Canterbury Tales and Other Poems by Geoffrey Chaucer (always you kirsty moseley .txt) 📖

correct reading.

 

84. As I came never I cannot telle where: Where it went I cannot tell you, as I was not there. Tyrwhitt thinks that Chaucer is sneering at Boccacio’s pompous account of the passage of Arcite’s soul to heaven. Up to this point, the description of the death-scene is taken literally from the “Theseida.”

 

85. With sluttery beard, and ruggy ashy hairs: With neglected beard, and rough hair strewn with ashes. “Flotery” is the general reading; but “sluttery” seems to be more in keeping with the picture of abandonment to grief.

 

86. Master street: main street; so Froissart speaks of “le souverain carrefour.”

 

87. Y-wrie: covered, hid; Anglo-Saxon, “wrigan,” to veil.

 

88. Emily applied the funeral torch. The “guise” was, among the ancients, for the nearest relative of the deceased to do this, with averted face.

 

89. It was the custom for soldiers to march thrice around the funeral pile of an emperor or general; “on the left hand” is added, in reference to the belief that the left hand was propitious — the Roman augur turning his face southward, and so placing on his left hand the east, whence good omens came.

With the Greeks, however, their augurs facing the north, it was just the contrary. The confusion, frequent in classical writers, is complicated here by the fact that Chaucer’s description of the funeral of Arcite is taken from Statius’ “Thebaid” — from a Roman’s account of a Greek solemnity.

 

90. Lyke-wake: watching by the remains of the dead; from Anglo-Saxon, “lice,” a corpse; German, “Leichnam.”

 

91. Chaucer here borrows from Boethius, who says: “Hanc rerum seriem ligat,

Terras ac pelagus regens,

Et coelo imperitans, amor.”

(Love ties these things together: the earth, and the ruling sea, and the imperial heavens)

 

THE MILLER’S TALE.

 

THE PROLOGUE.

 

When that the Knight had thus his tale told In all the rout was neither young nor old, That he not said it was a noble story, And worthy to be *drawen to memory*; recorded

And namely the gentles every one. especially the gentlefolk

Our Host then laugh’d and swore, “So may I gon,* prosper This goes aright; unbuckled is the mail;* the budget is opened

Let see now who shall tell another tale: For truely this game is well begun.

Now telleth ye, Sir Monk, if that ye conne, know Somewhat, to quiten* with the Knighte’s tale.” match The Miller that fordrunken was all pale, So that unnethes upon his horse he sat, with difficulty He would avalen neither hood nor hat, uncover Nor abide no man for his courtesy, give way to But in Pilate’s voice<1> he gan to cry, And swore by armes, and by blood, and bones, “I can a noble tale for the nones occasion, With which I will now quite the Knighte’s tale.” match Our Host saw well how drunk he was of ale, And said; “Robin, abide, my leve brother, *dear Some better man shall tell us first another: Abide, and let us worke thriftily.”

By Godde’s soul,” quoth he, “that will not I, For I will speak, or elles go my way!”

Our Host answer’d; “*Tell on a devil way*; devil take you!

Thou art a fool; thy wit is overcome.”

“Now hearken,” quoth the Miller, “all and some: But first I make a protestatioun.

That I am drunk, I know it by my soun’: And therefore if that I misspeak or say, Wite it the ale of Southwark, I you pray: blame it on<2>

For I will tell a legend and a life

Both of a carpenter and of his wife,

How that a clerk hath set the wrighte’s cap.” fooled the carpenter

The Reeve answer’d and saide, “*Stint thy clap, hold your tongue*

Let be thy lewed drunken harlotry.

It is a sin, and eke a great folly

To apeiren* any man, or him defame, *injure And eke to bringe wives in evil name.

Thou may’st enough of other thinges sayn.”

This drunken Miller spake full soon again, And saide, “Leve brother Osewold,

Who hath no wife, he is no cuckold.

But I say not therefore that thou art one; There be full goode wives many one.

Why art thou angry with my tale now?

I have a wife, pardie, as well as thou, Yet *n’old I*, for the oxen in my plough, I would not

Taken upon me more than enough,

To deemen* of myself that I am one; *judge I will believe well that I am none.

An husband should not be inquisitive

Of Godde’s privity, nor of his wife.

So he may finde Godde’s foison* there, *treasure Of the remnant needeth not to enquere.”

 

What should I more say, but that this Millere He would his wordes for no man forbear, But told his churlish* tale in his mannere; *boorish, rude Me thinketh, that I shall rehearse it here.

And therefore every gentle wight I pray, For Godde’s love to deem not that I say Of evil intent, but that I must rehearse Their tales all, be they better or worse, Or elles falsen* some of my mattere. falsify And therefore whoso list it not to hear, Turn o’er the leaf, and choose another tale; For he shall find enough, both great and smale, Of storial thing that toucheth gentiless, *historical, true And eke morality and holiness.

Blame not me, if that ye choose amiss.

The Miller is a churl, ye know well this, So was the Reeve, with many other mo’, And harlotry* they tolde bothe two. ribald tales Avise you* now, and put me out of blame; be warned

And eke men should not make earnest of game*. *jest, fun Notes to the Prologue to the Miller’s Tale 1. Pilate, an unpopular personage in the mystery-plays of the middle ages, was probably represented as having a gruff, harsh voice.

 

2. Wite: blame; in Scotland, “to bear the wyte,” is to bear the blame.

 

THE TALE.

 

Whilom there was dwelling in Oxenford

A riche gnof*, that *guestes held to board, miser *took in boarders*

And of his craft he was a carpenter.

With him there was dwelling a poor scholer, Had learned art, but all his fantasy

Was turned for to learn astrology.

He coude* a certain of conclusions knew To deeme by interrogations, *determine If that men asked him in certain hours, When that men should have drought or elles show’rs: Or if men asked him what shoulde fall

Of everything, I may not reckon all.

 

This clerk was called Hendy* Nicholas; gentle, handsome Of derne love he knew and of solace; *secret, earnest And therewith he was sly and full privy, And like a maiden meek for to see.

A chamber had he in that hostelry

Alone, withouten any company,

Full *fetisly y-dight* with herbes swoot, neatly decorated*

And he himself was sweet as is the root sweet Of liquorice, or any setewall. valerian His Almagest,<1> and bookes great and small, His astrolabe,<2> belonging to his art, His augrim stones,<3> layed fair apart On shelves couched at his bedde’s head, laid, set His press y-cover’d with a falding red. *coarse cloth And all above there lay a gay psalt’ry On which he made at nightes melody,

So sweetely, that all the chamber rang: And Angelus ad virginem<4> he sang.

And after that he sung the kinge’s note; Full often blessed was his merry throat.

And thus this sweete clerk his time spent After *his friendes finding and his rent.* Attending to his friends, and providing for the cost of his lodging

This carpenter had wedded new a wife,

Which that he loved more than his life: Of eighteen year, I guess, she was of age.

Jealous he was, and held her narr’w in cage, For she was wild and young, and he was old, And deemed himself belike* a cuckold. *perhaps He knew not Cato,<5> for his wit was rude, That bade a man wed his similitude.

Men shoulde wedden after their estate, For youth and eld* are often at debate. *age But since that he was fallen in the snare, He must endure (as other folk) his care.

Fair was this younge wife, and therewithal As any weasel her body gent* and small. slim, neat A seint she weared, barred all of silk, girdle A barm-cloth eke as white as morning milk *apron<6>

Upon her lendes*, full of many a gore**. loins *plait White was her smock*, and broider’d all before, *robe or gown And eke behind, on her collar about

Of coal-black silk, within and eke without.

The tapes of her white volupere head-kerchief <7>

Were of the same suit of her collere;

Her fillet broad of silk, and set full high: And sickerly* she had a likerous** eye. certainly *lascivious Full small y-pulled were her browes two, And they were bent*, and black as any sloe. arched She was well more blissful on to see* pleasant to look upon

Than is the newe perjenete* tree; *young pear-tree And softer than the wool is of a wether.

And by her girdle hung a purse of leather, Tassel’d with silk, and *pearled with latoun*. set with brass pearls

In all this world to seeken up and down There is no man so wise, that coude thenche* fancy, think of So gay a popelot, or such a wench. *puppet <8>

Full brighter was the shining of her hue, Than in the Tower the noble* forged new. *a gold coin <9>

But of her song, it was as loud and yern, lively <10>

As any swallow chittering on a bern*. barn Thereto she coulde skip, and make a game also romp*

As any kid or calf following his dame.

Her mouth was sweet as braket,<11> or as methe mead Or hoard of apples, laid in hay or heath.

Wincing* she was as is a jolly colt, *skittish Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.

A brooch she bare upon her low collere, As broad as is the boss of a bucklere.

Her shoon were laced on her legges high; She was a primerole,* a piggesnie <12>, primrose For any lord t’ have ligging in his bed, *lying Or yet for any good yeoman to wed.

 

Now, sir, and eft* sir, so befell the case, *again That on a day this Hendy Nicholas

Fell with this younge wife to rage* and play, *toy, play the rogue While that her husband was at Oseney,<13>

As clerkes be full subtle and full quaint.

And privily he caught her by the queint,* cunt And said; “Y-wis, but if I have my will, assuredly For derne love of thee, leman, I spill.” for earnest love of thee And helde her fast by the haunche bones, my mistress, I perish*

And saide “Leman, love me well at once, Or I will dien, all so God me save.”

And she sprang as a colt doth in the trave<14>: And with her head she writhed fast away, And said; “I will not kiss thee, by my fay*. *faith Why let be,” quoth she, “let be, Nicholas, Or I will cry out harow and alas!<15>

Do away your handes, for your courtesy.”

This Nicholas gan mercy for to cry,

And spake so fair, and proffer’d him so fast, That she her love him granted at the last, And swore her oath by Saint Thomas of Kent, That she would be at his commandement, When that she may her leisure well espy.

“My husband is so full of jealousy,

That but* ye waite well, and be privy, *unless I wot right well I am but dead,” quoth she.

“Ye