No Fear Literature: The Canterbury Tales: The Miller's Tale The Miller’s Tale Page 20

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Original Text	Modern Text
This Alison answerde, ‘Who is ther That knokketh so? I warante it a theef.’	This Alison answerde, ‘Who is ther That knokketh so? I warante it a theef.’
‘Why, nay,’ quod he, ‘God woot, my swete leef, I am thyn Absolon, my dereling! Of gold,’ quod he, ‘I have thee broght a ring; My moder yaf it me, so God me save, Ful fyn it is, and ther-to wel y-grave; This wol I yeve thee, if thou me kisse!’	‘Why, nay,’ quod he, ‘God woot, my swete leef, I am thyn Absolon, my dereling! Of gold,’ quod he, ‘I have thee broght a ring; My moder yaf it me, so God me save, Ful fyn it is, and ther-to wel y-grave; This wol I yeve thee, if thou me kisse!’
This Nicholas was risen for to pisse, And thoghte he wolde amenden al the Iape, He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape. And up the windowe dide he hastily, And out his ers he putteth prively Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon; And ther-with spak this clerk, this Absolon, ‘Spek, swete brid, I noot nat wher thou art.’	This Nicholas was risen for to pisse, And thoghte he wolde amenden al the Iape, He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape. And up the windowe dide he hastily, And out his ers he putteth prively Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon; And ther-with spak this clerk, this Absolon, ‘Spek, swete brid, I noot nat wher thou art.’
This Nicholas anon leet flee a fart, As greet as it had been a thonder-dent, That with the strook he was almost y-blent; And he was redy with his iren hoot, And Nicholas amidde the ers he smoot.	This Nicholas anon leet flee a fart, As greet as it had been a thonder-dent, That with the strook he was almost y-blent; And he was redy with his iren hoot, And Nicholas amidde the ers he smoot.
Of gooth the skin an hande-brede aboute, The hole culter brende so his toute, And for the smert he wende for to dye. As he were wood, for wo he gan to crye— Help! water! water! help, for Goddes herte!’	Of gooth the skin an hande-brede aboute, The hole culter brende so his toute, And for the smert he wende for to dye. As he were wood, for wo he gan to crye— Help! water! water! help, for Goddes herte!’

Original Text	Modern Text
This Alison answerde, ‘Who is ther That knokketh so? I warante it a theef.’	This Alison answerde, ‘Who is ther That knokketh so? I warante it a theef.’
‘Why, nay,’ quod he, ‘God woot, my swete leef, I am thyn Absolon, my dereling! Of gold,’ quod he, ‘I have thee broght a ring; My moder yaf it me, so God me save, Ful fyn it is, and ther-to wel y-grave; This wol I yeve thee, if thou me kisse!’	‘Why, nay,’ quod he, ‘God woot, my swete leef, I am thyn Absolon, my dereling! Of gold,’ quod he, ‘I have thee broght a ring; My moder yaf it me, so God me save, Ful fyn it is, and ther-to wel y-grave; This wol I yeve thee, if thou me kisse!’
This Nicholas was risen for to pisse, And thoghte he wolde amenden al the Iape, He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape. And up the windowe dide he hastily, And out his ers he putteth prively Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon; And ther-with spak this clerk, this Absolon, ‘Spek, swete brid, I noot nat wher thou art.’	This Nicholas was risen for to pisse, And thoghte he wolde amenden al the Iape, He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape. And up the windowe dide he hastily, And out his ers he putteth prively Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon; And ther-with spak this clerk, this Absolon, ‘Spek, swete brid, I noot nat wher thou art.’
This Nicholas anon leet flee a fart, As greet as it had been a thonder-dent, That with the strook he was almost y-blent; And he was redy with his iren hoot, And Nicholas amidde the ers he smoot.	This Nicholas anon leet flee a fart, As greet as it had been a thonder-dent, That with the strook he was almost y-blent; And he was redy with his iren hoot, And Nicholas amidde the ers he smoot.
Of gooth the skin an hande-brede aboute, The hole culter brende so his toute, And for the smert he wende for to dye. As he were wood, for wo he gan to crye— Help! water! water! help, for Goddes herte!’	Of gooth the skin an hande-brede aboute, The hole culter brende so his toute, And for the smert he wende for to dye. As he were wood, for wo he gan to crye— Help! water! water! help, for Goddes herte!’