all that you yourselves ne’er grieve, Though my reply should somewhat fret his nose; For lawful ’tis with force, force to oppose. This drunken Miller hath informed us here How that some folks beguiled a carpenter— Perhaps in scorn that I of yore was one. So, by your leave, him I’ll requite anon. In his own churlish language will I speak, And pray to Heaven besides his neck may break. A small stalk in mine eye he sees, I deem, But in his own he cannot see a beam.”

THE REVE’S TALE.

At Trumpington, near Cambridge, if you look, There goeth a bridge, and under that a brook, Upon which brook there stood a flour-mill; And this is a known fact that now I tell. A Miller there had dwelt for many a day; As any peacock he was proud and gay. He could pipe well, and fish, mend nets, to boot, Turn cups with a lathe, and wrestle well, and shoot. A Norman dirk, as brown as is a spade, Hung by his belt, and eke a trenchant blade. A jolly dagger bare he in his pouch: There was no man, for peril, durst him touch. A Sheffield clasp-knife lay within his hose. Round was his face, and broad and flat his nose. High and retreating was his bald ape’s skull: He swaggered when the market-place was full. There durst no wight a hand lift to resent it, But soon, this Miller swore, he should repent it.

A thief he was, forsooth, of corn and meal, A sly one, too, and used long since to steal. Disdainful Simkin was he called by name. A wife he had; of noble kin she came: The rector of the town her father was. With her he gave full many a pan of brass, That Simkin with his blood should thus ally. She had been brought up in a nunnery; For Simkin ne’er would take a wife, he said, Unless she were well tutored and a maid, To carry on his line of yeomanry: And she was proud and pert as is a pie. It was a pleasant thing to see these two: On holidays before her he would go, With his large tippet bound about his head; While she came after in a gown of red, And Simkin wore his long hose of the same. There durst no wight address her but as dame: None was so bold that passed along the way Who with her durst once toy or jesting play, Unless he wished the sudden loss of life Before Disdainful Simkin’s sword or knife. (For jealous folk most fierce and perilous grow; And this they always wish their wives to know.) But since that to broad jokes she’d no dislike She was as pure as water in a dyke, And with abuse all filled and froward air. She thought that ladies should her temper bear, Both for her kindred and the lessons high That had been taught her in the nunnery.

These two a fair and buxom daughter had, Of twenty years; no more since they were 

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