In certain bondes, that they may not flee :
That same prince and mover eke (quod he)
Hath stablisht, in this wretched world adoun,
Certain of dayes and duration

To all that are engendred in this place,
Over the which day they ne mow not pace,
Al mow they yet dayes wel abrege.
Ther nedeth non autoritee allege,
For it is preved by experience,
But that me lust declaren my sentence.
Than may men by this ordre wel discerne,
That thilke mover stable is and eterne.
Wel may men knowen, but it be a fool,
That every part deriveth from his hool.
For nature hath not taken his beginning
Of no partie ne cantel of a thing,
But of a thing that parfit is and stable,
Descending so, til it be corrumpable.
And therfore of his wise purveyance
He hath so wel beset his ordinance,
That speces of thinges and progressions
Shullen enduren by successions,
And not eterne, withouten any lie:

This maiest thou understand and seen at eye.
Lo the oke, that hath so long a norishing
Fro the time that it ginneth first to spring,
And hath so long a lif, as ye may see,
Yet at the laste wasted is the tree.
Considereth eke, how that the harde stone
Under our feet, on which we trede and gon,
It wasteth, as it lieth by the wey.
The brode river somtime wexeth drey.
The grete tounes see we wane and wende.
Than may ye see that all thing hath an ende.
Of man and woman see we wel also,
That nedes in on of the termes two,
That is to sayn, in youthe or elles age,

He mote be ded, the king as shall a page;
Som in his bed, som in the depe see,
Som in the large feld, as ye may see:
Ther helpeth nought, all goth that ilke wey:
Than may I sayn that alle thing mote dey.
What maketh this but Jupiter the king?
The which is prince, and cause of alle thing,
Converting alle unto his propre wille,
From which it is derived, soth to telle.
And here-againes no creature on live
Of no degree availleth for to strive.
Than is it wisdom, as it thinketh me,
To maken vertue of necessite,
And take it wel, that we may not eschewe,
And namely that to us all is dewe.
And who so grutcheth ought, he doth folie,
And rebel is to him that all may gie.
And certainly a man hath most honour
To dien in his excellence and flour,
What he is siker of his goode name.

Thay Bath he don his frend, ne him, no shame;

And glader ought his frend ben of his deth,
Whan with honour is yolden up his breth,
Than whan his name appalled is for age;
For all foryetten is his vassallage.
Than is it best, as for a worthy fame,
To dien whan a man is best of name.
The contrary of all this is wilfulnesse.
Why grutchen we? why have we hevinesse,
That good Arcite, of chivalry the flour,
Departed is, with dutee and honour,
Out of this foule prison of this lif?
Why grutchen here his cosin and his wif
Of his welfare, that loven him so wel?
Can he hem thank? nay, God wot, never a del,
That both his soule, and eke hemself offend,
And yet they mow hir lustes not amend.

What may I conclude of this longe serie,
But after sorwe I rede us to be merie,
And thanken Jupiter of all his grace.
And er that we departen from this place,
I rede that we make of sorwes two
O parfit joye lasting evermo:
And loketh now wher most sorwe is herein,
Ther wol I firste amenden and begin.

Sister, (quod he) this is my full assent,
With all th'avis here of my parlement,
That gentil Palamon, your owen knight,
That serveth you with will, and herte, and might,
And ever hath don, sin ye first him knew,
That ye shall of your grace upon him rew,
And taken him for husbond and for lord:
Lene me your hand, for this is oure accord.
Let see now of your womanly pitee.
He is a kinges brothers sone pardee,
And though he were a poure bachelere,
Sin he hath served you so many
yere,
And had for you so gret adversite,
It moste ben considered, leveth me.
For gentil mercy oweth to passen right.

Than sayd he thus to Palamon the knight;
I trow ther nedeth litel sermoning
To maken you assenten to this thing.
Cometh ner, and take your lady by the hond.
Betwixen hem was maked anon the bond,
That highte matrimoine or mariage,
By all the conseil of the baronage.
And thus with alle blisse and melodie

Hath Palamon ywedded Emelie.

And God that all this wide world hath wrought,
Send him his love, that hath it dere ybought-
For now is Palamon in alle wele,

Living in blisse, in richesse, and in hele,
And Emelie him loveth so tendrely,
And he hire serveth al so gentilly,

That never was ther no word hem betwene
Of jalousie, ne of non other tene.

Thus endeth Palamon and Emelie ;
And God save all this fayre compagnie.

THE MILLERES PROLOGUE.

WHAN that the Knight had thus his tale told,
In all the compagnie n'as ther yong ne old,
That he ne said it was a noble storie,
And worthy to be drawen to memorie;
And namely the gentiles everich on.
Our Hoste lough and swore, So mote I gon,
This goth aright; unbokeled is the male;
Let see now who shal tell another tale:
For trewely this game is wel begonne.
Now telleth ye, sire Monk, if that ye conne,
Somwhat, to quiten with the knightes tale.

The Miller that for-dronken was all pale,
So that unethes upon his hors he sat,
He n'old avalen neither hood ne hat,
Ne abiden no man for his curtesie,
But in Pilates vois he gan to crie,

And swore by armes, and by blood, and bones,
I can a noble tale for the nones,
With which I wol now quite the knightes tale.

Our Hoste saw that he was dronken of ale,
And sayd; abide, Robin, my leve brother,
Som better man shall tell us first another :
Abide, and let us werken thriftily.

By Goddes soule (quod he) that wol not I, For I wol speke, or elles go my way.

Our Hoste answerd; Tell on a devil way; Thou art a fool; thy wit is overcome.

Now herkeneth, quod the Miller, all and some:
But first I make a protestatioun,
That I am dronke, I know it by my soun :
And therfore if that I misspeke or say,
Wite it the ale of Southwerk, I you pray :
For I wol tell a legend and a lif
Both of a carpenter and of his wif,
How that a clerk hath set the wrightes cappe.
The Reve answerd and saide, Stint thy clappe.
Let be thy lewed dronken harlotrie.
It is a sinne, and eke a gret folie
To apeiren any man, or him defame,
And eke to bringen wives in swiche a name.
Thou mayst ynough of other thinges sain.

This dronken Miller spake ful sone again,
And sayde; Leve brother Oseweld,
Who hath no wif, he is no cokewold.
But I say not therfore that thou art on;
Ther ben ful goode wives many on.
Why art thou angry with my tale now?
I have a wif parde as wel as thou,
Yet n'olde I, for the oxen in my plough,
Taken upon me more than ynough
As demen of myself that I am où;
I wol beleven wel that I am non.
An husbond shuld not ben inquisitif
Of Goddes privite, ne of his wif.
So he may finden Goddes foison there,
Of the remenant nedeth not to enquere.

What shuld I more say, but this Millere
He n'olde bis wordes for no man forbere,

But told his cherles tale in his manere,
Me thinketh, that I shal reherse it here.
And therfore every gentil wight I pray,
For Goddes love as deme not that I say
Of evil entent, but that I mote reherse
Hir tales alle, al be they better or werse,
Or elles falsen som of my matere.
And therfore who so list it not to here,
Turne over the leef, and chese another tale,
For he shal find ynow bothe gret and smale,
Of storial thing that toucheth gentillesse,
And eke moralite, and holinesse.
Blameth not me, if that ye chese amis.
The Miller is a cherl, ye know wel this,
So was the Reve, (and many other mo)
And harlotrie they tolden bothe two.
Aviseth you now, and put me out of blame;
And eke men shuld not make ernest of game.

THE MILLERES TALE.

WHILOм ther was dwelling in Oxenforde
A riche gnof, that gestes helde to borde,
And of his craft he was a carpenter.
With him ther was dwelling a poure scoler,
Had lerned art, but all his fantasie
Was turned for to lerne astrologie,

And coude a certain of conclusions

To demen by interrogations,

If that men asked him in certain houres,
Whan that men shulde have drought or elles shourc
Or if men asked him what shulde falle
Of every thing, I may not reken alle.

This clerk was cleped hendy Nicholas;
Of derne love he coude and of solas;
And therto he was slie and ful prive,
And like a maiden meke for to se.
A chambre had he in that hostelrie
Alone, withouten any compagnie,
Ful fetisly ydight with herbes sote,
And he himself was swete as is the rote
Of licoris, or any setewale.

His almageste, and bokes gret and smale,
His astrelabre, longing for his art,
His augrim stones, layen faire apart
On shelves couched at his beddes hed,
His presse ycovered with a falding red.
And all above ther lay a gay sautrie,
On which he made on nightes melodie,
So swetely, that all the chambre rong:
And Angelus ad virginem he song.
And after that he song the kinges note;
Ful often blessed was his mery throte.
And thus this swete clerk his time spent
After his frendes finding and his rent.

This carpenter had wedded new a wif,
Which that he loved more than his lif:
Of eightene yere she was I gesse of age.
Jalous he was, and held hire narwe in cage.

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
As 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.
Thereto 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 yeleped 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,
Because that he fer was from hire sight,
This neighe Nicholas stood in his light.

Now bere thee wel, thou hendy Nicholas,
For Absolon may waile and sing alas.
And so befell that on a Saturday,
This carpenter was gon to Osenay,
And hendy Nicholas and Alison
Accorded ben to this conclusion,
That Nicholas shal shapen him a wile
This sely jalous husbond to begile;
And if so were the game went aright,
She shuld slepe in his armes alle night,
For this was hire desire and his also.
And right anon, withouten wordes mo,
This Nicholas no lenger wolde tarie,
But doth ful soft unto his chambre carie
Both mete and drinke for a day or twey.
And to hire husbond bad hire for to sey,
If that he axed after Nicholas,

She shulde say, she n'iste not wher he was;
Of all the day she saw him not with eye.
She trowed he was in som maladie,
For for no crie hire maiden coud him calle
He n'olde answer, for nothing that might falle.
Thus passeth forth all thilke Saturday,
That Nicholas still in his chambre lay,
And ete, and slept, and dide what him list
Til Sonday, that the sonne goth to rest.

This sely carpenter hath gret mervaile
Of Nicholas, or what thing might him aile,
And said; I am adrad by Seint Thomas
It stondeth not aright with Nicholas :
God shilde that he died sodenly.
This world is now ful tikel sikerly.
I saw to-day a corps yborne to cherche,
That now on Monday last I saw him werche.
Go up (quod he unto his knave) anon,
Clepe at his dore, or knocke with a ston
Loke how it is, and tell me boldely.

This knave goth him up ful sturdely,

And at the chambre dore while that he stood,
He cried and knocked as that he were wood:
What how? what do ye, maister Nicholay!
How may ye slepen all the longe day?
But all for nought, he herde not a word.
An hole he fond ful low upon the bord,
Ther as the cat was wont in for to crepe,
And at that hole he loked in ful depe,
And at the last he had of him a sight.

This Nicholas sat ever gaping upright,
As he had kyked on the newe mone.

Adoun he goth, and telleth his maister sone,
In what array he saw this ilke man.

This carpenter to blissen him began,
And said; Now helpe us Seinte Frideswide.
A man wote litel what shal him betide.
This man is fallen with his astronomie
In som woodnesse or in som agonie.
I thought ay wel how that it shulde be.
Men shulde not knowe of Goddes privetee.
Ya blessed be alway a lewed man,
That nought but only his beleve can.
So ferd another clerk with astronomie ;
He walked in the feldes for to prie
Upon the sterres, what ther shuld befalle,
Til he was in a marlepit yfalle.

He saw not that. But yet by Seint Thomas
Me reweth sore of hendy Nicholas :
He shal be rated of his studying,
If that I may, by Jesus heven king.

Get me a staf, that I may underspore
While that thou, Robin, hevest of the dore:
He shal out of his studying, as I gesse.
And to the chambre dore he gan him dresse.
His knave was a strong carl for the nones,
And by the haspe he haf it of at ones;
Into the flore the dore fell anon.

This Nicholas sat ay as stille as ston,
And ever he gaped upward into the eire.

This carpenter wend he were in despeire,
And hent him by the shulders mightily,
And shoke him hard, and cried spitously;
What, Nicholas ? what how man? loke adoun:
Awake, and thinke on Cristes passioun.

I crouche thee from elves, and from wightes.
Therwith the nightspel said he anon rightes,
On foure halves of the hous aboute,
And on the threswold of the dore withoute.
Jesu Crist, and Seint Benedight,
Blisse this hous from every wicked wight,
Fro the nightes mare, the wite Pater-noster;
Wher wonest thou Seint Peters suster!
And at the last this hendy Nicholas
Gan for to siken sore, and said; Alas!
Shal all the world be lost eftsones now?

This carpenter answered; What saiest thou? What? thinke on God, as we do, men that swinke. This Nicholas answered; Fetch me a drinke; And after wol I speke in privetee

Of certain thing that toucheth thee and me:

I wol tell it non other man certain.

This carpenter goth doun, and cometh again, And brought of mighty ale a large quart; And whan that eche of hem had dronken his part, This Nicholas his dore faste shette, And doun the carpenter by him he sette, And saide; John, min hoste lefe and dere, Thou shalt upon thy trouthe swere me here, That to no wight thou shalt my conseil wrey: For it is Cristes conseil that I say,

And if thou tell it man, thou art forlore:
For this vengeance thou shalt have therfore,
That if thou wreye me, thou shalt be wood.
Nay, Crist forbede it for his holy blood,
Quod tho this sely man; I am no labbe,
No though I say it, I n'am not lefe to gabbe.
Say what thou wolt, I shal it never telle
To child ne wif, by him that harwed helle.
Now, John, (quod Nicholas) I wol not lie,
I have yfounde in min astrologie,
As I have loked in the moone bright,
That now on Monday next, at quarter night,
Shal fall a rain, and that so wild and wood
That half so gret was never Noes flood.
This world (he said) in lesse than in an houre
Shal al be dreint, so hidous is the shoure:
Thus shal mankinde drenche, and lese hir lif.
This carpenter answerd; Alas my wif!
And shal she drenche alas min Alisoun!
For sorwe of this he fell almost adoun,
And said; Is ther no remedy in this cas?
Why yes, for God, quod hendy Nicholas;
If thou wolt werken after lore and rede;
Thou maist not werken after thin owen hede.
For thus saith Salomon, that was ful trewe;
Werke all by conseil, and thou shalt not rewe.
And if thou werken wolt by good conseil,
I undertake, withouten mast or seyl,
Yet shal I saven hire, and thee and me.
Hast thou not herd how saved was Noe,
Whan that our Lord had warned him beforne,
That al the world with water shuld be lorne?

Yes, (quod this carpenter) ful yore ago.
Hast thou not herd (quod Nicholas) also
The sorwe of Noe with his felawship,
Or that he might get his wif to ship?
Him had be lever I dare wel undertake,
At thilke time, than all his wethers blake,
That she had had a ship hireself alone.
And therfore wost thou what is best to done?
This axeth hast, and of an hastif thing
Men may not preche and maken tarying.
Anon go get us fast into this in

A kneding trough or elles a kemelyn,
For eche of us; but loke that they en large,
In which we mowen swimme as in a barge:
And have therin vitaille suffisant
But for a day; fie on the remenant;
The water shall aslake and gon away
Abouten prime upon the nexte day.

But Robin may not wete of this, thy knave,
Ne eke thy mayden Gille I may not save:
Axe not why: for though thou axe me,
I wol not tellen Goddes privetee.
Sufficeth thee, but if thy wittes madde,
To have as gret a grace as Noe hadde.
Thy wif shal I wel saven out of doute.
Go now thy way, and spede thee hereaboute.
But whan thou hast for hire, and thee, and me,
Ygeten us these kneding tubbes thre,
Than shalt thou hang hem in the roofe ful hie,
That no man of our purveyance espio:
And whan thou hast don thus as I have said,
And hast our vitaille faire in hem yiaid,
And eke an axe to smite the cord a-two
Whan that the water cometh, that we may go,
And breke an hole on high upon the gable
Unto the gardin ward, over the stable,
That we may frely passen forth our way,
Whan that the grete shoure is gon away.

Than shal thou swim as mery, I undertake,
As doth the white doke after hire drake:
Than wol I clepe, How Alison, how John,
Be mery for the flood wol passe anon.
And thou wolt sain, Haile maister Nicholay,
Good morwe, I see thee wel, for it is day.
And than shall we be lordes all our lif
Of all the world, as Noe and his wif
But of o thing I warne thee ful right,
Be wel avised on that ilke night,
That we ben entred into shippes bord,
That non of us ne speke not o word,
Ne clepe ne crie, but be in his praiere,
For it is Goddes owen heste dere.

Thy wif and thou moste hangen fer a-twiune, For that betwixen you shal be no sinne, No more in loking than ther shal in dede. This ordinance is said; go, God thee spede. To-morwe at night, whan men ben all aslepe, Into our kneding tubbes wol we crepe, And sitten ther, abiding Goddes grace. Go now thy way, I have no lenger space To make of this no lenger sermoning: Men sain thus: send the wise, and say nothing: Thou art so wise, it nedeth thee nought teche. Go, save our lives, and that I thee bescche. This sely carpenter goth forth his way, Ful oft he said alas, and wala wa, And to his wif he told his privetee, And she was ware, and knew it bet than he What all this queinte cast was for to sey. But natheles she ferde as she wold dey, And said; Alas! go forth thy way anon. Helpe us to scape, or we be ded eche on. I am thy trewe veray wedded wif; Go, dere spouse, and helpe to save our lif. Lo, what a gret thing is affection, Men may die of imagination, So depe may impression be take. This sely carpenter beginneth quake: Him thinketh veraily that he may see Noes flood comen walwing as the see To drenchen Alison, his hony dere. He wepeth, waileth, maketh sory chere; He siketh, with ful many a sory swough. He goth, and geteth him a kneding trough, And after a tubbe, and a kemelin, And prively he sent hem to his in: And heng hem in the roof in privetee. His owen hond than made he ladders three, To climben by the renges and the stalkes Unto the tubbes honging in the balkes; And vitailled bothe kemelin, trough and tubbe, With bred and chese, and good ale in a jubbe, Sufficing right ynow as for a day.

But er that he had made all this array, He sent his knave, and eke his wenche also Upon his nede to London for to go. And on the Monday, whan it drew to night, He shette his dore, withouten candel light, And dressed all thing as it shulde bee. And shortly up they clomben alle three. They sitten stille wel a furlong way. Now, Pater noster, clum, said Nicholay, And clum, quod John, and clum, said Alison : This carpenter said his devotion, And still he sit, and biddeth his praiere, Awaiting on the rain, if he it here.

The dede slepe, for wery besinesse, Fell on this carpenter, right as I gesse,