For she was wild and yonge, and he was old,
And demed himself belike a cokewold.
He knew not Caton, for his wit was rude,
That bade a man shulde wedde his similitude.
Men shulden wedden after hir estate,
For youthe and elde is often at debate.
But sithen he was fallen in the snare,
He most endure (as other folk) his care.
Fayre was this yonge wif, and therwithal
any wesel hire body gent and smal.
A seint she wered, barred all of silk,
A barme-cloth eke as white as morwe milk
Upon hire lendes, ful of many a gore.
White was hire smok, and brouded all before
And eke behind on hire colere aboute
Of cole-black silk, within and eke withoute.
The tapes of hire white volupere
Were of the same suit of hire colere;
Hire fillet brode of silk, and set full hye:
And sikerly she had a likerous eye.
Ful smal ypulled were hire browes two,
And they were bent, and black as any slo.
She was wel more blisful on to see
Than is the newe perjenete tree;
And softer than the wolle is of a wether.
And by hire girdel heng a purse of lether,
Tasseled with silk, and perled with latoun.
In all this world to seken up and doun
Ther n'is no man so wise, that coude thenche
So gay a popelot, or swiche a wenche.
Ful brighter was the shining of hire hewe,
Than in the tour the noble yforged newe.
But of hire song, it was as loud and yerne,
As any swalow sitting on a berne.
Therto she coude skip, and make a game,
As any kid or calf folowing his dame.
Hire mouth was swete as braket or the meth,
Or hord of apples, laid in hay or heth.
Winsing she was, as is a joly colt,
Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.
A broche she bare upon hire low colere,
As brode as is the bosse of a bokelere.
Hire shoon were laced on hire legges hie;
She was a primerole, a piggesnie,
For any lord to liggen in his bedde,
Or yet for any good yeman to wedde.
Now sire, and eft sire, so befell the cas,
That on a day this hendy Nicholas
Fel with this yonge wif to rage and pleye,
While that hire husbond was at Oseney,
As clerkes ben ful subtil and ful queint,
And prively he caught hire by the queint,
And sayde; Ywis, but if I have my will,
For derne love of thee, lemman, I spill.
And helde hire faste by the hanche bones,
And sayde; Lemman, love me wel at ones,
Or I wol dien, al so God me save.
And she sprong as a colt doth in the trave:
And with hire hed she writhed faste away,
And sayde; I wol not kisse thee by my fay.
Why let be, (quod she) let be, Nicholas,
Or I wol crie out harow and alas.
Do way your hondes for your curtesie.
This Nicholas gan mercy for to crie,
And spake so faire, and profered him so fast,
That she hire love him granted at the last,
And swore hire oth by Seint Thomas of Kent,
That she wold ben at his commandement,
Whan that she may hire leiser wel espie.
Myn husbond is so ful of jalousie,
That but ye waiten wel, and be prive,
I wot right wel I n'am but ded, quod she.
Ye mosten be ful derne as in this cas.
Nay, therof care you not, quod Nicholas :
A clerk had litherly beset his while,
But if he coude a carpenter begile.
And thus they were accorded and ysworne
To waite a time, as I have said beforne.
Whan Nicholas had don thus every del,
And thacked hire about the lendes wel,
He kissed hire swete, and taketh his sautrie,
And plaieth fast, and maketh melodie.
Than fell it thus, that to the parish cherche (Of Cristes owen werkes for to werche) This good wif went upon a holy day: Hire forehed shone as bright as any day, So was it washen, whan she lete hire werk.
Now was ther of that chirche a parish clerk,
The which that was ycleped Absolon.
Crulle was his here, and as the gold it shon,
And strouted as a fanne large and brode;
Ful streight and even lay his joly shode.
His rode was red, his eyen grey as goos,
With Poules windowes corven on his shoos.
In hosen red he went ful fetisly.
Yclad he was ful smal and proprely,
All in a kirtel of a light waget;
Ful faire and thicke ben the pointes set.
And therupon he had a gay surplise,
As white as is the blosme upon the rise.
A mery child he was, so God me save;
Wel coud he leten blod, and clippe, and shave,
And make a chartre of lond, and a quitance.
In twenty manere coud he trip and dance,
(After the scole of Oxenforde tho)
And with his legges casten to and fro;
And playen songes on a smal ribible;
Therto he song somtime a loud quinible.
And as wel coud he play on a giterne.
In all the toun n'as brewhous ne taverne,
That he ne visited with his solas,
Ther as that any gaillard tapstere was.
But soth to say he was somdel squaimous
Of farting, and of speche dangerous.
This Absolon, that joly was and gay,
Goth with a censer on the holy day,
Censing the wives of the parish faste;
And many a lovely loke he on hem caste,
And namely on this carpenteres wif:
To loke on hire him thought a mery lif.
She was so propre, and swete, and likerous.
I dare wel sain, if she had ben a mous,
And he a cat, he wolde hire hente anon.
This parish clerk, this joly Absolon,
Hath in his herte swiche a love-longing,
That of no wif toke he non offering;
For curtesie, he sayd, he n'olde non.
The moone at night ful clere and brighte shon, And Absolon his giterne hath ytake, For paramours he thoughte for to wake. And forth he goth, jolif and amorous, Til he came to the carpenteres hous, A litel after the cockes had ycrow, And dressed him up by a shot window, That was upon the carpenteres wal. He singeth in his vois gentil and smal;
Now, dere lady,-if thy wille be,
I pray you that ye-wol rewe on me;
Ful wel accordant to his giterning.
This carpenter awoke, and herd him sing,
And spake unto his wif, and said anon,
What, Alison, heres thou not Absolon,
That chanteth thus under our boures wal?
And she answerd hire husbond therwithal;
Yes, God wot, John, I here him every del.
This passeth forth; what wol ye bet than wel?
Fro day to day this joly Absolon
So loveth hire, that him is wo-begon.
He waketh all the night, and all the day,
He kembeth his lockes brode, and made him gay,
He woeth hire by menes and brocage,
And swore he wolde ben hire owen page.
He singeth brokking as a nightingale.
He sent hire pinnes, methe, and spiced ale,
And wafres piping hot out of the glede:
And for she was of toun, he profered mede.
For som folk wol be wonnen for richesse,
And som for strokes, and som with gentillesse,
Somtime to shew his lightnesse and maistrie
He plaieth Herode on a skaffold hie.
But what availeth him as in this cas?
So loveth she this hendy Nicholas,
That Absolon may blow the buckes horne:
He ne had for his labour but a scorne.
And thus she maketh Absolon hire ape,
And all his ernest tourneth to a jape.
Ful soth is this proverbe, it is no lie;
Men say right thus alway; the neighe slie
Maketh oft time the fer leef to be lothe.
For though that Absolon be wood or wrothe,
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