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The Canterbury Tales and Other Works of Chaucer (Middle English), by Geoffery Chaucer, [14th cent.], at

The Canterbury Tales

The Miller's Prologue

 Whan that the Knyght had thus his tale ytoold,
3110 In al the route nas ther yong ne oold
 That he ne seyde it was a noble storie
 And worthy for to drawen to memorie,
 And namely the gentils everichon.
 Oure Hooste lough and swoor, "So moot I gon,
 This gooth aright; unbokeled is the male.
 Lat se now who shal telle another tale;
 For trewely the game is wel bigonne.
 Now telleth ye, sir Monk, if that ye konne,
 Somwhat to quite with the Knyghtes tale."
3120 The Millere, that for dronken was al pale,
 So that unnethe upon his hors he sat,
 He nolde avalen neither hood ne hat,
 Ne abyde no man for his curteisie,
 But in Pilates voys he gan to crie,
 And swoor, "By armes, and by blood and bones,
 I kan a noble tale for the nones,
 With which I wol now quite the Knyghtes tale."
 Oure Hooste saugh that he was dronke of ale,
 And seyde, "Abyd, Robyn, my leeve brother;
3130 Som bettre man shal telle us first another.
 Abyd, and lat us werken thriftily."
 "By Goddes soule," quod he, "that wol nat I;
 For I wol speke or elles go my wey."
 Oure Hoost answerde, "Tel on, a devel wey!
 Thou art a fool; thy wit is overcome."
 "Now herkneth," quod the Millere, "alle and some!
 But first I make a protestacioun
 That I am dronke; I knowe it by my soun.
 And therfore if that I mysspeke or seye,
3140 Wyte it the ale of Southwerk, I you preye.
 For I wol telle a legende and a lyf
 Bothe of a carpenter and of his wyf,
 How that a clerk hath set the wrightes cappe."
 The Reve answerde and seyde, "Stynt thy clappe!
 Lat be thy lewed dronken harlotrye.
 It is a synne and eek a greet folye
 To apeyren any man, or hym defame,
 And eek to bryngen wyves in swich fame.
 Thou mayst ynogh of othere thynges seyn."
3150 This dronke Millere spak ful soone ageyn
 And seyde, "Leve brother Osewold,
 Who hath no wyf, he is no cokewold.
 But I sey nat therfore that thou art oon;
 Ther been ful goode wyves many oon,
 And evere a thousand goode ayeyns oon badde.
 That knowestow wel thyself, but if thou madde.
 Why artow angry with my tale now?
 I have a wyf, pardee, as wel as thow;
 Yet nolde I, for the oxen in my plogh,
3160 Take upon me moore than ynogh,
 As demen of myself that I were oon;
 I wol bileve wel that I am noon.
 An housbonde shal nat been inquisityf
 Of Goddes pryvetee, nor of his wyf.
 So he may fynde Goddes foyson there,
 Of the remenant nedeth nat enquere."
 What sholde I moore seyn, but this Millere
 He nolde his wordes for no man forbere,
 But tolde his cherles tale in his manere.
3170 M' athynketh that I shal reherce it heere.
 And therfore every gentil wight I preye,
 For Goddes love, demeth nat that I seye
 Of yvel entente, but for I moot reherce
 Hir tales alle, be they bettre or werse,
 Or elles falsen som of my mateere.
 And therfore, whoso list it nat yheere,
 Turne over the leef and chese another tale;
 For he shal fynde ynowe, grete and smale,
 Of storial thyng that toucheth gentillesse,
3180 And eek moralitee and hoolynesse.
 Blameth nat me if that ye chese amys.
 The Millere is a cherl; ye knowe wel this.
 So was the Reve eek and othere mo,
 And harlotrie they tolden bothe two.
 Avyseth yow, and put me out of blame;
 And eek men shal nat maken ernest of game.

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