Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

  A merry young man he was, so God me save.

  Well could he let blood9 and cut hair and shave,

  And make a charter of land or a deed of release.

  In twenty ways could he trip and dance

  After the fashion of Oxford then,

  With his legs cast to and fro,

  And play songs on a small fiddle;

  Thereto he sang sometime in a high treble;

  As well could he play on a guitar.

  In all the town there was no brewhouse or tavern

  That he did not visit with his play,

  Where there was any gay barmaid.

  But sooth to seyn, he was somdel squaymous

  Of farting, and of speche daungerous.

  This Absolon, that jolif was and gay,

  Gooth with a sencer on the haliday,

  Sensinge the wyves of the parish faste;

  And many a lovely look on hem he caste,

  And namely on this carpenteres wyf.

  To loke on hir him thoughte a mery lyf,

  She was so propre and swete and likerous.

  I dar wel seyn, if she had been a mous,

  And he a cat, he wolde hir hente anon.

  This parish-clerk, this joly Absolon,

  Hath in his herte swich a love-longinge,

  That of no wyf ne took he noon offringe;

  For curteisye, he seyde, he wolde noon.

  The mone, whan it was night, ful brighte shoon,

  And Absolon his giterne hath y-take,

  For paramours, he thoghte for to wake.

  And forth he gooth, jolif and amorous,

  Til he cam to the carpenteres hous

  A litel after cokkes hadde y-crowe;

  And dressed him up by a shot-windowe

  That was up-on the carpenteres wal.

  He singeth in his vois gentil and smal,

  “Now, dere lady, if thy wille be,

  I preye yow that ye wol rewe on me,”

  Ful wel acordaunt to his giterninge.

  This carpenter awook, and herde him singe,

  And spak un-to his wyf, and seyde anon,

  “What! Alison! herestow nat Absolon

  That chaunteth thus under our boures wal?”

  And she answerde hir housbond ther-with-al,

  “Yis, god wot, John, I here it every-del.”

  This passeth forth; what wol ye bet than wel?

  Fro day to day this joly Absolon

  So woweth hir, that him is wo bigon.

  He waketh al the night and al the day;

  He kempte hise lokkes brode, and made him gay;

  He woweth hir by menes and brocage,

  But truth to say, he was somewhat squeamish

  Of farting, and of speech fastidious.

  This Absolon, who amorous was and gay,

  Went with a censer on the holy day,

  Censing the wives of the parish with care,

  And many a loving look on them he cast,

  And namely on this carpenter’s wife:

  To look on her he thought a merry life.

  She was so sweet and flirtatious,

  I dare well say, if she had been a mouse,

  And he a cat, he would have pounced.

  This parish clerk, this jolly Absolon,

  Had in his heart such a love-longing,

  That from no wife he took an offering;

  For courtesy, he said, he wanted none.

  The moon, when it was night, full bright shone,

  And Absolon his guitar had taken—

  For paramours he would stay awake.

  And forth he went, jolly and amorous,

  Till he came to the carpenter’s house

  A little after cocks had crowed,

  And took his place near an open window

  That was upon the carpenter’s wall.

  He sang in his voice thin and high,

  “Now, dear lady, if your will be,

  I pray that you will have pity on me,”

  In nice harmony with his guitar.

  This carpenter awoke and heard him sing,

  And spoke unto his wife, and said anon,

  “What, Alison, do you hear Absolon

  Who sings thus under our bedroom wall?”

  And she answered her husband forthwith,

  “Yes, God knows, John, I hear it all.”

  So this went on. What more can I say?

  From day to day this jolly Absolon

  So wooed her that he was woebegone.

  He stayed awake all night and all the day;

  He combed his locks broad, and made him gay;

  He wooed her through intercessors,

  And swoor he wolde been hir owne page;

  He singeth, brokkinge as a nightingale;

  He sente hir piment, meeth, and spyced ale,

  And wafres, pyping hote out of the glede;

  And for she was of toune, he profred mede.

  For som folk wol ben wonnen for richesse,

  And som for strokes, and som for gentillesse.

  Somtyme, to shewe his lightnesse and maistrye,

  He pleyeth Herodes on a scaffold hye.

  But what availleth him as in this cas?

  She loveth so this hende Nicholas,

  That Absolon may blowe the bukkes horn;

  He ne hadde for his labour but a scorn;

  And thus she maketh Absolon hir ape,

  And al his ernest turneth til a jape.

  Ful sooth is this proverbe, it is no lye,

  Men seyn right thus, “alwey the nye slye

  Maketh the ferre leve to be looth.”

  For though that Absolon be wood or wrooth,

  By-cause that he fer was from hir sighte,

  This nye Nicholas stood in his lighte.

  Now bere thee wel, thou hende Nicholas!

  For Absolon may waille and singe “allas.”

  And so bifel it on a Saterday

  This carpenter was goon til Osenay;

  And hende Nicholas and Alisoun

  Acorded been to this conclusioun,

  That Nicholas shal shapen him a wyle

  This sely jalous housbond to bigyle;

  And if so be the game wente aright,

  She sholde slepen in his arm al night,

  For this was his desyr and hir also.

  And right anon, with-outen wordes mo,

  This Nicholas no lenger wolde tarie,

  But doth ful softe un-to his chambre carie

  Bothe mete and drinke for a day or tweye,

  And to hir housbonde bad hir for to seye,

  If that he axed after Nicholas,

  She sholde seye she niste where he was,

  And he swore he would be her own page;

  He sang, trilling like a nightingale;

  And sent her spiced wine, mead, and spiced ale,

  And wafer cakes, piping hot out of the oven;

  And he also offered money.

  For some folk will be won by riches,

  And some by blows, and some by kindness.

  Sometime, to show his agility and skill,

  He played Herod10 on the high stage.

  But what did it avail him in this case?

  She loved so this sweet Nicholas,

  That Absolon didn’t have a hope;

  For his labor he got nothing but scorn.

  And thus she made Absolon her monkey,

  And all his earnestness turned into a joke.

  For truth is in this proverb, it is no lie,

  Men say right thus, “A bird in the hand

  Is worth two in the bushes.”

  For no matter that Absolon might be undone,

  By cause that he was far from her sight,

  This nearby Nicholas stood in his light.

  Now bear you well, you sweet Nicholas!

  For Absolon may wail and sing “alas.”

  And so befell it on a Saturday,

  This carpenter was gone to Osney,

  And sweet
Nicholas and Alison

  Agreed to this conclusion,

  That Nicholas shall invent a wile

  This silly husband to beguile;

  And if the game went aright,

  She should sleep in his arms all night,

  For this was his desire and hers also.

  And right anon, without words more,

  This Nicholas no longer would tarry,

  But secretly into his chamber carries

  Both meat and drink for a day or two,

  And to her husband bade her to say,

  If that he asked after Nicholas,

  She should say she didn’t know where he was,

  Of al that day she saugh him nat with ye;

  She trowed that he was in maladye,

  For, for no cry, hir mayde coude him calle;

  He nolde answere, for no-thing that mighte falle.

  This passeth forth al thilke Saterday,

  That Nicholas stille in his chambre lay,

  And eet and sleep, or dide what him leste,

  Til Sonday, that the sonne gooth to reste.

  This sely carpenter hath greet merveyle

  Of Nicholas, or what thing mighte him eyle,

  And seyde, “I am adrad, by seint Thomas,

  It stondeth nat aright with Nicholas.

  God shilde that he deyde sodeynly!

  This world is now ful tikel, sikerly;

  I saugh to-day a cors y-born to chirche

  That now, on Monday last, I saugh him wirche.

  “Go up,” quod he un-to his knave anoon,

  “Clepe at his dore, or knokke with a stoon,

  Loke how it is, and tel me boldely.”

  This knave gooth him up ful sturdily,

  And at the chambre-dore, whyl that he stood,

  He cryde and knokked as that he were wood:—

  “What! how! what do ye, maister Nicholay?

  How may ye slepen al the longe day?”

  But al for noght, he herde nat a word;

  An hole he fond, ful lowe up-on a board,

  Ther as the cat was wont in for to crepe;

  And at that hole he looked in ful depe,

  And at the laste he hadde of him a sighte,

  This Nicholas sat gaping ever up-righte,

  As he had kyked on the newe mone.

  Adoun he gooth, and tolde his maister sone

  In what array he saugh this ilke man.

  This carpenter to blessen him bigan,

  And seyde, “help us, seinte Frideswyde!

  A man woot litel what him shal bityde.

  This man is falle, with his astromye,

  In som woodnesse or in som agonye;

  I thoghte ay wel how that it sholde be!

  During all that day she saw him not with eye,

  She believed he had a malady,

  For although she called him a lot

  He wouldn’t answer, no matter what.

  This went on all that Saturday,

  That Nicholas still in his chamber lay,

  And ate and slept, or did what he pleased,

  Till Sunday, when the sun went to rest.

  This silly carpenter had greatly marvelled

  At Nicholas, or what thing might him ail,

  And said, “I am afraid, by Saint Thomas,

  Something is wrong with Nicholas.

  God forbid that he should die suddenly!

  This world is now unstable, surely:

  I saw today a corpse borne to church

  Who now, on Monday last, I saw him work.

  “Go up,” said he to his servant anon,

  “Call at his door, or knock with a stone,

  Look how he is, and tell me straightaway.”

  This servant went up full sturdily,

  And at the chamber door, while that he stood

  He cried and knocked as if he were crazy:

  “What! How are you, master Nicholay?

  How can you sleep all the long day?”

  But all for nought, he heard not a word.

  A hole he found, full low upon a board,

  There where the cat was wont to creep;

  And at that hole he looked in full deep,

  And at last he had of him a sight.

  This Nicholas sat ever staring upward,

  As if half gone he gazed at the new moon.

  Down he went, and told his master soon

  In what shape he saw this same man.

  This carpenter to cross himself began,

  And said, “Help us, Saint Frideswide!11

  A man knows little what shall him betide.

  This man is fallen, with his astromony,12

  Into some madness or in some fit;

  I knew well all along what might happen!

  Men sholde nat knowe of goddes privetee.

  Ye, blessed be alwey a lewed man,

  That noght but only his bileve can!

  So ferde another clerk with astromye;

  He walked in the feeldes for to prye

  Up-on the sterres, what ther sholde bifalle,

  Til he was in a marle-pit y-falle;

  He saugh nat that. But yet, by seint Thomas,

  Me reweth sore of hende Nicholas.

  He shal be rated of his studying,

  If that I may, by Jesus, hevene king!

  Get me a staf, that I may underspore,

  Whyl that thou, Robin, hevest up the dore.

  He shal out of his studying, as I gesse”—

  And to the chambre-dore he gan him dresse.

  His knave was a strong carl for the nones,

  And by the haspe he haf it up atones;

  In-to the floor the dore fil anon.

  This Nicholas sat ay as stille as stoon,

  And ever gaped upward in-to the eir.

  This carpenter wende he were in despeir,

  And hente him by the sholdres mightily,

  And shook him harde, and cryde spitously,

  “What! Nicholay! what, how! what! loke adoun!

  Awake, and thenk on Cristes passioun;

  I crouche thee from elves and

  fro wightes!”

  Ther-with the night-spel seyde he anon-rightes

  On foure halves of the hous aboute,

  And on the threshfold of the dore with-oute:—

  “Jesu Crist, and seynt Benedight,

  Blesse this hous from every wikked wight,

  For nightes verye, the white paternoster!—

  Where wentestow, seynt Petres soster?’

  And atte laste this hende Nicholas

  Gan for to syke sore, and seyde, “allas!

  Shal al the world be lost eftsonnes now?”

  This carpenter answerde, “what seystow?

  What! thenk on god, as we don, men that swinke.”

  Men should not know God’s secrets.

  Yes, blessed be always an unlearned man

  Who nought but his religion knows!

  So fared another scholar with astromony:

  He walked in the fields for to spy

  Upon the stars, to learn what the future would hold,

  Till he was in a clay pit fallen—

  He saw not that. But yet, by Saint Thomas,

  I pity greatly sweet Nicholas.

  He shall be berated for his studying,

  If that I may, by Jesus, heaven’s king!

  Get me a staff, that I may pry up,

  While that you, Robin, push on the door.

  He shall come out of his studying, as I guess.”

  And the chamber door he began to address.

  His knave was a strong fellow for this task,

  And by the hasp he heaved it off at once;

  Onto the floor the door fell anon.

  This Nicholas sat ever as still as a stone,

  And ever stared upward into the air.

  This carpenter thought he was in despair,

  And seized him by the shoulders mightily,

  And shook him hard, and cried violently
,

  ”What, Nicholay! What, how! What, look adown!

  Awake, and think on Christ’s passion!

  This sign of the cross will protect you from elves

  and such!”

  Therewith the night charm said he at once

  On all four sides of the house about,

  And on the threshhold of the front door without:

  “Jesus Christ, and Saint Benedict,

  Bless this house from every creature wicked,

  For nights, the white paternoster!13

  Where did you go, Saint Peter’s sister?”

  And at last this sweet Nicholas

  Began to sigh deeply, and said, “Alas!

  Shall all the world be lost again so soon?”

  This carpenter answered, “What say you?

  What! Think on God, as we do, men who labor!”

  This Nicholas answerde, “fecche me drinke;

  And after wol I speke in privetee

  Of certeyn thing that toucheth me and thee;

  I wol telle it non other man, certeyn.”

  This carpenter goth doun, and comth ageyn,

  And broghte of mighty ale a large quart;

  And when that ech of hem had dronke his part,

  This Nicholas his dore faste shette,

  And doun the carpenter by him he sette.

  He seyde, “John, myn hoste lief and dere,

  Thou shalt up-on thy trouthe swere me here,

  That to no wight thou shalt this conseil wreye;

  For it is Cristes conseil that I seye,

  And if thou telle it man, thou are forlore;

  For this vengaunce thou shalt han therfore,

  That if thou wreye me, thou shalt be wood!”

  “Nay, Crist forbede it, for his holy blood!”

  Quod tho this sely man, “I nam no labbe,

  Ne, though I seye, I nam nat lief to gabbe.

  Sey what thou wolt, I shal it never telle

  To child ne wyf, by him that harwed helle!”

  “Now John,” quod Nicholas, “I wol nat lye;

  I have y-founde in myn astrologye,

  As I have loked in the mone bright,

  That now, a Monday next, at quarter-night,

  Shal falle a reyn and that so wilde and wood,

  That half so greet was never Noes flood.

  This world,” he seyde, “in lasse than in an hour

  Shal al be dreynt, so hidous is the shour;

  Thus shal mankynde drenche and lese hir lyf.”

  This carpenter answerde, “allas, my wyf!

  And shal she drenche? alias! myn Alisoun!”

  For sorwe of this he fil almost adoun,

  And seyde, “is ther no remedie in this cas?”

  “Why, yis, for gode,” quod hende Nicholas,

  “If thou wolt werken after lore

  and reed;

  Thou mayst nat werken after thyn owene heed.

  For thus seith Salomon, that was ful trewe,

  This Nicholas answered, “Fetch me drink;

  And after will I speak in secrecy