The more wol I stele whan I take.
In stede of flour, yet wol I yeve hem bren.
‘The gretteste clerkes been noght the wysest men,’
As whylom to the wolf thus spak the mare;
Of al hir art I counte noght a tare.”
Out at the dore he gooth ful prively,
Whan that he saugh his tyme, softely;
He loketh up and doun til he hath founde
The clerkes hors, ther as it stood y-bounde
Bihinde the mille, under a levesel;
And to the hors he gooth him faire and wel;
He strepeth of the brydel right anon.
And whan the hors was loos, he ginneth gon
Toward the fen, ther wide mares renne,
Forth with wehee, thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne.
This miller smyled of hir nycetee,
But dooth his note, and with the clerkes pleyde,
Til that hir corn was faire and wel y-grounde.
And whan the mele is sakked and y-bounde,
This John goth out and fynt his hors away,
And gan to crye “harrow” and “weylaway!
Our hors is lorn! Alayn, for goddes banes,
Step on thy feet, com out, man, al at anes!
“By God, right by the hopper will I stand,”
Said John, “and see how the wheat goes in.
Yet saw I never, by my father’s kin,
How that the hopper wags to and fro.”
Allen answered, “John, and will you do so?
Then will I be beneath, by my head,
And see how the meal falls down
Into the trough; that shall be my disport.
For John, in faith, I may be of your sort:
I am as bad a miller as are you.”
This miller smiled at their foolishness,
And thought, “all this is done but as a trick.
They think no man can them beguile,
But, by my thrift, yet will I blur their eyes
For all the sleight in their philosophy.
The more sly moves that they make,
The more will I steal when I take.
Instead of flour, yet will I give them bran.
‘The greatest scholars be not the wisest men,’
As once to the wolf thus spoke the mare;
Of all their art count I not a tare.”
Out at the door he went full stealthily,
When that he saw his time, softly;
He looked up and down till he had found
The scholars’ horse, there where it stood bound
Behind the mill, under a trellis.
And to the horse he went fair and well;
He stripped off the bridle right anon.
And when the horse was loose, it was gone
Toward the meadow, where the wild mares run,
Forth with “whinny,” through thick and through thin.
This miller went in again, no word he said,
But did his job, and with the scholars joked,
Till that their flour was fair and well ground.
And when the flour was sacked and bound,
This John went out and found his horse away,
And began to cry “help” and “wellaway!
Our horse is lost! Allen, for God’s bones,
Step on it! come on, man, and at once!
Alias, our wardeyn has his palfrey lorn.”
This Aleyn al forgat, bothe mele and corn,
Al was out of his mynde his housebondrye.
“What? whilk way is he geen?” he gan to crye.
The wyf cam leping inward with a ren,
She seyde, “allas! your hors goth to the fen
With wilde mares, as faste as he may go.
Unthank come on his hand that bond him so,
And he that bettre sholde han knit the reyne.”
“Allas,” quod John, “Aleyn, for Cristes peyne,
Lay doun thy swerd, and I wil myn alswa;
I is ful wight, god waat, as is a raa;
By goddes herte he sal nat scape us bathe.
Why nadstow pit the capul in the lathe?
Il-hayl, by god, Aleyn, thou is a fonne!”
Thic sely clerkes han ful faste y-ronne
To-ward the fen, bothe Aleyn and eek John.
And whan the miller saugh that they were gon
He half a busshel of hir flour hath take,
And bad his wyf go knede it in a cake.
He seyde, “I trowe the clerkes were aferd;
Yet can a miller make a clerkes berd
For al his art; now lat hem goon hir weye.
Lo wher they goon, ye, lat the children pleye;
They gete him nat so lightly, by my croun!”
Thise sely clerkes rennen up and doun
With “keep, keep, stand, stand, jossa, warderere,
Ga whistle thou, and I shal kepe him here!”
But shortly, til that it was verray night,
They coude nat, though they do al hir might,
Hir capul cacche, he ran alwey so faste,
Til in a dich they caughte him atte laste.
Wery and weet, as beste is in the reyn,
Comth sely John, and with him comth Aleyn.
“Allas,” quod John, “the day that I was born!
Now are we drive til hething and til scorn.
Our corn is stole, men wil us foles calle,
Bathe the wardeyn and our felawes alle,
And namely the miller; weylaway!”
Alas, our warden has his palfrey gone!”
This Allen forgot both flour and grain;
All was out of his mind his careful plan.
”What, which way is he gone?” he began to cry.
The wife came leaping inside at a run;
She said, “Alas! Your horse went to the fen
With wild mares, as fast as he may go.
No thanks to the hand that hitched him so,
And he who better should tie the reins.”
“Alas,” said John, “Allen, for Christ’s pain,
Lay down your sword, I will mine also.
I am full swift, God knows, as is a deer;
By God’s heart he shall not escape us both!
Why didn’t you put him in the barn?
Bad luck, by God, Allen, you are a fool!”
These foolish scholars have full fast run
Toward the meadow, both Allen and also John.
And when the miller saw that they were gone,
He half a bushel of their flour has taken,
And bade his wife go knead it into a cake.3
He said, “I believe the scholars were suspicious,
Yet can a miller outsmart a scholar
For all their art, now let them go their way.
Lo, where he goes! Yes, let the children play.
They won’t easily catch him, by my head!”
These silly scholars ran up and down
With “Keep! keep! stand! down here! look out behind!
Go whistle you, and I shall keep him here!”
But in short, until it was truly night,
They could not, though they tried with all their might,
Catch their horse, he ran away so fast,
Till in a ditch they caught him at last.
Weary and wet, as creatures in the rain,
Comes silly John, and with him comes Allen.
“Alas,” said John, “the day that I was born!
Now are we driven into mockery and scorn.
Our wheat is stolen, men will us fools call,
Both the warden and our companions all,
And especially the miller, wellaway!”
Thus pleyneth John as he goth by the way
Toward the mille, and Bayard in his hond.
The miller sitting by the fyr he fond,
For it was night, and forther nighte they noght;
But, for the love of god, they him bisoght
/> Of herberwe and of ese, as for hir peny.
The miller seyde agayn, “if ther be eny,
Swich as it is, yet shal ye have your part.
Myn hous is streit, but ye han lerned art;
Ye conne by argumentes make a place
A myle brood of twenty foot of space.
Lat see now if this place may suffyse,
Or make it roum with speche, as is youre gyse.”
“Now, Symond,” seyde John, “by seint Cutberd,
Ay is thou mery, and this is faire answerd.
I have herd seyd, man sal taa of twa thinges
Slyk as he fyndes, or taa slyk as he bringes.
But specially, I pray thee, hoste dere,
Get us some mete and drinke, and make us chere,
And we wil payen trewely atte fulle.
With empty hand men may na haukes tulle;
Lo here our silver, redy for to spende.”
This miller in-to toun his doghter sende
For ale and breed, and rosted hem a goos,
And bond hir hors, it sholde nat gon loos;
And in his owne chambre hem made a bed
With shetes and with chalons faire y-spred,
Noght from his owne bed ten foot or twelve.
His doghter hadde a bed, al by hir-selve,
Right in the same chambre, by and by;
It might be no bet, and cause why,
Ther was no roumer herberwe in the place.
They soupen and they speke, hem to solace,
And drinken ever strong ale atte beste.
Aboute midnight wente they to reste.
Wel hath this miller vernisshed his heed;
Ful pale he was for-dronken, and nat reed.
He yexeth, and he speketh thurgh the nose
As he were on the quakke, or on the pose.
Thus complained John as he went by the way
Toward the mill, and horse Bayard in his hand.
The miller sitting by the fire they found,
For it was night, and go further they might not.
But for the love of God they him besought
Of lodging and rest, and offered their penny.
The miller said to them, “If there be any,
Such as it is, yet shall you have your part.
My house is small, but you have learned art:
You know how by arguments to make a place
A mile broad from twenty foot of space.
Let’s see now if this place may suffice—
Or make it roomy with talk, as is your way.”
“Now, Simon,” said John, “by Saint Cuthbert,4
You’re a funny man, and that’s a good answer.
I have heard said, ‘man shall take of two things:
Such as he finds, or such as he brings.’
But specially, I pray you, host dear,
Get us some meat and drink and make us good cheer,
And we will pay truly at full;
With empty hand men may not hawks lure.
Lo, here is our silver, ready for to spend.”
This miller into town his daughter sent
For ale and bread, and roasted them a goose,
And hitched their horse, it should no more get loose;
And in his own chamber them made a bed
With sheets and blankets fairly spread,
Not far from his own bed ten foot or twelve.
His daughter had a bed, all by herself,
Right in the same chamber, side by side.
It might be no better arranged, was the reason why,
There was no larger lodging in the place.
They supped and they talked, themselves to enjoy,
And drank very strong ale of the best.
About midnight went they to rest.
Well had this miller plastered his head:
So drunk he was full pale, not red;
He hiccupped, and he spoke through the nose
As if he were hoarse, or had a cold.
To bedde he gooth, and with him goth his wyf.
As any jay she light was and jolyf,
So was hir joly whistle wel y-wet.
The cradel at hir beddes feet is set,
To rokken, and to yeve the child to souke.
And whan that dronken al was in the crouke,
To bedde went the doghter right anon;
To bedde gooth Aleyn and also John;
Ter nas na more, hem nedede no dwale.
This miller hath so wisly bibbed ale,
That as an hors he snorteth in his sleep,
Ne of his tayl bihinde he took no keep.
His wyf bar him a burdon, a ful strong,
Men mighte hir routing here two furlong;
The wenche routeth eek par companye.
Aleyn the clerk, that herd this melodye,
He poked John, and seyde, “slepestow?
Herdestow ever slyk a sang er now?
Lo, whilk a compline is y-mel hem alle!
A wilde fyr up-on thair bodyes falle!
Wha herkned ever slyk a ferly thing?
Ye, they sal have the flour of il ending.
This lange night ther tydes me na reste;
But yet, na fors; al sal be for the beste.
For John,” seyde he, “als ever moot I thryve
If that I may, yon wenche wil I swyve.
Som esement has lawe y-shapen us;
For John, ther is a lawe that says thus,
That gif a man in a point be y-greved,
That in another he sal be releved.
Our corn is stoln, shortly, it is na nay,
And we han had an il fit al this day.
And sin I sal have neen amendement,
Agayn my los I wil have esement.
By goddes saule, it sal neen other be!”
This John answerde, “Alayn, avyse thee,
The miller is a perilous man,” he seyde,
“And gif that he out of his sleep abreyde
He mighte doon us bathe a vileinye.”
To bed he went, and with him went his wife—
As any jay she was cheerful and jolly,
So was her whistle well-wetted.
The cradle at their bed’s foot is set,
To rock, and to give the child to suck.
And when they had drunk all in the jug,
To bed went the daughter right anon;
To bed went Allen and also John;
There was no more, they needed no sleeping potion.
This miller had so deeply imbibed ale,
That like a horse he snored in his sleep,
And of his tail behind he took no heed.
His wife sang bass, and full strong:
Men might their snoring hear from two furlongs;
The wench snored also to keep them company.
Allen the scholar, who heard this melody,
He poked John, and said, “Are you asleep?
Heard you ever such a song before now?
Lo, such an evensong they sing all!
A fiery rash upon their bodies fall!
Who heard ever such a weird thing?
Yes, they shall have the flour of this bad ending.
This long night promises me no rest;
But yet, no matter, all shall be for the best.
For John,” said he, “as ever may I thrive,
If that I may, to yon wench will I make love.
Some redress has law provided for us.
For John, there is a law that says thus,
That if a man in one point be aggrieved,
That in another he shall be relieved.
Our wheat is stolen, there’s no denying,
And we’ve had a miserable time this day.
And since I shall have no amends
Against my loss, I will have redress.
By God’s soul, it shall not otherwise be!”
This John answered, “Allen, take heed,
This miller is a dangerous ma
n,” he said,
“And if he out of his sleep awakens,
He might do us both an injury.”
Aleyn answerde, “I count him nat a flye;”
And up he rist, and by the wenche he crepte.
This wenche lay upright, and faste slepte,
Til he so ny was, er she mighte espye,
That it had been to late for to crye,
And shortly for to seyn, they were at on;
Now pley, Aleyn! for I wol speke of John.
This John lyth stille a furlong-wey or two,
And to him-self he maketh routhe and wo:
“Allas!” quod he, “this is a wikked jape;
Now may I seyn that I is but an ape.
Yet has my felawe som-what for his harm;
He has the milleris doghter in his arm.
He auntred him, and has his nedes sped,
And I lye as a draf-sek in my bed;
And when this jape is tald another day,
I sal been halde a daf, a cokenay!
I wil aryse, and auntre it, by my fayth!
‘Unhardy is unsely,’ thus men sayth.”
And up he roos and softely he wente
Un-to the cradel, and in his hand it hente,
And baar it softe un-to his beddes feet.
Sone after this the wyf hir routing leet,
And gan awake, and wente hir out to pisse,
And cam agayn, and gan hir cradel misse,
And groped heer and ther, but she fond noon.
“Allas!” quod she, “I hadde almost misgoon;
I hadde almost gon to the clerkes bed.
Ey, ben‘cite! thanne hadde I foule y-sped:”
And forth she gooth til she the cradel fond.
She gropeth alwey forther with hir hond,
And fond the bed, and thoghte noght but good,
By-cause that the cradel by it stood,
And niste wher she was, for it was derk;
But faire and wel she creep in to the clerk,
And lyth ful stille, and wolde han caught a sleep.
With-inne a whyl this John the clerk up leep,
And on this gode wyf he leyth on sore.
So mery a fit ne hadde she nat ful yore;
Allen answered, “I count him not a fly.”
And up he rose, and by the wench he crept.
This wench lay on her back, and fast slept
Till he so close was, if she might him see,
That it would have been too late for her to cry,
And to make it short, they were at one;
Now play, Allen! For will I speak of John.
This John lies still for a moment or two,
And to himself he makes lamentation and woe:
“Alas!” said he, “this is a wicked joke.
Now may I say that I am but an ape.
Yet has my fellow something for his harm:
He has the miller’s daughter in his arm.
He took a risk, and has his needs fed,
And I lie like a straw sack in my bed.
Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 28
