The Canterbury Tales of Chaucer modernis'd by several hands. Publsh'd by Mr. Oggle |
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THE CARPENTER of OXFORD:
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 | The Canterbury Tales of Chaucer |  |
191
THE CARPENTER of OXFORD:
OR, THE MILLER's TALE.
By Mr. COBB.
Whilom in Oxford an old Chuff did dwell,
A Carpenter by Trade, as Stories tell;
Who by his Craft had heap'd up many a Hoard,
And furnish'd Strangers both with Bed and Board.
With him a Scholar lodg'd, of slender Means,
But notable for Sciences and Sense.
Yet, tho' he took Degrees in Arts, his Mind
Was mostly to Astrology inclin'd.
A Lad in Divination skill'd and shrewd,
Who by Interrogations could conclude,
If Men should ask him at what certain Hours
The droughty Earth would gape for cooling Show'rs,
When it should Rain, or Snow, what should befall
Of Fifty Things; I cannot reckon all.
A Carpenter by Trade, as Stories tell;
Who by his Craft had heap'd up many a Hoard,
And furnish'd Strangers both with Bed and Board.
With him a Scholar lodg'd, of slender Means,
But notable for Sciences and Sense.
Yet, tho' he took Degrees in Arts, his Mind
Was mostly to Astrology inclin'd.
A Lad in Divination skill'd and shrewd,
Who by Interrogations could conclude,
If Men should ask him at what certain Hours
The droughty Earth would gape for cooling Show'rs,
192
Of Fifty Things; I cannot reckon all.
This learned Clerk had got a mighty Fame
For Modesty, and Nicholas his Name.
Subtle he was, well taught in Cupid's Trade,
But seem'd as Meek, and Bashful as a Maid.
A Chamber in this Hostelry he kept,
Alone he study'd, and alone he slept.
With sweet and fragant Herbs the Room was drest,
But he was ten times sweeter than the best.
His Books of various size, or great, or small,
His Augrim Stones to cast Accounts withal;
His Astrolabe and Almagist apart,
With twenty more hard Names of cunning Art;
On sev'ral Shelves were couched nigh his Bed,
And the Press cover'd with a folding Red.
Above an Instrument of Music lay,
On which sweet Melody he us'd to play;
So wond'rous sweet, that all the Chamber rung,
And Angelus ad Virginem he sung;
Then would he Chaunt in good King David's Note,
Full often blessed was his merry Throat.
And thus the Clerk in Books and Music spent
His Time, and Exhibition's yearly Rent.
For Modesty, and Nicholas his Name.
Subtle he was, well taught in Cupid's Trade,
But seem'd as Meek, and Bashful as a Maid.
A Chamber in this Hostelry he kept,
Alone he study'd, and alone he slept.
With sweet and fragant Herbs the Room was drest,
But he was ten times sweeter than the best.
His Books of various size, or great, or small,
His Augrim Stones to cast Accounts withal;
His Astrolabe and Almagist apart,
With twenty more hard Names of cunning Art;
On sev'ral Shelves were couched nigh his Bed,
And the Press cover'd with a folding Red.
Above an Instrument of Music lay,
On which sweet Melody he us'd to play;
193
And Angelus ad Virginem he sung;
Then would he Chaunt in good King David's Note,
Full often blessed was his merry Throat.
And thus the Clerk in Books and Music spent
His Time, and Exhibition's yearly Rent.
This Carpenter had a new marry'd Wife,
Lov'd as his Eyes, and dearer than his Life.
The Buxom Lass had twice Nine Summers seen
And her brisk Blood ran high in ev'ry Vein.
The Dotard, jealous of so ripe an Age,
Watch'd her, and lock'd her, like a Bird in Cage.
For she was Wild, and in her lovely Prime;
But he, poor Man! walk'd down the Hill of Time.
He knew the Temper of a Youthful Spouse,
And oft was seen to rub his aking Brows.
He knew his own weak side, and dreamt in Bed
She had, or would be planting on his Head.
He knew not Cato, for his Wit was rude;
That Men should Wed with their Similitude.
Like should with Like in Love and Years ingage,
For Youth can never be a Rhyme to Age.
Hence Jealousies create a Nuptial War,
And the warm Seasons with the frigid jar.
But when the Trap's once down, he must endure
His Fate, and Patience is the only Cure.
Perhaps his Father, and a hundred more
Of honest Christians, were thus serv'd before.
Fair was his charming Consort, and withall
Slender her Waist, and like a Weasel's small.
She had a Girdle round her barr'd with Silk,
And a clean Apron, white as Morrow Milk.
White was her Smock, embroider'd all before,
Which on her Loins in many Plaits she wore.
Broad was her silken Fillet, set full high,
And oft she twinkled with a Liqu'rish Eye.
Her Brow was arch'd like any bended Bow,
Like Marble smooth, and blacker than a Sloe,
She softer far than Wool, or fleecy Snow.
Were you to search the Universal Round,
So gay a Wench was never to be found.
With greater Brightness did her Colour shine,
Than a new Noble of the freshest Coin.
Shrill was her Song, and loud her piercing Note,
No Swallow on a Barn had such a Throat.
To this she skipp'd and caper'd like a Lamb,
Or Kid, or Calf, when they pursue their Dam.
Sweet as Metheglin was her Honey Lip,
Or Hoard of Apples which in Hay are kept.
Wincing she was, as is a jolly Colt,
Long as a Mast, and upright as a Bolt:
Above her Ancles laced was her Shoe,
She was a Primrose, and a Pigsnye too.
And fit to lig by any Christian's Side,
Or a Lord's Mistress, or a Yeoman's Bride.
Lov'd as his Eyes, and dearer than his Life.
The Buxom Lass had twice Nine Summers seen
And her brisk Blood ran high in ev'ry Vein.
The Dotard, jealous of so ripe an Age,
Watch'd her, and lock'd her, like a Bird in Cage.
For she was Wild, and in her lovely Prime;
But he, poor Man! walk'd down the Hill of Time.
He knew the Temper of a Youthful Spouse,
And oft was seen to rub his aking Brows.
He knew his own weak side, and dreamt in Bed
She had, or would be planting on his Head.
194
That Men should Wed with their Similitude.
Like should with Like in Love and Years ingage,
For Youth can never be a Rhyme to Age.
Hence Jealousies create a Nuptial War,
And the warm Seasons with the frigid jar.
But when the Trap's once down, he must endure
His Fate, and Patience is the only Cure.
Perhaps his Father, and a hundred more
Of honest Christians, were thus serv'd before.
Fair was his charming Consort, and withall
Slender her Waist, and like a Weasel's small.
She had a Girdle round her barr'd with Silk,
And a clean Apron, white as Morrow Milk.
White was her Smock, embroider'd all before,
Which on her Loins in many Plaits she wore.
Broad was her silken Fillet, set full high,
And oft she twinkled with a Liqu'rish Eye.
Her Brow was arch'd like any bended Bow,
Like Marble smooth, and blacker than a Sloe,
She softer far than Wool, or fleecy Snow.
195
So gay a Wench was never to be found.
With greater Brightness did her Colour shine,
Than a new Noble of the freshest Coin.
Shrill was her Song, and loud her piercing Note,
No Swallow on a Barn had such a Throat.
To this she skipp'd and caper'd like a Lamb,
Or Kid, or Calf, when they pursue their Dam.
Sweet as Metheglin was her Honey Lip,
Or Hoard of Apples which in Hay are kept.
Wincing she was, as is a jolly Colt,
Long as a Mast, and upright as a Bolt:
Above her Ancles laced was her Shoe,
She was a Primrose, and a Pigsnye too.
And fit to lig by any Christian's Side,
Or a Lord's Mistress, or a Yeoman's Bride.
Now Sirs, what think you, how the Case befell?
This Nicholas (for I the Truth will tell)
Was a mere Wag, and on a certain Day,
When the Good Man, the Husband, was away,
Began to sport and wanton with his Dame,
(For Clerks are sly, and very full of Game)
And privily he caught her by That same.
“My Lemman Dear (quoth he) I'm all on Fire,
“And perish, if you grant not my Desire.
He clasp her round, and held her fast, and cry'd,
“O let me, let me—never be deny'd.”
At this she wreath'd her Head, and sprung aloof,
Like a young frisking Colt, whose tender Hoof
Felt never Farrier's Hand, and never knew
The Virgin Burden of an Iron Shoe.
‘Fye Nicholas! away your Hands, quoth she:
‘Is this your Breeding, and Civility?
‘Foh! Idle Sot! what means th' unmanner'd Clown,
‘To teize me thus, and toss me up and down?
‘I vow I'll tell, and bawl it o'er the Town.
‘You're rude, and will you not be answer'd, No?
‘I will not kiss you—prithee, let me go.’
This Nicholas (for I the Truth will tell)
Was a mere Wag, and on a certain Day,
When the Good Man, the Husband, was away,
196
(For Clerks are sly, and very full of Game)
And privily he caught her by That same.
“My Lemman Dear (quoth he) I'm all on Fire,
“And perish, if you grant not my Desire.
He clasp her round, and held her fast, and cry'd,
“O let me, let me—never be deny'd.”
At this she wreath'd her Head, and sprung aloof,
Like a young frisking Colt, whose tender Hoof
Felt never Farrier's Hand, and never knew
The Virgin Burden of an Iron Shoe.
‘Fye Nicholas! away your Hands, quoth she:
‘Is this your Breeding, and Civility?
‘Foh! Idle Sot! what means th' unmanner'd Clown,
‘To teize me thus, and toss me up and down?
‘I vow I'll tell, and bawl it o'er the Town.
‘You're rude, and will you not be answer'd, No?
‘I will not kiss you—prithee, let me go.’
197
Here Nicholas, a young, designing Knave,
Began to weep, and cant, and Pardon crave.
So fair he spoke, and importun'd so fast,
This seeming modest Spouse consents at last.
By good St. Thomas swore, her usual Oath,
That she would meet his Love—tho' mighty loath.
‘If you, said she, convenient Leisure wait,
‘(You know my Husband has a jealous Pate)
‘I will requite you; for if once the Beast
‘Should chance to find us out, and smell the Jest,
‘I must be a dead Woman at the least.’
“Let that, quoth Nicholas, ne'er vex your Head;
“He must be a meer learned Ass indeed,
“And very foolishly besets his Wile,
“Who cannot a dull Carpenter beguile.”
And thus they were accorded, thus they swore
To wait the Time, as I have said before.
And now, when Nicholas had wore away
The pleasant Time, in harmless am'rous Play,
To his melodious Psaltery he flew,
Play'd Tunes of Love, by which his Passion grew,
Then printed on her Lips a dear Adieu.
It happen'd thus, (I cannot rightly tell,
If it on Easter or on Whitson fell)
That on a Holyday, this modest Dame
To Church, with other honest Neighbours came,
In a good Fit to hear the Parson preach
What the Divine Apostles us'd to teach.
Bright was her Forehead, and no Summer's Day
Shone half so clear, so tempting, and so gay.
Began to weep, and cant, and Pardon crave.
So fair he spoke, and importun'd so fast,
This seeming modest Spouse consents at last.
By good St. Thomas swore, her usual Oath,
That she would meet his Love—tho' mighty loath.
‘If you, said she, convenient Leisure wait,
‘(You know my Husband has a jealous Pate)
‘I will requite you; for if once the Beast
‘Should chance to find us out, and smell the Jest,
‘I must be a dead Woman at the least.’
“Let that, quoth Nicholas, ne'er vex your Head;
“He must be a meer learned Ass indeed,
“And very foolishly besets his Wile,
“Who cannot a dull Carpenter beguile.”
And thus they were accorded, thus they swore
To wait the Time, as I have said before.
And now, when Nicholas had wore away
The pleasant Time, in harmless am'rous Play,
198
Play'd Tunes of Love, by which his Passion grew,
Then printed on her Lips a dear Adieu.
It happen'd thus, (I cannot rightly tell,
If it on Easter or on Whitson fell)
That on a Holyday, this modest Dame
To Church, with other honest Neighbours came,
In a good Fit to hear the Parson preach
What the Divine Apostles us'd to teach.
Bright was her Forehead, and no Summer's Day
Shone half so clear, so tempting, and so gay.
Now to this Parish did a Clerk belong,
Who many a Time had rais'd a Holy Song:
His Name was Absalon, a silly Man,
Who curl'd his Hair, which strutted like a Fan;
And from his jolly, pert, and empty Head,
In Golden Ringlets on his Shoulders spred.
His Face was Red, his Eyes as Grey as Goose,
With St. Paul's Windows figur'd on his Shoes.
Full properly he walk'd in Scarlet Hose,
But light, and Silver-colour'd were his Clothes,
And Surplice white as Blossoms on the Rose.
Thick Poynts and Tassels did the Coxcomb please,
And fetously they dangled on his Knees.
He could let Blood, and shave your Beard, or Head,
But a mere Barber Surgeon by his Trade.
Nay, he cou'd draw a Bond, and learnt from France,
In thirty Motions how to trip, and dance.
Nay, he cou'd write and Read, and that is more
Than twenty Parish-Clreks could do before:
Could frisk and toss his twirling Legs in Air,
Nice were his Feet, and trod it to a Hair.
Songs would he play, and, not to hide his Wit,
Would squeak a Treble to his squawling Kit;
His Dress was finical, his Music queer,
And pleas'd a Tapster's Eye or Drawer's Ear.
No Tavern, Brew-house, Ale-House in the Town,
Was to the gentle Absalon unknown:
But he was very careful of his Wind,
And never let it sally out behind;
To give the Devil his Due, he had an Art
By civil Speech to win a Lady's Heart.
Who many a Time had rais'd a Holy Song:
His Name was Absalon, a silly Man,
Who curl'd his Hair, which strutted like a Fan;
And from his jolly, pert, and empty Head,
In Golden Ringlets on his Shoulders spred.
His Face was Red, his Eyes as Grey as Goose,
With St. Paul's Windows figur'd on his Shoes.
199
But light, and Silver-colour'd were his Clothes,
And Surplice white as Blossoms on the Rose.
Thick Poynts and Tassels did the Coxcomb please,
And fetously they dangled on his Knees.
He could let Blood, and shave your Beard, or Head,
But a mere Barber Surgeon by his Trade.
Nay, he cou'd draw a Bond, and learnt from France,
In thirty Motions how to trip, and dance.
Nay, he cou'd write and Read, and that is more
Than twenty Parish-Clreks could do before:
Could frisk and toss his twirling Legs in Air,
Nice were his Feet, and trod it to a Hair.
Songs would he play, and, not to hide his Wit,
Would squeak a Treble to his squawling Kit;
His Dress was finical, his Music queer,
And pleas'd a Tapster's Eye or Drawer's Ear.
No Tavern, Brew-house, Ale-House in the Town,
Was to the gentle Absalon unknown:
But he was very careful of his Wind,
And never let it sally out behind;
200
By civil Speech to win a Lady's Heart.
This Absalon, so jolly, spruce and gay,
Went with the Censer on the Sabbath Day.
He swung the Incense Pot with comely Grace,
But chiefly would he Fume a pretty Face.
His wanton Eye, which every where he cast,
Dwelt on the Carpenter's fine Dame at last.
So sweet and proper was his lovely Wife,
That he could freely gaze away his Life.
Were he a Cat, this pretty Mouse would feel
Too soon his Talons, a delicious Meal.
Went with the Censer on the Sabbath Day.
He swung the Incense Pot with comely Grace,
But chiefly would he Fume a pretty Face.
His wanton Eye, which every where he cast,
Dwelt on the Carpenter's fine Dame at last.
So sweet and proper was his lovely Wife,
That he could freely gaze away his Life.
Were he a Cat, this pretty Mouse would feel
Too soon his Talons, a delicious Meal.
And now had Cupid shot a piercing Dart,
As wet the Feathers in his wounded Heart.
No Offering of the Handsome Wives he took,
He wanted nothing but a smiling Look,
The Parish Fees refus'd, and said, the Light
Of the fair Moon shines brightest in the Night.
Soon as the Cock had bid the Morning rise,
The smitten Lover to his Fiddle flies.
A hideous Noise his squeaking Trillos make,
And all the drowsy Neighbourhood awake.
At the lov'd House some am'rous Tunes he play'd,
And thus with gentle Voice he sung or said.
Now dear Lady,
If thy Will be,
I pray to Thee
To pity me.
And twenty such complaining Notes he sung,
Alike the Music of his Kit, and Tongue.
At this the staring Carpenter awoke,
And thus his Wife, fair Alison, bespoke.
As wet the Feathers in his wounded Heart.
No Offering of the Handsome Wives he took,
He wanted nothing but a smiling Look,
The Parish Fees refus'd, and said, the Light
Of the fair Moon shines brightest in the Night.
Soon as the Cock had bid the Morning rise,
The smitten Lover to his Fiddle flies.
201
And all the drowsy Neighbourhood awake.
At the lov'd House some am'rous Tunes he play'd,
And thus with gentle Voice he sung or said.
Now dear Lady,
If thy Will be,
I pray to Thee
To pity me.
And twenty such complaining Notes he sung,
Alike the Music of his Kit, and Tongue.
At this the staring Carpenter awoke,
And thus his Wife, fair Alison, bespoke.
“Art Thou asleep, or art Thou deaf, my Dear?
“And cannot Absalon at Window hear?
“How with his Serenade he charms us all,
“Chanting melodiously beneath our Wall?”
‘Yes, yes, I hear him, Alison reply'd,
‘Too well, God wot,’ and then she turn'd aside.
Thus went Affairs, till Absalon, alas!
Was a lost Creature, a mere whining Ass.
All Night he wakes, and sighs, and wears away
On his broad Locks and Dress, the live-long Day.
To such a Height his doating Fondness grew,
To kiss the Ground, and wipe her very Shoe.
Where're she went, he like a Slave pursu'd,
With spiced Ale, and sweet Metheglin woo'd.
All Dainties he could rap and rend, he got,
And sent her Tarts and Custards piping hot.
He spar'd no Cost for an expensive Treat,
Of Mead and Cyder, and all Sorts of Meat.
Throbbing he sings with his lamenting Throat,
And rivals Philomela's mournful Note.
With Rigour some, and some with gentle Arts
Have found a Passage to Young Ladies Hearts:
Some Wealth has won, and some have had the Lot
To fall inamour'd of a Treating Sot.
“And cannot Absalon at Window hear?
“How with his Serenade he charms us all,
“Chanting melodiously beneath our Wall?”
‘Yes, yes, I hear him, Alison reply'd,
‘Too well, God wot,’ and then she turn'd aside.
Thus went Affairs, till Absalon, alas!
Was a lost Creature, a mere whining Ass.
202
On his broad Locks and Dress, the live-long Day.
To such a Height his doating Fondness grew,
To kiss the Ground, and wipe her very Shoe.
Where're she went, he like a Slave pursu'd,
With spiced Ale, and sweet Metheglin woo'd.
All Dainties he could rap and rend, he got,
And sent her Tarts and Custards piping hot.
He spar'd no Cost for an expensive Treat,
Of Mead and Cyder, and all Sorts of Meat.
Throbbing he sings with his lamenting Throat,
And rivals Philomela's mournful Note.
With Rigour some, and some with gentle Arts
Have found a Passage to Young Ladies Hearts:
Some Wealth has won, and some have had the Lot
To fall inamour'd of a Treating Sot.
Sometimes he Scaramouch'd it all on high,
And Harlequin'd it with Activity.
Betrays the Lightness of his empty Head,
And how he could cut Capers in a Bed.
But neither this, nor that, the Damsel move,
For Nicholas has swept the Stakes of Love.
The Parish Clerk has nothing met but Scorn,
And may go Fiddle now, or blow his Horn.
Thus gentle Absalon is made her Ape,
And all his Passion turn'd into a Jape.
For Nicholas is always in her Eye:
True says the Proverb, that the Nigh are Sly.
A distant Love may Disappointment find,
For out of Sight is ever out of Mind.
The Scholar was at hand, as I have told,
And gave the Parish Clerk the Dog to hold.
Now Nicholas thy Craft and Cunning try,
That Absalon may De Profundis cry.
And Harlequin'd it with Activity.
Betrays the Lightness of his empty Head,
And how he could cut Capers in a Bed.
203
For Nicholas has swept the Stakes of Love.
The Parish Clerk has nothing met but Scorn,
And may go Fiddle now, or blow his Horn.
Thus gentle Absalon is made her Ape,
And all his Passion turn'd into a Jape.
For Nicholas is always in her Eye:
True says the Proverb, that the Nigh are Sly.
A distant Love may Disappointment find,
For out of Sight is ever out of Mind.
The Scholar was at hand, as I have told,
And gave the Parish Clerk the Dog to hold.
Now Nicholas thy Craft and Cunning try,
That Absalon may De Profundis cry.
Now when this Carpenter was call'd away
To Work at Osney, on a certain Day;
The subtle Scholar, and his wanton Spouse,
Were decently contriving for his Brows:
Agreed, that Nicholas should shape a Wile,
Her addle-pated Husband to beguile.
And, if so be the Game succeeded right,
She then would sleep within his Arms all Night.
For both were in this one Desire concern'd,
Alike they Suffer'd, and alike they Burn'd.
Strait a new Thought leapt cross the Scholar's Head,
Who at that Instant to his Chamber fled.
But to relieve his Thirst and Hunger, bore
Of Meat and Liquor a substantial Store,
And victual'd it for one long Day, or more.
“Alce, shou'd your Husband ask for Us (quoth he)
“Reply in Scorn, What's Nicholas to me?
“Am I his Keeper? help your silly Head!
“Perhaps the Man is mad, asleep, or dead;
“My Maid indeed has thump'd this Hour or more,
“And knock'd as if she'd thunder down the Door:
“But He, a moaping Drone, no Answer gave,
“Fast as a Church, and silent as the Grave.”
To Work at Osney, on a certain Day;
The subtle Scholar, and his wanton Spouse,
Were decently contriving for his Brows:
Agreed, that Nicholas should shape a Wile,
Her addle-pated Husband to beguile.
204
She then would sleep within his Arms all Night.
For both were in this one Desire concern'd,
Alike they Suffer'd, and alike they Burn'd.
Strait a new Thought leapt cross the Scholar's Head,
Who at that Instant to his Chamber fled.
But to relieve his Thirst and Hunger, bore
Of Meat and Liquor a substantial Store,
And victual'd it for one long Day, or more.
“Alce, shou'd your Husband ask for Us (quoth he)
“Reply in Scorn, What's Nicholas to me?
“Am I his Keeper? help your silly Head!
“Perhaps the Man is mad, asleep, or dead;
“My Maid indeed has thump'd this Hour or more,
“And knock'd as if she'd thunder down the Door:
“But He, a moaping Drone, no Answer gave,
“Fast as a Church, and silent as the Grave.”
Thus did one Saturday entire consume,
Since Nicholas had lock'd him in his Room.
Nor was he Idle; for no Lent he kept,
But eat, like other Men, and drank, and slept.
Did what he list, till the next Sun was new,
And went to Rest, as common Mortals do.
Since Nicholas had lock'd him in his Room.
205
But eat, like other Men, and drank, and slept.
Did what he list, till the next Sun was new,
And went to Rest, as common Mortals do.
This Carpenter was in a grievous Pain,
Lest Nicholas should over-work his Brain;
By Study lose his Reason, or his Life—
‘Well, by St. Thomas, I don't like it, Wife.
‘The World we live in, is a ticklish Place,
‘And sudden Death has often stopt our Race.
‘I saw a Corpse, as to the Church it past,
‘And the poor Man at work but Monday last.
‘Run, Dick, quoth he, run speedily up Stairs,
‘Thump at the Door, and see how stand Affairs.’
Up strait he runs, like any Tempest flies,
And knocks, and bawls, and like a Madman cries.
“Hoh! Master Nicholas, what mean you thus
“To sleep all Night and Day, and frighten Us?”
He might as well have whistl'd to the Wind,
As from good Nicholas an Answer find.
At last he spy'd a Hole, full low, and deep,
Where usually the Cat was wont to creep;
Here was discover'd to his wond'ring Sight,
The Scholar gazing with his Eyes upright,
As if intent upon the Stars and Moon:
And down runs He, to tell his Master soon,
In what Array he saw this studious Man.
The Carpenter to cross himself began:
And cry'd, ‘St. Frideswild, help us one and all!
‘Little we know what Fate shall us befall.
‘This Man with his Astronomy is got
‘Into some Frenzy, and stark mad, God wot.
‘This comes of poring on his cunning Books,
‘Of his Moon-snuffing, and Star-peeping Looks.
‘Why should a silly Earth-born Mortal pry
‘On Heav'n, and search the Secrets of the Sky?
‘Well fare those Men, who no more Learning need
‘Than what's contain'd in the Lord's Pray'r and Creed,
‘Scholars sufficient, if they can but Read!
‘Thus far'd a Sage Philosopher
of Old,
‘Who walking out, as 'tis in Story told,
‘Was so much with Astronomy bewitch'd,
‘That his Star-gazing Clerkship was beditch'd.
‘Ill Luck attends the Man, who looks too high,
‘And can a Star, but not a Marl-pit spy.
‘But, by St. Thomas, this shall never pass;
‘Too well I love this gentle Nicholas.
‘I'll ferret him, unless the Devil's in it,
‘From his brown Fit of Study in a Minute.
Lest Nicholas should over-work his Brain;
By Study lose his Reason, or his Life—
‘Well, by St. Thomas, I don't like it, Wife.
‘The World we live in, is a ticklish Place,
‘And sudden Death has often stopt our Race.
‘I saw a Corpse, as to the Church it past,
‘And the poor Man at work but Monday last.
‘Run, Dick, quoth he, run speedily up Stairs,
‘Thump at the Door, and see how stand Affairs.’
Up strait he runs, like any Tempest flies,
And knocks, and bawls, and like a Madman cries.
“Hoh! Master Nicholas, what mean you thus
“To sleep all Night and Day, and frighten Us?”
He might as well have whistl'd to the Wind,
As from good Nicholas an Answer find.
206
Where usually the Cat was wont to creep;
Here was discover'd to his wond'ring Sight,
The Scholar gazing with his Eyes upright,
As if intent upon the Stars and Moon:
And down runs He, to tell his Master soon,
In what Array he saw this studious Man.
The Carpenter to cross himself began:
And cry'd, ‘St. Frideswild, help us one and all!
‘Little we know what Fate shall us befall.
‘This Man with his Astronomy is got
‘Into some Frenzy, and stark mad, God wot.
‘This comes of poring on his cunning Books,
‘Of his Moon-snuffing, and Star-peeping Looks.
‘Why should a silly Earth-born Mortal pry
‘On Heav'n, and search the Secrets of the Sky?
‘Well fare those Men, who no more Learning need
‘Than what's contain'd in the Lord's Pray'r and Creed,
‘Scholars sufficient, if they can but Read!
207
‘Who walking out, as 'tis in Story told,
‘Was so much with Astronomy bewitch'd,
‘That his Star-gazing Clerkship was beditch'd.
‘Ill Luck attends the Man, who looks too high,
‘And can a Star, but not a Marl-pit spy.
‘But, by St. Thomas, this shall never pass;
‘Too well I love this gentle Nicholas.
‘I'll ferret him, unless the Devil's in it,
‘From his brown Fit of Study in a Minute.
‘Robin, let's try if that an Iron Pur
‘And your strong Back can make this Scholar stir.’
Now Robin was a Lad of Brawn and Bones,
And by the Hasp heav'd up the Door at once,
Which in the Chamber fell with dreadful Sound,
As would a Man, like you or me, astound.
But Nicholas, did nothing do but stare;
And like a Statue gape upon the Air.
‘And your strong Back can make this Scholar stir.’
Now Robin was a Lad of Brawn and Bones,
And by the Hasp heav'd up the Door at once,
Which in the Chamber fell with dreadful Sound,
As would a Man, like you or me, astound.
But Nicholas, did nothing do but stare;
And like a Statue gape upon the Air.
208
This Carpenter was in a piteous Fear,
Because he did not, or he would not hear.
Thought some deep Melancholy had impair'd
His Brain, and that of Mercy he despair'd;
For which the Student in his Arms he took
With might and main, and by the Shoulders shook.
‘Cry'd, Nicholas, awake! what? not a Word?
‘Look down, despair not—think upon the Lord!
Then the Night-Spell he mumbled to himself:
‘Bless thee from Fiends, and every wicked Elf!
He crost the Threshold, where a Dev'l might creep,
And each small Hole, thro' which an Imp might peep;
With solemn Pater Nosters blest the Door,
And Ave Marys after and before.
At this the Clerk sent forth a heavy Sigh,
With Tears, and woful Tone began to cry—
And shall this World be lost so soon? Ah! why?
‘What do I hear? the Carpenter reply'd,
‘What say'st Thou, Nicholas? sure Thou art beside
‘Thy self: Serve God, as we poor Lab'rers do,
‘And then no Harm, nor Danger will ensue.’
“Ah! Friend, quoth Nicholas, you little think
“What I can tell; but first let's have some Drink.
“Then, my dear Host, Thou shalt in private learn
“Some certain things, which Thee and Me concern.
“It shall no Mortal but your self avail;
“Then fetch a Winchester of mighty Ale.”
And now when both had drank an equal Share,
Cries Nicholas, “Sit down, and draw your Chair.
“But first, sweet Landlord, you must take an Oath,
“To no Man living to betray thy Troth.
“For, trust me, what I'm going to relate
“Is Revelation, and as sure as Fate.
“And if you tell, this Vengeance will ensue,
“No Hare in March will be so Mad as You.”
Because he did not, or he would not hear.
Thought some deep Melancholy had impair'd
His Brain, and that of Mercy he despair'd;
For which the Student in his Arms he took
With might and main, and by the Shoulders shook.
‘Cry'd, Nicholas, awake! what? not a Word?
‘Look down, despair not—think upon the Lord!
Then the Night-Spell he mumbled to himself:
‘Bless thee from Fiends, and every wicked Elf!
He crost the Threshold, where a Dev'l might creep,
And each small Hole, thro' which an Imp might peep;
With solemn Pater Nosters blest the Door,
And Ave Marys after and before.
At this the Clerk sent forth a heavy Sigh,
With Tears, and woful Tone began to cry—
And shall this World be lost so soon? Ah! why?
‘What do I hear? the Carpenter reply'd,
‘What say'st Thou, Nicholas? sure Thou art beside
209
‘And then no Harm, nor Danger will ensue.’
“Ah! Friend, quoth Nicholas, you little think
“What I can tell; but first let's have some Drink.
“Then, my dear Host, Thou shalt in private learn
“Some certain things, which Thee and Me concern.
“It shall no Mortal but your self avail;
“Then fetch a Winchester of mighty Ale.”
And now when both had drank an equal Share,
Cries Nicholas, “Sit down, and draw your Chair.
“But first, sweet Landlord, you must take an Oath,
“To no Man living to betray thy Troth.
“For, trust me, what I'm going to relate
“Is Revelation, and as sure as Fate.
“And if you tell, this Vengeance will ensue,
“No Hare in March will be so Mad as You.”
‘Nay, quoth mine Host, I am no Blab, not I,
‘And hang me, if you catch me in a Lye.
‘I would not tell, tho' 'twere to save my Life,
‘To Chick or Child, to Man, or Maid, or Wife.’
‘And hang me, if you catch me in a Lye.
‘I would not tell, tho' 'twere to save my Life,
‘To Chick or Child, to Man, or Maid, or Wife.’
210
“Now, John, quoth Nicholas, I will not hide
“What by my Art I have of late descry'd;
“How, as I por'd upon fair Cynthia's Light,
“Should fall, on Monday next, at Quarter Night,
“A Rain so sudden, and so long to boot,
“That Noah's Flood was but a Spoonful to't.
“This World within the Compass of an Hour
“Shall all be drown'd, so hideous is the Show'r,
“As will the Cattle, and Mankind devour.”
Cries then this silly Man, ‘Alas, my Wife!
‘My Bosom-comfort, and my better Life!
‘And must She drown, and perish with the Rest?
‘My Alison, the Darling of my Breast?’
At this well nigh he swoon'd o'er-whelm'd with Grief,
Fetch'd a deep Sigh, ‘And is there no Relief;
‘No Remedy, he cry'd, no Succour left?
‘Are we, alas! of ev'ry Hope bereft?’
“No, by no Means, quoth this designing Clerk;
“Be of good Heart, and by Instruction Work.
“For if by Nicholas you will be led,
“And build no Castles in your own wild Head,
“None so secure: for Solomon says true,
“Work all by Counsel, and you cannot rue.
“If you'll be govern'd, and be rul'd by me,
“I'll undertake to save Thy Wife and Thee;
“By my own Art against the Flood prevail,
“And make no Use of either Mast or Sail.
“Have you not heard, how, when the World was naught,
“Noah, by Heav'nly Inspiration taught’—
‘(Ay, ay, quoth John, I've in my Bible found
‘That once upon a Time the World was drown'd,’)
“Hast thou not heard, how Noah was concern'd
“For his dear Wife, and how his Bowels yearn'd,
“Till he had built and furnish'd out a Bark,
“And lodged her, with her Children in the Ark?
“Now Expedition is the Soul and Life
“Of Business; if you love Yourself or Wife,
“Run, Fly—for in this Case it is a Crime
“To loyter, or to lose an Inch of Time.
“For Alison, Yourself, and Me provide
“Three Kneading-Troughs, to sail upon the Tide.
“But take most special Care, that they be large,
“In which a Man may swim as in a Barge.
“Let them be victual'd well, and see you lay
“Sufficient Stores against a rainy Day;
“Enough to serve You twenty Hours, and more,
“For then the Flood will swage, and not before.
“But one thing let me whisper in your Ear,
“Let not thy sturdy Servant Robin hear,
“Nor bonny Gillian know what I relate;
“I must not utter the Decrees of Fate.
“Ask me not Reasons why I cannot save
“Your trusty Serving-Maid, and honest Knave:
“Suffice it thee, unless Thy Wits be mad,
“To have as great a Grace, as Noah had.
“Do you make Haste, and mind the grand Affair;
“To save your Wife shall be my proper Care.
“But when these Kneading-Tubs are ready made,
“Which may secure us, when the Floods invade,
“See that you hang them in the Roof full high,
“That none our Providential Plot descry.
“And when Thou hast convey'd sufficient Store
“Of Meats and Drink, as I have said before,
“And put a sharp'ned Ax in ev'ry Boat,
“To cut the Cord, and set us all afloat;
“Then thro' the Gable of the House, which lies
“Above the Stable, and the Garden spies,
“Break out a Hole, so very large and wide,
“Thro' which our Tubs may sail upon the Tide.
“What by my Art I have of late descry'd;
“How, as I por'd upon fair Cynthia's Light,
“Should fall, on Monday next, at Quarter Night,
“A Rain so sudden, and so long to boot,
“That Noah's Flood was but a Spoonful to't.
“This World within the Compass of an Hour
“Shall all be drown'd, so hideous is the Show'r,
“As will the Cattle, and Mankind devour.”
Cries then this silly Man, ‘Alas, my Wife!
‘My Bosom-comfort, and my better Life!
‘And must She drown, and perish with the Rest?
‘My Alison, the Darling of my Breast?’
At this well nigh he swoon'd o'er-whelm'd with Grief,
Fetch'd a deep Sigh, ‘And is there no Relief;
‘No Remedy, he cry'd, no Succour left?
‘Are we, alas! of ev'ry Hope bereft?’
“No, by no Means, quoth this designing Clerk;
“Be of good Heart, and by Instruction Work.
211
“And build no Castles in your own wild Head,
“None so secure: for Solomon says true,
“Work all by Counsel, and you cannot rue.
“If you'll be govern'd, and be rul'd by me,
“I'll undertake to save Thy Wife and Thee;
“By my own Art against the Flood prevail,
“And make no Use of either Mast or Sail.
“Have you not heard, how, when the World was naught,
“Noah, by Heav'nly Inspiration taught’—
‘(Ay, ay, quoth John, I've in my Bible found
‘That once upon a Time the World was drown'd,’)
“Hast thou not heard, how Noah was concern'd
“For his dear Wife, and how his Bowels yearn'd,
“Till he had built and furnish'd out a Bark,
“And lodged her, with her Children in the Ark?
“Now Expedition is the Soul and Life
“Of Business; if you love Yourself or Wife,
“Run, Fly—for in this Case it is a Crime
“To loyter, or to lose an Inch of Time.
212
“Three Kneading-Troughs, to sail upon the Tide.
“But take most special Care, that they be large,
“In which a Man may swim as in a Barge.
“Let them be victual'd well, and see you lay
“Sufficient Stores against a rainy Day;
“Enough to serve You twenty Hours, and more,
“For then the Flood will swage, and not before.
“But one thing let me whisper in your Ear,
“Let not thy sturdy Servant Robin hear,
“Nor bonny Gillian know what I relate;
“I must not utter the Decrees of Fate.
“Ask me not Reasons why I cannot save
“Your trusty Serving-Maid, and honest Knave:
“Suffice it thee, unless Thy Wits be mad,
“To have as great a Grace, as Noah had.
“Do you make Haste, and mind the grand Affair;
“To save your Wife shall be my proper Care.
“But when these Kneading-Tubs are ready made,
“Which may secure us, when the Floods invade,
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“That none our Providential Plot descry.
“And when Thou hast convey'd sufficient Store
“Of Meats and Drink, as I have said before,
“And put a sharp'ned Ax in ev'ry Boat,
“To cut the Cord, and set us all afloat;
“Then thro' the Gable of the House, which lies
“Above the Stable, and the Garden spies,
“Break out a Hole, so very large and wide,
“Thro' which our Tubs may sail upon the Tide.
“Then wilt thou so much Mirth and Pleasure take
“In swimming, as the white Duck and the Drake.
“Then when I cry, Hoh! Alison, and John,
“Be merry; for the Flood will pass anon.
“Then wilt thou answer, Master Nicholay;
“Good morrow, for I see it is broad Day.
“Then shall we reign, as Emperors for Life,
“O'er all the World, like Noah and his Wife.
“But one thing I almost forgot to tell,
“Which now comes in my Head, (and mark me well)
“That on that very Night we go aboard,
“All must be hush'd, and whisper not a Word.
“But all the Time employ our holy Mind
“In earnest Prayers: For thus has Heav'n injoin'd.
“In swimming, as the white Duck and the Drake.
“Then when I cry, Hoh! Alison, and John,
“Be merry; for the Flood will pass anon.
“Then wilt thou answer, Master Nicholay;
“Good morrow, for I see it is broad Day.
“Then shall we reign, as Emperors for Life,
“O'er all the World, like Noah and his Wife.
“But one thing I almost forgot to tell,
“Which now comes in my Head, (and mark me well)
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“All must be hush'd, and whisper not a Word.
“But all the Time employ our holy Mind
“In earnest Prayers: For thus has Heav'n injoin'd.
“You and your Wife must take a separate Place,
“Nor is there any Sin in such a Case.
“To morrow Night, when Men are fast asleep,
“We to our Kneading-Tubs will slyly creep.
“There will we sit, each in his Ship apart,
“And wait the Deluge with a patient Heart.
“Go now; I have no longer time to spare
“In Sermoning, use expeditious Care.
“Your Apprehension needs no more Advice:
“One single Word's sufficient for the Wise.
“And none, dear Landord, can your Wit inform;
“Go, save our Lives from this impending Storm.”
Away hies John, with melancholy Look,
And sigh'd, and groan'd, at ev'ry Step he took.
To Alison he does his Fate deplore,
And tells a Secret which she knew before.
But yet she trembl'd, like an Aspin Leaf,
And seem'd to perish with dissembled Grief;
Crying, “Alas! What shall I do?—begone—
“Help us to 'scape, or we are all undone.
“I am thy true and very wedded Wife;
“Go, dear, dear Spouse, and help to save my Life.”
“Nor is there any Sin in such a Case.
“To morrow Night, when Men are fast asleep,
“We to our Kneading-Tubs will slyly creep.
“There will we sit, each in his Ship apart,
“And wait the Deluge with a patient Heart.
“Go now; I have no longer time to spare
“In Sermoning, use expeditious Care.
“Your Apprehension needs no more Advice:
“One single Word's sufficient for the Wise.
“And none, dear Landord, can your Wit inform;
“Go, save our Lives from this impending Storm.”
Away hies John, with melancholy Look,
And sigh'd, and groan'd, at ev'ry Step he took.
To Alison he does his Fate deplore,
And tells a Secret which she knew before.
215
And seem'd to perish with dissembled Grief;
Crying, “Alas! What shall I do?—begone—
“Help us to 'scape, or we are all undone.
“I am thy true and very wedded Wife;
“Go, dear, dear Spouse, and help to save my Life.”
What strong Impressions does Affection give?
By Fancy, Men have often ceas'd to live.
Howe're absurd things in themselves appear,
Weak Minds are apt to credit what they fear.
By Fancy, Men have often ceas'd to live.
Howe're absurd things in themselves appear,
Weak Minds are apt to credit what they fear.
This silly Carpenter is almost Wood,
And thinks of nothing else, but Noah's Flood.
Believes he sees it, and begins to quake,
And all for Alison, his Hony's Sake.
He's over-run with Sorrow and with Fear,
And sends forth many a Groan and many a Tear.
A Kneading-Trough, a Tub, and Kemelin
He gets by Stealth, and sends them to his Inn.
He makes three Ladders, whence he climbs aloof,
And privately he hangs them in the Roof.
But first he victual'd them, both Trough and Tub,
With Bread and Cheese, and Bottles fill'd with mighty Bub;
Enough o'Conscience to relieve their Fast,
And be sufficient for a Day's Repast.
And thinks of nothing else, but Noah's Flood.
Believes he sees it, and begins to quake,
And all for Alison, his Hony's Sake.
He's over-run with Sorrow and with Fear,
And sends forth many a Groan and many a Tear.
A Kneading-Trough, a Tub, and Kemelin
He gets by Stealth, and sends them to his Inn.
216
And privately he hangs them in the Roof.
But first he victual'd them, both Trough and Tub,
With Bread and Cheese, and Bottles fill'd with mighty Bub;
Enough o'Conscience to relieve their Fast,
And be sufficient for a Day's Repast.
But e're this Preparation had been made,
He sent to London both his Man and Maid,
On certain Matters, which concern'd his Trade.
He sent to London both his Man and Maid,
On certain Matters, which concern'd his Trade.
And now came on the fatal Monday Night,
Barr'd are the Doors, out goes the Candle-Light.
And when all things in Readiness were set,
These Three their Ladders take, and up they get.
Now Pater-Noster, clum, said Alison,
And clum, quoth Nicholas, and clum, quoth John.
This Carpenter his Orisons did say,
For Men in fear are very apt to pray.
Silent he waited, when the Skies would pour
This unaccountable and dismal Show'r.
And now at Curfew
time, dead Sleep began
To fall upon this easy, simple Man.
Who after so much Care and Bus'ness past,
And spent with sad Concern, was quickly fast.
Soft down the Ladder stole this loving Pair,
Good Nicholas, and Alison the Fair;
Then, without speaking, to the Bed they creep
Of John, poor Cuckold! who was fast asleep.
There all the Night they revel, sport, and toy,
And act the merry Scene of am'rous Joy;
Till that the Bell of Lauds began to ring,
And the fat Fryars in the Chancel sing.
Barr'd are the Doors, out goes the Candle-Light.
And when all things in Readiness were set,
These Three their Ladders take, and up they get.
Now Pater-Noster, clum, said Alison,
And clum, quoth Nicholas, and clum, quoth John.
This Carpenter his Orisons did say,
For Men in fear are very apt to pray.
Silent he waited, when the Skies would pour
This unaccountable and dismal Show'r.
217
To fall upon this easy, simple Man.
Who after so much Care and Bus'ness past,
And spent with sad Concern, was quickly fast.
Soft down the Ladder stole this loving Pair,
Good Nicholas, and Alison the Fair;
Then, without speaking, to the Bed they creep
Of John, poor Cuckold! who was fast asleep.
There all the Night they revel, sport, and toy,
And act the merry Scene of am'rous Joy;
Till that the Bell of Lauds began to ring,
And the fat Fryars in the Chancel sing.
The Parish Clerk, this am'rous Absalon,
Who over Head and Ears in Love is gone,
At Osney happen'd with a jovial Crew
To spend the Monday, as they us'd to do;
There pulls a certain Fryar by the Sleeve,
With Pardon begg'd, and Father, by your Leave,
“When saw yon John the Carpenter? he cries”.
‘Last Saturday, the Cloisterer replies,
‘Since then I have not seen him with these Eyes;
‘Perhaps abroad he's playing fast and loose;
‘Or fetching Timber for the Abbot's Use,
‘And lodges at the Graunge a Day or two,
‘Or else at Home—I know no more than you.’
This made Nab's boiling Blood with Pleasure start,
The News rejoyc'd the Cockles of his Heart.
“Now is my Time, thinks he; the Moon is bright,
“Nor care I, if I travel all the Night;
“For at his Door since Day began to spring,
“I've seen, like him, no kind of Man, or Thing.
Who over Head and Ears in Love is gone,
At Osney happen'd with a jovial Crew
To spend the Monday, as they us'd to do;
218
With Pardon begg'd, and Father, by your Leave,
“When saw yon John the Carpenter? he cries”.
‘Last Saturday, the Cloisterer replies,
‘Since then I have not seen him with these Eyes;
‘Perhaps abroad he's playing fast and loose;
‘Or fetching Timber for the Abbot's Use,
‘And lodges at the Graunge a Day or two,
‘Or else at Home—I know no more than you.’
This made Nab's boiling Blood with Pleasure start,
The News rejoyc'd the Cockles of his Heart.
“Now is my Time, thinks he; the Moon is bright,
“Nor care I, if I travel all the Night;
“For at his Door since Day began to spring,
“I've seen, like him, no kind of Man, or Thing.
“It is resolv'd; to Alison I'll go,
“When the first Morning Cock begins to crow;
“And to her Window privately repair,
“Then knock, and tell her my tormenting Care.
“I'll open all my Breast, and ease my Heart,
“For 'tis too much to bear Love's stinging Smart.
“Some little Comfort sure I shall not miss,
“At least she'll grant the Favour of a Kiss;
“My Mouth has itch'd all Day, from whence it seems,
“That I shall kiss: Besides my pleasant Dreams
“Of Feasts and Banquets, whence a Man may guess
“That I may haply meet with some Success:
“But for an Hour or two before I go,
“I'll first refresh me with a Nap, or so.”
“When the first Morning Cock begins to crow;
“And to her Window privately repair,
“Then knock, and tell her my tormenting Care.
219
“For 'tis too much to bear Love's stinging Smart.
“Some little Comfort sure I shall not miss,
“At least she'll grant the Favour of a Kiss;
“My Mouth has itch'd all Day, from whence it seems,
“That I shall kiss: Besides my pleasant Dreams
“Of Feasts and Banquets, whence a Man may guess
“That I may haply meet with some Success:
“But for an Hour or two before I go,
“I'll first refresh me with a Nap, or so.”
Now the first Cock had wak'd from his Repose
The jolly Absalon, and up he rose.
But first he dresses finical and gay,
And looks like any Beau, at Church or Play,
And brisk as Bridegroom on a Wedding-Day.
Nicely he combs the Ringlets of his Hair,
And wash'd with Rose-water, looks fresh and fair;
Then with his Finger he her Window twang'd,
Whisper'd a gentle Tone, and thus harangu'd.
The jolly Absalon, and up he rose.
But first he dresses finical and gay,
And looks like any Beau, at Church or Play,
And brisk as Bridegroom on a Wedding-Day.
Nicely he combs the Ringlets of his Hair,
And wash'd with Rose-water, looks fresh and fair;
Then with his Finger he her Window twang'd,
Whisper'd a gentle Tone, and thus harangu'd.
220
Sweet Alison, my Hony-comb, my Dear,
My Bird, my Cinamon, your Lover hear.
Awake, and speak one Word before I part,
But one kind Word, the Balsam to my Heart.
Little you think, alas! the mighty Woe,
Which for the Love of Thee I undergo.
For Thee I swelter, and for Thee I sweat,
And mourn as Lamb-kins for the Mother's Teat.
Nor false my Grief, nor does the Turtle Dove
Lament more truly, or more truly love.
I cannot eat nor drink, and all for Thee—
“Get from my Window, you Jack Fool, said she;
“I love another of a different Hue
“From such a silly Dunder-head as you.
“If you stand talking at that foolish Rate,
“My Chamber-pot shall be about your Pate.
“Begone, you empty Sot, and let me sleep”—
At this poor Absalon began to weep,
And his hard Fate with Sighs and Groans deplore,
Was ever faithful Love thus serv'd before!
Since then, my Sweet, what I desire's in vain,
Let me but one small Boon, a Kiss, obtain.
“And will you then be gone, nor loyter here,”
Quoth Alison?—Ay certainly, my Dear!
“Make ready then”—Now, Nicholas, lye still,
'Tis such a Jest, that you shall laugh your fill.
My Bird, my Cinamon, your Lover hear.
Awake, and speak one Word before I part,
But one kind Word, the Balsam to my Heart.
Little you think, alas! the mighty Woe,
Which for the Love of Thee I undergo.
For Thee I swelter, and for Thee I sweat,
And mourn as Lamb-kins for the Mother's Teat.
Nor false my Grief, nor does the Turtle Dove
Lament more truly, or more truly love.
I cannot eat nor drink, and all for Thee—
“Get from my Window, you Jack Fool, said she;
“I love another of a different Hue
“From such a silly Dunder-head as you.
“If you stand talking at that foolish Rate,
“My Chamber-pot shall be about your Pate.
“Begone, you empty Sot, and let me sleep”—
At this poor Absalon began to weep,
And his hard Fate with Sighs and Groans deplore,
Was ever faithful Love thus serv'd before!
221
Let me but one small Boon, a Kiss, obtain.
“And will you then be gone, nor loyter here,”
Quoth Alison?—Ay certainly, my Dear!
“Make ready then”—Now, Nicholas, lye still,
'Tis such a Jest, that you shall laugh your fill.
Ravish'd with Joy, Nab fell upon his Knees,
The happiest Man alive in all Degrees;
In silent Raptures he began to cry,
No Lord in Europe is so blest as I.
I may expect more Favours; for a Kiss
Is an Assurance of a further Bliss.
The Window now unclasp'd, with slender Voice,
Cries Alison, “Be quick, and make no Noise;
“I would not for the World our Neighbours hear,
“For they're made up of Jealousy and Fear.”
The happiest Man alive in all Degrees;
In silent Raptures he began to cry,
No Lord in Europe is so blest as I.
I may expect more Favours; for a Kiss
Is an Assurance of a further Bliss.
The Window now unclasp'd, with slender Voice,
Cries Alison, “Be quick, and make no Noise;
“I would not for the World our Neighbours hear,
“For they're made up of Jealousy and Fear.”
Then silken Handkerchief from Pocket came,
To wipe his Mouth full clean to kiss the Dame.
Dark was the Night, as any Coal or Pitch,
When at the Window she clapt out her Breech.
The Parish Clerk ne'er doubted what to do,
But ask'd no Questions, and in haste fell to;
On her blind Side full savourly he prest
A loving Kiss, e'er he smelt out the Jest.
Aback he starts, for he knew well enough,
That Women's Lips are smooth, but these were rough.
What have I done, quoth he? and rav'd and star'd,
Ah me! I've kist a Woman with a Beard.
He curst the Hour, and rail'd against the Stars,
That he was born to kiss my Lady's ---
Tehea, she cry'd, and clapt the Window close,
While Absalon with Grief and Anger goes
To meditate Revenge; and to requite
The foul Affront, he would not sleep that Night.
And now with Dust, with Sand, with Straw, with Chips,
He scrubs and rubs the Kisses from his Lips,
Oft would he say, Alas! O basest Evil!
Than met with this Disgrace so damn'd uncivil,
I rather had went headlong to the Devil.
To kiss a Woman's --- oh! it can't be born!
But by my Soul I'll be aveng'd by Morn.
To wipe his Mouth full clean to kiss the Dame.
Dark was the Night, as any Coal or Pitch,
When at the Window she clapt out her Breech.
222
But ask'd no Questions, and in haste fell to;
On her blind Side full savourly he prest
A loving Kiss, e'er he smelt out the Jest.
Aback he starts, for he knew well enough,
That Women's Lips are smooth, but these were rough.
What have I done, quoth he? and rav'd and star'd,
Ah me! I've kist a Woman with a Beard.
He curst the Hour, and rail'd against the Stars,
That he was born to kiss my Lady's ---
Tehea, she cry'd, and clapt the Window close,
While Absalon with Grief and Anger goes
To meditate Revenge; and to requite
The foul Affront, he would not sleep that Night.
And now with Dust, with Sand, with Straw, with Chips,
He scrubs and rubs the Kisses from his Lips,
Oft would he say, Alas! O basest Evil!
Than met with this Disgrace so damn'd uncivil,
I rather had went headlong to the Devil.
223
But by my Soul I'll be aveng'd by Morn.
Hot Love, the Proverb says, grows quickly cool,
And Absalon's no more an Am'rous Fool:
For since his Purpose was so fouly crost,
He gains his Quiet, tho' his Love is lost:
And, cur'd of his Distemper, can defy
All whining Coxcombs with a scornful Eye:
But for meer Anger, as he pass'd the Street,
He wept, as does a School-boy when he's beat.
In a soft, doleful Pace at last he came
To an old Vulcan, Jarvis was his Name;
Who late and early at the Forge turmoyl'd,
In hamm'ring Iron Bars, and Plough-shares, toil'd.
Hither repair'd, by One or Two a Clock,
Poor Absalon, and gave an easy Knock.
Who's there that knocks so late, Sir Jarvis cries?
“'Tis I, the pensive Absalon replies.
“Open the Door.” ‘What Absalon, quoth He,
‘The Parish Clerk?’ Ah! Benedicite.
Where hast thou been? some pretty Girl, I wot,
Has led you out so late upon the trot.
Some merry-meeting on the Wenching score,
You know my Meaning,—but I'll say no more.
And Absalon's no more an Am'rous Fool:
For since his Purpose was so fouly crost,
He gains his Quiet, tho' his Love is lost:
And, cur'd of his Distemper, can defy
All whining Coxcombs with a scornful Eye:
But for meer Anger, as he pass'd the Street,
He wept, as does a School-boy when he's beat.
In a soft, doleful Pace at last he came
To an old Vulcan, Jarvis was his Name;
Who late and early at the Forge turmoyl'd,
In hamm'ring Iron Bars, and Plough-shares, toil'd.
Hither repair'd, by One or Two a Clock,
Poor Absalon, and gave an easy Knock.
Who's there that knocks so late, Sir Jarvis cries?
“'Tis I, the pensive Absalon replies.
“Open the Door.” ‘What Absalon, quoth He,
‘The Parish Clerk?’ Ah! Benedicite.
224
Has led you out so late upon the trot.
Some merry-meeting on the Wenching score,
You know my Meaning,—but I'll say no more.
This Absalon another Distaff drew,
And had more Tow to spin than Jarvis knew:
He minded not a Bean of all he said,
For other Things employ'd his careful Head.
At last he Silence breaks, Dear Friend, he cries,
Lend's that hot Pur, which in the Chimney lies;
I have occasion for't, no Questions ask,
To bring it back again shall be my Task.
‘With all my Heart, quoth Jarvis, were it Gold,
‘Or splendid Nobles in a Purse untold;
‘With all my Heart, as I'm an honest Smith,
‘I'll lend it Thee; but what wilt do therewith?’
“For that, quoth Absalon, nor care, nor sorrow,
“I'll give a good Account of it to Morrow.”
Then up the Culter in his Hand he caught,
Tripp'd out with silent Pace, and wicked Thought.
Red-hot it was, as any burning Cole,
With which to John the Carpenter's he stole.
There first he cough'd, and, as his usual Wont,
Up to the Window came, and tapp'd upon't.
‘Who's there? quoth Alison, Some Midnight Rook,
‘Some Thief, I warrant, with a hanging Look.’
“Ah! God forbid, quoth this dissembling Elf,
“'Tis Absalon, my Life! my better Self!
“A rich Gold Ring I've to my Darling brought,
“By a known Graver exquisitely wrought.
“Beside, a Posie, most divinely writ
“By a fam'd Poet, and notorious Wit.
“My Mother gave it me ('tis wond'rous fine)
“She clapp'd it on my Finger, I on thine,
“If thou wilt deign the favour of a Kiss—”
Now Nicholas by chance rose up to piss,
Thinking to better, and improve the Jest,
He should salute his Breech, before the rest.
With eager Haste, and secret Joy he went,
And his Posteriors out at Window sent.
Here Absalon, the Wag, with subtle Tone
Whispers, “My Love! my Soul! my Alison,
“Speak, my sweet Bird, I know not where thou art—”
At this the Scholar let a rouzing Fart;
So loud the Noise, as frightful was the Stroke,
As Thunder, when it splits the sturdy Oak.
The Clerk was ready, and with hearty Gust
The Red-hot Iron in his Buttocks thrust.
Streight off the Skin, like shrivel'd Parchment flew,
His Breech as raw as Saint Bartholomew.
The Culter had so fing'd his Hinder Part,
He thought he should have dy'd for very Smart.
In a mad Fit about the Room he ran,
Help, Water, Water, for a dying Man.
And had more Tow to spin than Jarvis knew:
He minded not a Bean of all he said,
For other Things employ'd his careful Head.
At last he Silence breaks, Dear Friend, he cries,
Lend's that hot Pur, which in the Chimney lies;
I have occasion for't, no Questions ask,
To bring it back again shall be my Task.
‘With all my Heart, quoth Jarvis, were it Gold,
‘Or splendid Nobles in a Purse untold;
‘With all my Heart, as I'm an honest Smith,
‘I'll lend it Thee; but what wilt do therewith?’
“For that, quoth Absalon, nor care, nor sorrow,
“I'll give a good Account of it to Morrow.”
Then up the Culter in his Hand he caught,
Tripp'd out with silent Pace, and wicked Thought.
225
With which to John the Carpenter's he stole.
There first he cough'd, and, as his usual Wont,
Up to the Window came, and tapp'd upon't.
‘Who's there? quoth Alison, Some Midnight Rook,
‘Some Thief, I warrant, with a hanging Look.’
“Ah! God forbid, quoth this dissembling Elf,
“'Tis Absalon, my Life! my better Self!
“A rich Gold Ring I've to my Darling brought,
“By a known Graver exquisitely wrought.
“Beside, a Posie, most divinely writ
“By a fam'd Poet, and notorious Wit.
“My Mother gave it me ('tis wond'rous fine)
“She clapp'd it on my Finger, I on thine,
“If thou wilt deign the favour of a Kiss—”
Now Nicholas by chance rose up to piss,
Thinking to better, and improve the Jest,
He should salute his Breech, before the rest.
With eager Haste, and secret Joy he went,
And his Posteriors out at Window sent.
226
Whispers, “My Love! my Soul! my Alison,
“Speak, my sweet Bird, I know not where thou art—”
At this the Scholar let a rouzing Fart;
So loud the Noise, as frightful was the Stroke,
As Thunder, when it splits the sturdy Oak.
The Clerk was ready, and with hearty Gust
The Red-hot Iron in his Buttocks thrust.
Streight off the Skin, like shrivel'd Parchment flew,
His Breech as raw as Saint Bartholomew.
The Culter had so fing'd his Hinder Part,
He thought he should have dy'd for very Smart.
In a mad Fit about the Room he ran,
Help, Water, Water, for a dying Man.
The Carpenter, as one beside his Wits,
Starts at the dreadful Sound, and up he gets.
The Name of Water rouz'd him from his Sleep,
He rubb'd his Eye-lids, and began to peep.
Alas! thought he, now comes the fatal Hour,
And from the Clouds does Noah's Deluge pour.
Up then he sits, and without more Ado
He takes his Ax, and smites the Cord in two.
Down goes the Bread, and Ale, and Cheese, and All,
And John himself had a confounded Fall.
Dropp'd from the Roof upon the Floor; astoun'd
He lies, as dead, and swims upon dry Ground.
Starts at the dreadful Sound, and up he gets.
The Name of Water rouz'd him from his Sleep,
He rubb'd his Eye-lids, and began to peep.
Alas! thought he, now comes the fatal Hour,
And from the Clouds does Noah's Deluge pour.
227
He takes his Ax, and smites the Cord in two.
Down goes the Bread, and Ale, and Cheese, and All,
And John himself had a confounded Fall.
Dropp'd from the Roof upon the Floor; astoun'd
He lies, as dead, and swims upon dry Ground.
Then Nicholas, to play the Counterfeit,
With Alison, cries Murder in the Street.
With Alison, cries Murder in the Street.
In came the Neighbours pouring like the Tide,
To know the reason why was Murder cry'd.
There they beheld poor John, a gasping Man,
Shut were his Eyes, his Face was pale and wan.
Batter'd his Sides, and broken was his Arm,
But stand it out he must to his own Harm.
For when he aim'd to speak in his Defence,
They bore him down, and baffled all his Sense.
They told the People, that the Man was wood,
And dreamt of nothing else but Noah's Flood.
His heated Fancy of this Deluge rung,
That to the Roof three Kneading-Troughs he hung,
With which in Danger he design'd to swim,
And we, forsooth, must carry on the Whim:
He begg'd, and pray'd, and so we humour'd him.
To know the reason why was Murder cry'd.
There they beheld poor John, a gasping Man,
Shut were his Eyes, his Face was pale and wan.
Batter'd his Sides, and broken was his Arm,
But stand it out he must to his own Harm.
For when he aim'd to speak in his Defence,
They bore him down, and baffled all his Sense.
They told the People, that the Man was wood,
And dreamt of nothing else but Noah's Flood.
His heated Fancy of this Deluge rung,
That to the Roof three Kneading-Troughs he hung,
228
And we, forsooth, must carry on the Whim:
He begg'd, and pray'd, and so we humour'd him.
At hearing this, the sneering Neighbours gave
An universal Shout, and hideous Laugh.
Now on the Roof, and now on John they gape,
And all his Earnest turn into a Jape.
He swore against the Scholar and his Wife,
And never look'd so foolish in his Life.
Whate're he speaks, the People never mind,
His Oaths are nothing, and his Words are Wind.
Thus all consent to scoff each serious Word,
And John remain'd a Cuckold on Record.
An universal Shout, and hideous Laugh.
Now on the Roof, and now on John they gape,
And all his Earnest turn into a Jape.
He swore against the Scholar and his Wife,
And never look'd so foolish in his Life.
Whate're he speaks, the People never mind,
His Oaths are nothing, and his Words are Wind.
Thus all consent to scoff each serious Word,
And John remain'd a Cuckold on Record.
Thus Doors of Brass, and Bars of Steel are vain,
And watchful Jealousy, and carking Pain
Are fruitless all, when a good-natur'd Spouse
Designs Preferment for her Husband's Brows.
Thus Alison her Cuckold does defy,
And Absalon has kiss'd her-nether Eye;
While Nicholas is scalded in the Breech,
My Tale is done, God save us all, and each.
And watchful Jealousy, and carking Pain
Are fruitless all, when a good-natur'd Spouse
Designs Preferment for her Husband's Brows.
Thus Alison her Cuckold does defy,
And Absalon has kiss'd her-nether Eye;
While Nicholas is scalded in the Breech,
My Tale is done, God save us all, and each.
End of the Miller's
TALE.
Curfew. WILLIAM the Conqueror, in the first Year of his Reign, commanded that in every Town, and Village a Bell should be rung every Night, at eight of the Clock, and that all People should then put out their Fire and Candle and go to Bed. The Ringing of this Bell was call'd Curfew, that is, Cover Fire.
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