Original Text | Modern Text |
‘By Goddes soul,’ quod he, ‘that wol nat I;
For I wol speke, or elles go my wey.’
Our Hoste answerde: ‘tel on, a devel wey!
Thou art a fool, thy wit is overcome.’
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‘By Goddes soul,’ quod he, ‘that wol nat I;
For I wol speke, or elles go my wey.’
Our Hoste answerde: ‘tel on, a devel wey!
Thou art a fool, thy wit is overcome.’
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‘Now herkneth,’ quod the Miller, ‘alle and some!
But first I make a protestacioun
That I am dronke, I knowe it by my soun;
And therfore, if that I misspeke or seye,
Wyte it the ale of Southwerk, I yow 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.’
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‘Now herkneth,’ quod the Miller, ‘alle and some!
But first I make a protestacioun
That I am dronke, I knowe it by my soun;
And therfore, if that I misspeke or seye,
Wyte it the ale of Southwerk, I yow 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.’
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The Reve answerde and seyde, ‘stint thy clappe,
Lat be thy lewed dronken harlotrye.
It is a sinne and eek a greet folye
To apeiren any man, or him diffame,
And eek to bringen wyves in swich fame.
Thou mayst y-nogh of othere thinges seyn.’
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The Reve answerde and seyde, ‘stint thy clappe,
Lat be thy lewed dronken harlotrye.
It is a sinne and eek a greet folye
To apeiren any man, or him diffame,
And eek to bringen wyves in swich fame.
Thou mayst y-nogh of othere thinges seyn.’
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This dronken Miller spak ful sone 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 gode wyves many oon,
And ever a thousand gode ayeyns oon badde,
That knowestow wel thy-self, but-if thou madde.
Why artow angry with my tale now?
I have a wyf, pardee, as well as thou,
Yet nolde I, for the oxen in my plogh,
Taken upon me more than y-nogh,
As demen of my-self that I were oon;
I wol beleve wel that I am noon.
An housbond shal nat been inquisitif
Of Goddes privetee, nor of his wyf.
So he may finde Goddes foyson there,
Of the remenant nedeth nat enquere.’
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This dronken Miller spak ful sone 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 gode wyves many oon,
And ever a thousand gode ayeyns oon badde,
That knowestow wel thy-self, but-if thou madde.
Why artow angry with my tale now?
I have a wyf, pardee, as well as thou,
Yet nolde I, for the oxen in my plogh,
Taken upon me more than y-nogh,
As demen of my-self that I were oon;
I wol beleve wel that I am noon.
An housbond shal nat been inquisitif
Of Goddes privetee, nor of his wyf.
So he may finde Goddes foyson there,
Of the remenant nedeth nat enquere.’
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