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

by counsel, and thou shalt not rue*. *repent And if thou worke wilt by good counseil, I undertake, withoute mast or sail,

Yet shall I save her, and thee, and me.

Hast thou not heard how saved was Noe, When that our Lord had warned him beforn, That all the world with water *should be lorn*?” should perish

“Yes,” quoth this carpenter,” full yore ago.” long since

“Hast thou not heard,” quoth Nicholas, “also The sorrow of Noe, with his fellowship, That he had ere he got his wife to ship?<30>

*Him had been lever, I dare well undertake, At thilke time, than all his wethers black, That she had had a ship herself alone. see note <31>

And therefore know’st thou what is best to be done?

This asketh haste, and of an hasty thing Men may not preach or make tarrying.

Anon go get us fast into this inn house A kneading trough, or else a kemelin, brewing-tub For each of us; but look that they be large, In whiche we may swim* as in a barge: *float And have therein vitaille suffisant

But for one day; fie on the remenant;

The water shall aslake* and go away slacken, abate Aboute prime upon the nexte day. *early morning But Robin may not know of this, thy knave, servant Nor eke thy maiden Gill I may not save: Ask me not why: for though thou aske me I will not telle Godde’s privity.

Sufficeth thee, *but if thy wit be mad, unless thou be To have as great a grace as Noe had; out of thy wits*

Thy wife shall I well saven out of doubt.

Go now thy way, and speed thee hereabout.

But when thou hast for her, and thee, and me, Y-gotten us these kneading tubbes three, Then shalt thou hang them in the roof full high, So that no man our purveyance* espy: *foresight, providence And when thou hast done thus as I have said, And hast our vitaille fair in them y-laid, And eke an axe to smite the cord in two When that the water comes, that we may go, And break an hole on high upon the gable Into the garden-ward, over the stable, That we may freely passe forth our way, When that the greate shower is gone away.

Then shalt thou swim as merry, I undertake, As doth the white duck after her drake: Then will I clepe,* ‘How, Alison? How, John? *call Be merry: for the flood will pass anon.’

And thou wilt say, ‘Hail, Master Nicholay, Good-morrow, I see thee well, for it is day.’

And then shall we be lordes all our life Of all the world, as Noe and his wife.

But of one thing I warne thee full right, Be well advised, on that ilke* night, same When we be enter’d into shippe’s board, That none of us not speak a single word, Nor clepe nor cry, but be in his prayere, For that is Godde’s owen heste dear. *command Thy wife and thou must hangen far atween, asunder For that betwixte you shall be no sin, No more in looking than there shall in deed.

This ordinance is said: go, God thee speed To-morrow night, when men be all asleep, Into our kneading tubbes will we creep, And sitte there, abiding Godde’s grace.

Go now thy way, I have no longer space To make of this no longer sermoning:

Men say thus: Send the wise, and say nothing: Thou art so wise, it needeth thee nought teach.

Go, save our lives, and that I thee beseech.”

 

This silly carpenter went forth his way, Full oft he said, “Alas! and Well-a-day!,’

And to his wife he told his privity,

And she was ware, and better knew than he What all this *quainte cast was for to say*. strange contrivance But natheless she fear’d as she would dey, meant

And said: “Alas! go forth thy way anon.

Help us to scape, or we be dead each one.

I am thy true and very wedded wife;

Go, deare spouse, and help to save our life.”

Lo, what a great thing is affection!

Men may die of imagination,

So deeply may impression be take.

This silly carpenter begins to quake:

He thinketh verily that he may see

This newe flood come weltering as the sea To drenchen* Alison, his honey dear. drown He weepeth, waileth, maketh sorry cheer*; dismal countenance

He sigheth, with full many a sorry sough. groan He go’th, and getteth him a kneading trough, And after that a tub, and a kemelin,

And privily he sent them to his inn:

And hung them in the roof full privily.

With his own hand then made he ladders three, To climbe by *the ranges and the stalks the rungs and the uprights*

Unto the tubbes hanging in the balks*; *beams And victualed them, kemelin, trough, and tub, With bread and cheese, and good ale in a jub, jug Sufficing right enough as for a day.

But ere that he had made all this array, He sent his knave*, and eke his wench** also, servant *maid Upon his need* to London for to go. business And on the Monday, when it drew to night, He shut his door withoute candle light, And dressed every thing as it should be. *prepared And shortly up they climbed all the three.

They satte stille well *a furlong way*. the time it would take “Now, Pater noster, clum,”<32> said Nicholay, to walk a furlong

And “clum,” quoth John; and “clum,” said Alison: This carpenter said his devotion,

And still he sat and bidded his prayere, Awaking on the rain, if he it hear.

The deade sleep, for weary business,

Fell on this carpenter, right as I guess, About the curfew-time,<33> or little more, For travail of his ghost he groaned sore, anguish of spirit

*And eft he routed, for his head mislay. and then he snored, Adown the ladder stalked Nicholay; for his head lay awry*

And Alison full soft adown she sped.

Withoute wordes more they went to bed, There as the carpenter was wont to lie: where

There was the revel, and the melody.

And thus lay Alison and Nicholas,

In business of mirth and in solace,

Until the bell of laudes* gan to ring, *morning service, at 3.a.m.

And friars in the chancel went to sing.

 

This parish clerk, this amorous Absolon, That is for love alway so woebegone,

Upon the Monday was at Oseney

With company, him to disport and play; And asked upon cas* a cloisterer* occasion **monk Full privily after John the carpenter; And he drew him apart out of the church, And said, “I n’ot;* I saw him not here wirch** know not *work Since Saturday; I trow that he be went For timber, where our abbot hath him sent.

And dwellen at the Grange a day or two: For he is wont for timber for to go,

Or else he is at his own house certain.

Where that he be, I cannot soothly sayn.” say certainly

This Absolon full jolly was and light, And thought, “Now is the time to wake all night, For sickerly* I saw him not stirring *certainly About his door, since day began to spring.

So may I thrive, but I shall at cock crow Full privily go knock at his window,

That stands full low upon his bower* wall: *chamber To Alison then will I tellen all

My love-longing; for I shall not miss

That at the leaste way I shall her kiss.

Some manner comfort shall I have, parfay, by my faith My mouth hath itched all this livelong day: That is a sign of kissing at the least.

All night I mette* eke I was at a feast. *dreamt Therefore I will go sleep an hour or tway, And all the night then will I wake and play.”

When that the first cock crowed had, anon Up rose this jolly lover Absolon,

And him arrayed gay, *at point devise. with exact care*

But first he chewed grains<34> and liquorice, To smelle sweet, ere he had combed his hair.

Under his tongue a true love <35> he bare, For thereby thought he to be gracious.

 

Then came he to the carpentere’s house, And still he stood under the shot window; Unto his breast it raught*, it was so low; *reached And soft he coughed with a semisoun’. low tone “What do ye, honeycomb, sweet Alisoun?

My faire bird, my sweet cinamome, cinnamon, sweet spice Awaken, leman* mine, and speak to me. *mistress Full little thinke ye upon my woe,

That for your love I sweat there as I go. wherever No wonder is that I do swelt and sweat. *faint I mourn as doth a lamb after the teat

Y-wis*, leman, I have such love-longing, certainly That like a turtle true is my mourning. *turtle-dove I may not eat, no more than a maid.”

“Go from the window, thou jack fool,” she said: “As help me God, it will not be, ‘come ba* me.’ *kiss I love another, else I were to blame”, Well better than thee, by Jesus, Absolon.

Go forth thy way, or I will cast a stone; And let me sleep; *a twenty devil way*. twenty devils take ye!

“Alas!” quoth Absolon, “and well away!

That true love ever was so ill beset:

Then kiss me, since that it may be no bet, better For Jesus’ love, and for the love of me.”

“Wilt thou then go thy way therewith?” , quoth she.

“Yea, certes, leman,” quoth this Absolon.

“Then make thee ready,” quoth she, “I come anon.”

[And unto Nicholas she said *full still*: in a low voice

“Now peace, and thou shalt laugh anon thy fill.”]<36>

This Absolon down set him on his knees, And said; “I am a lord at all degrees: For after this I hope there cometh more; Leman, thy grace, and, sweete bird, thine ore.*” *favour The window she undid, and that in haste.

“Have done,” quoth she, “come off, and speed thee fast, Lest that our neighebours should thee espy.”

Then Absolon gan wipe his mouth full dry.

Dark was the night as pitch or as the coal, And at the window she put out her hole, And Absolon him fell ne bet ne werse,

But with his mouth he kiss’d her naked erse Full savourly. When he was ware of this, Aback he start, and thought it was amiss; For well he wist a woman hath no beard.

He felt a thing all rough, and long y-hair’d, And saide; “Fy, alas! what have I do?”

“Te he!” quoth she, and clapt the window to; And Absolon went forth at sorry pace.

“A beard, a beard,” said Hendy Nicholas; “By God’s corpus, this game went fair and well.”

This silly Absolon heard every deal, word And on his lip he gan for anger bite;

And to himself he said, “I shall thee quite*. requite, be even with Who rubbeth now, who frotteth now his lips *rubs With dust, with sand, with straw, with cloth, with chips, But Absolon? that saith full oft, “Alas!

My soul betake I unto Sathanas,

But me were lever* than all this town,” quoth he rather I this despite awroken for to be. revenged Alas! alas! that I have been y-blent.” *deceived His hote love is cold, and all y-quent. quenched For from that time that he had kiss’d her erse, Of paramours he *sette not a kers, cared not a rush*

For he was healed of his malady;

Full often paramours he gan defy,

And weep as doth a child that hath been beat.

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