The Miller of Trompington.
And only for hir mirth and revelrie
Upon the wardein besily they crie,
yeve hem leve but a litel stound,
To gon to mille, and seen hir11 corn yground :
And hardily they dorsten lay hir necke,
The miller shuld not stele hem half a pecke
Of corn by sleighte, ne by force hem reve.
And at the last the wardein yave hem leve: John highte that on, and Alein highte that other, Of o toun were they born, that highte Strother, Fer in the North, I can not tellen where.
This Alein maketh redy all his gere,
And on a hors the sack he cast anon:
Forth goth Alein the clerk, and also John,
With good swerd and with bokeler by hir side.
John knew the way, him neded not no guide,
And at the mille the sak adoun he laith.
Alein spake first; All haile, Simond, in faith,
How fares thy faire doughter, and thy wif?
Alein, welcome (quod Simkin) by my lif,
And John also: how now, what do ye here?
By God, Simond, (quod John) nede has no pere.
Him behoves serve himself that has na swain,
Or elles he is a fool, as clerkes sain.
Our manciple I hope he wol be ded,
Swa werkes ay the wanges in his hed:
And therfore is I come, and eke Alein,
To grind our corn and cary it hame agein:
I pray you spede us henen that ye may.
It shal be don (quod Simkin) by my fay.
What wol ye don while that it is in hand?
By God, right by the hopper wol I stand,
(Quod John) and seen how that the corn gas in.
Yet saw I never by my fader kin,
How that the hopper wagges til and fra.
Alein answered; John, and wolt thou swa?
Than wol I be benethe by my croun,
And see how that the mele falles adoun
In til the trogh, that shall be my disport:
For, John, in faith I may ben of your sort;
The Miller of Trompington.
I is as ill a miller as is ye.
This miller smiled at hir nicetee,
And thought, all this n'is don but for a wile.
They wenen' that no man may hem begile,
But by my thrift yet shal I blere hir eie,
For all the sleighte in hir philosophie.
The more queinte knakkes that they make,
The more wol I stele whan that I take.
In stede of flour yet wol I yeve hem bren.
The gretest clerkes ben not the wisest men,
As whilom to the wolf thus spake the mare:
Of all hir art ne count I not a tare.
Out at the dore he goth ful prively,
Whan that he saw his time, softely.
He loketh up and doun, til he hath found
The clerkes hors, ther as he stood ybound
Behind the mille, under a levesell:2
And to the hors he goth him faire and well,
And stripeth of the bridel right anon.
And whan the hors was laus, he gan Toward the fen, ther wilde mares renne, And forth, with wehee, thurgh thick and thinne. This miller goth again, no word he said, But doth his note, and with these clerkes plaid, Till that hir corn was faire and wel yground. And whan the mele is sacked and ybound, This John goth out, and fint his hors away, And gan to crie, harow and wala wa !
Alein, for Goddes banes,
come of, man, al at anes:
Alas! our wardein has his palfrey lorn.
This Alein al forgat both mele and corn;
Al was out of his mind his husbandrie:
What, whilke way is he gon? he gan to crie.
The wif came leping inward at a renne,
She sayd; Alas! youre hors goth to the fenne
With wilde mares, as fast as he may go.
Unthank come on his hand that bond him so,
And he that better shuld have knit the rein.
Alas! (quod John) Alein, for Cristes pein
Lay doun thy swerd, and I shal min alswa.
I is ful wight, God wate, as is a ra.1
By Goddes saule he shal not scape us bathe.
Why ne had thou put the capel in the lathe?
Ill haile, Alein, by God thou is a fonne.
These sely clerkes han ful fast yronne
Toward the fen, bothe Alein and eke John:
And whan the miller saw that they were gon,
He half a bushel of hir flour hath take,
And bad his wif go knede it in a cake.
He sayd; I trow, the clerkes were aferde,
Yet can a miller make a clerkes berde,2
For all his art. Ye, let hem gon hir way.
Ye, let the children play:
lightly by my croun.
These sely clerkes rennen up and doun
With kepe, kepe; stand, stand; jossa, warderere.
Ga whistle thou, and I shal kepe him here.
But shortly, til that it was veray night
They coude not, though they did all hir might,
Hir capel catch, he ran alway so fast:
Til in a diche they caught him at the last.
Wery and wet, as bestes in the rain,
Cometh sely John, and with him cometh Alein.
Alas (quod John) the day that I was borne!
Now are we driven til hething3 and til scorne.
Our corn is stolne, men wol us fonnes calle,
Both the wardein, and eke our felawes alle.
3 Contempt.
2.44 Share," cant for to cheat.
Y mothers maides when they do sowe and spinne,
They sing a song made of a feldishe mouse: ?
That for bicause her lieulod3 was but thinne,
Would nedes go see her townish sisters house.
She thought herself endurde to greuous paine,
The stormy blastes her caue so sore did sowse;
That when the furrowse swimmed with the raine,
She must lye colde, and wet in sorry plight;
And worse then that, bare meate there did remaine,
To comfort her, when she her house had dight.
Of Allington Castle, Kent; born 1503. Wyatt was a boon companion of Henry the Eighth. He died in 1541.
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