songes on a small rubible;

  Ther-to he song som-tyme a loud quinible;

  And as wel coude he pleye on his giterne.

  In al the toun nas brewhous ne taverne

  That he ne visited with his solas,

  Ther any gaylard tappestere was.

  “Nay, thereof care you not,” said Nicholas.

  “A scholar has poorly used his time awhile,

  If he cannot a carpenter beguile.”

  And thus they were accorded and sworn

  To wait awhile, as I have told before.

  When Nicholas had done this all,

  And stroked her about her loins well,

  He kissed her sweet, and took his zither,

  And played hard, and made melody with her.

  Then befell it thus, that to the parish church,

  To perform Christ’s own works,

  This good wife went on a holy day;

  Her forehead shone as bright as any day,

  So was it washed when she left her work.

  Now there was of that church a parish clerk,7

  Who was called Absolon.

  Curly was his hair, and as the gold it shone,

  And spread out as a fan broad and large;

  Full straight and even lay his hair parted.

  His complexion was red, his eyes gray as a goose;

  With Saint Paul’s windows cut in his shoes,8

  In stockings red he went trimly.

  Clad he was full tightly and properly,

  All in a coat of a light blue;

  Neatly tied were the laces,

  And thereupon he had a gay surplice

  As white as the blossom upon the twig.