This Miller smiled at their 'cute nicety, And thought,--all this is done but for a wile; They fancy that no man can them beguile: But, by my thrift, I'll dust their searching eye, For all the sleights in their philosophy.

The more quaint knacks and guarded plans they make, The more corn will I steal when once I take: Instead of flour, I'll leave them nought but bran: The greatest clerks are not the wisest men.

As whilom to the wolf thus spake the mare: Of all their art I do not count a tare.

Out at the door he goeth full privily, When that he saw his time, and noiselessly: He looketh up and down, till he hath found The clerks' bay horse, where he was standing bound Under an ivy wall, behind the mill: And to the horse he goeth him fair and well, And strippeth off the bridle in a trice.

And when the horse was loose he 'gan to race Unto the wild mares wandering in the fen, With WEHEE! WHINNY! right through thick and thin!

This Miller then returned; no word he said, But doth his work, and with these clerks he played, Till that their corn was well and fairly ground.

And when the meal is sacked and safely bound John goeth out, and found his horse was gone, And cried aloud with many a stamp and groan, "Our horse is lost! Allen, 'od's banes! I say, Up on thy feet!--come off, man--up, away!

Alas! our Warden's palfrey, it is gone!"

Allen at once forgot both meal and corn - Out of his mind went all his husbandry - "What! whilk way is he gone?" he 'gan to cry.

The Miller's wife came laughing inwardly, "Alas!" said she, "your horse i' the fens doth fly After wild mares as fast as he can go!

Ill-luck betide the man that bound him so, And his that better should have knit the rein."

"Alas!" quoth John, "good Allen, haste amain; Lay down thy sword, as I will mine also; Heaven knoweth I am as nimble as a roe; He shall not 'scape us baith, or my saul's dead!

Why didst not put the horse within the shed?

By the ma.s.s, Allen, thou'rt a fool, I say!"

Those silly clerks have scampered fast away Unto the fen; Allen and nimble John: And when the Miller saw that they were gone, He half a bushel of their flour doth take, And bade his wife go knead it in a cake.

He said, "I trow these clerks feared what they've found; Yet can a miller turn a scholar round For all his art. Yea, let them go their way!

See where they run! yea, let the children play: They get him not so lightly, by my crown."

The simple clerks go running up and down, With "Soft, soft!--stand, stand!--hither!--back ! take care!

Now whistle thou, and I shall keep him here!"

But, to be brief, until the very night They could not, though they tried with all their might, The palfrey catch; he always ran so fast: Till in a ditch they caught him at the last.

Weary and wet as beasts amid the rain, Allen and John come slowly back again.

"Alas," quoth John, "that ever I was born!

Now are we turned into contempt and scorn.

Our corn is stolen; fools they will us call; The Warden, and our college fellows all, And 'specially the Miller--'las the day!"

Thus plaineth John while going by the way Toward the mill, the bay nag in his hand.

The Miller sitting by the fire they found, For it was night: no further could they move; But they besought him, for Heaven's holy love, Lodgment and food to give them for their penny.

And Simkin answered, "If that there be any, Such as it is, yet shall ye have your part.

My house is small, but ye have learned art; Ye can, by arguments, well make a place A mile broad, out of twenty foot of s.p.a.ce!

Let's see now if this place, as 'tis, suffice; Or make more room with speech, as is your guise."

"Now, Simon, by Saint Cuthbert," said this John, "Thou'rt ever merry, and that's answered soon.

I've heard that man must needs choose o' twa things; Such as he finds, or else such as he brings.

But specially I pray thee, mine host dear, Let us have meat and drink, and make us cheer, And we shall pay you to the full, be sure: With empty hand men may na' hawks allure.

Lo! here's our siller ready to be spent!"

The Miller to the town his daughter sent For ale and bread, and roasted them a goose; And bound their horse; he should no more get loose; And in his own room made for them a bed, With blankets, sheets, and coverlet well spread: Not twelve feet from his own bed did it stand.

His daughter, by herself, as it was planned, In a small pa.s.sage closet, slept close by: It might no better be, for reasons why, - There was no wider chamber in the place.

They sup, and jest, and show a merry face, And drink of ale, the strongest and the best.

It was just midnight when they went to rest.

Well hath this Simkin varnished his hot head; Full pale he was with drinking, and nought red.

He hiccougheth, and speaketh through the nose, As with the worst of colds, or quinsy's throes.

To bed he goeth, and with him trips his wife; Light as a jay, and jolly seemed her life, So was her jolly whistle well ywet.

The cradle at her bed's foot close she set To rock, or nurse the infant in the night.

And when the jug of ale was emptied quite, To bed, likewise, the daughter went anon: To bed goes Allen; with him also John.

All's said: they need no drugs from poppies pale, This Miller hath so wisely bibbed of ale; But as an horse he snorteth in his sleep, And blurteth secrets which awake he'd keep.

His wife a burden bare him, and full strong: Men might their routing hear a good furlong.

The daughter routeth else, par compagnie.

Allen, the clerk, that heard this melody, Now poketh John, and said, "Why sleepest thou?

Heardest thou ever sic a song ere now?

Lo, what a serenade's among them all!

A wild-fire red upon their bodies fall!

Wha ever listened to sae strange a thing?

The flower of evil shall their ending bring.

This whole night there to me betides no rest.

But, courage yet, all shall be for the best; For, John," said he, "as I may ever thrive, To pipe a merrier serenade I'll strive In the dark pa.s.sage somewhere near to us; For, John, there is a law which sayeth thus, - That if a man in one point be aggrieved, Right in another he shall be relieved: Our corn is stolen--sad yet sooth to say - And we have had an evil bout to-day; But since the Miller no amends will make, Against our loss we should some payment take.

His sonsie daughter will I seek to win, And get our meal back--de'il reward his sin!

By hallow-ma.s.s it shall no otherwise be!"

But John replied, "Allen, well counsel thee: The Miller is a perilous man," he said, "And if he wake and start up from his bed, He may do both of us a villainy."

"Nay," Allen said, "I count him not a flie!"

And up he rose, and crept along the floor Into the pa.s.sage humming with their snore: As narrow was it as a drum or tub.

And like a beetle doth he grope and grub, Feeling his way with darkness in his hands, Till at the pa.s.sage-end he stooping stands.

John lieth still, and not far off, I trow, And to himself he maketh ruth and woe.

"Alas," quoth he, "this is a wicked j.a.pe!

Now may I say that I am but an ape.

Allen may somewhat quit him for his wrong: Already can I hear his plaint and song; So shall his 'venture happily be sped, While like a rubbish-sack I lie in bed; And when this j.a.pe is told another day, I shall be called a fool, or a c.o.kenay!

I will adventure somewhat, too, in faith: 'Weak heart, worse fortune,' as the proverb saith."

And up he rose at once, and softly went Unto the cradle, as 'twas his intent, And to his bed's foot bare it, with the brat.

The wife her routing ceased soon after that, And woke, and left her bed; for she was pained With nightmare dreams of skies that madly rained.

Eastern astrologers and clerks, I wis, In time of Apis tell of storms like this.

Awhile she stayed, and waxeth calm in mind; Returning then, no cradle doth she find, And gropeth here and there--but she found none.

"Alas," quoth she, "I had almost misgone!

I well-nigh stumbled on the clerks a-bed: Eh benedicite! but I am safely sped.

And on she went, till she the cradle found, While through the dark still groping with her hand.

Meantime was heard the beating of a wing, And then the third c.o.c.k of the morn 'gan sing.

Allen stole back, and thought, "Ere that it dawn I will creep in by John that lieth forlorn."

He found the cradle in his hand, anon.

"Gude Lord!" thought Allen, "all wrong have I gone!

My head is dizzy with the ale last night, And eke my piping, that I go not right.

Wrong am I, by the cradle well I know: Here lieth Simkin, and his wife also."

And, scrambling forthright on, he made his way Unto the bed where Simkin snoring lay!

He thought to nestle by his fellow John, And by the Miller in he crept, anon, And caught him by the neck, and 'gan to shake, And said, "Thou John! thou swine's head dull, awake!

Wake, by the ma.s.s! and hear a n.o.ble game, For, by St. Andrew! to thy ruth and shame, I have been trolling roundelays this night, And won the Miller's daughter's heart outright, Who hath me told where hidden is our meal: All this--and more--and how they always steal; While thou hast as a coward lain aghast!"

"Thou slanderous ribald!" quoth the Miller, "hast?