The Miller's Tale by Geoffrey Chaucer

Author:Geoffrey Chaucer [Chaucer, Geoffrey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781443426954
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2013-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

The Miller’s Prologue

Here follow the words between the Host and the Miller

Now when the knight had thus his story told,

In all the rout there was not young nor old

But said it was a noble story, well

Worthy to be kept in mind to tell;

And specially the gentle folk, each one.

Our host, he laughed and swore, “So may I run,

But this goes well; unbuckled is the mail;

Let’s see now who can tell another tale:

For certainly the game is well begun.

Now shall you tell, sir monk, if’t can be done,

Something with which to pay for the knight’s tale.”

The miller, who with drinking was all pale,

So that unsteadily on his horse he sat,

He would not take off either hood or hat,

Nor wait for any man, in courtesy,

But all in Pilate’s voice began to cry,

And by the Arms and Blood and Bones he swore,

“I have a noble story in my store,

With which I will requite the good knight’s tale.”

Our host saw, then, that he was drunk with ale,

And said to him: “Wait, Robin, my dear brother,

Some better man shall tell us first another:

Submit and let us work on profitably.”

“Now by God’s soul,” cried he, “that will not I!

For I will speak, or else I’ll go my way.”

Our host replied: “Tell on, then, till doomsday!

You are a fool, your wit is overcome.”

“Now hear me,” said the miller, “all and some!

But first I make protestation round

That I’m quite drunk, I know it by my sound:

And therefore, if I slander or mis-say,

Blame it on ale of Southwark, so I pray;

For I will tell a legend and a life

Both of a carpenter and of his wife,

And how a scholar set the good wright’s cap.”

The reeve replied and said: “Oh, shut your trap!

Let be your ignorant drunken ribaldry!

It is a sin, and further, great folly

To asperse any man, or him defame,

And, too, to bring upon a man’s wife shame.

There are enough of other things to say.”

This drunken miller spoke on in his way,

And said: “Oh, but my dear brother Oswald,

The man who has no wife is no cuckold.

But I say not, thereby, that you are one:

Many good wives there are, as women run,

And ever a thousand good to one that’s bad,

As well you know yourself, unless you’re mad.

Why are you angry with my story’s cue?

I have a wife, begad, as well as you,

Yet I’d not, for the oxen of my plow,

Take on my shoulders more than is now,

By judging of myself that I am one;

I will believe full well that I am none.

A husband must not be inquisitive

Of God, nor of his wife, while she’s alive.

So long as he may find God’s plenty there,

For all the rest he need not greatly care.”

What should I say, except this miller rare

He would forgo his talk for no man there,

But told his churlish tale in his own way:

I think I’ll here re-tell it, if I may.

And therefore, every gentle soul, I pray

That for God’s love you’ll hold not what I say

Evilly meant, but that I must rehearse

All of their tales, the better and the worse,

Or else prove false to some of my design.

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