T Trompington, not fer fro Cantebrigge,' Ther goth a brook, and over that a brigge, Upon the whiche brook ther stont a melle:2 And this is veray sothe, that I you telle. A miller was ther dwelling many a day, As any peacok he was proude and gay: Cambridge. 2 Stands a mill. The Miller of Trompington. Pipen he coude, and fishe, and nettes bete, And turnen cuppes, and wrastlen wel, and shete.1 And of a swerd ful trenchant was the blade. A joly popper bare he in his pouche; Ther n'as no man for peril dorst him touche. A Shefeld thwitel bare he in his hose. Round was his face, and camuse3 was his nose. He was a market-beter1 at the full. A thefe he was forsoth, of corn and mele, Gret soken hath this miller out of doute Men clepe the Soler hall at Cantebrege, Ther was hir whete and cke hir malt yground. And on a day it happed in a stound,o Sike lay the manciple9 on a maladie, Men wenden wisly that he shulde die. For which this miller stale both mele and corn An hundred times more than beforn. For therbeforn he stale but curteisly, But now he was a thefe outrageously. For which the werdein10 chidde and made fare, But therof set the miller not a tare; He craked bost, and swore it n’as not so. Than were ther yonge poure scoleres two, The Miller of Trompington. And only for hir mirth and revelrie To gon to mille, and seen hir11 corn yground: And at the last the wardein yave hem leve: John highte that on, and Alein highte that other, Of o toun were they born, that highte Strother, Fer in the North, I can not tellen where. This Alein maketh redy all his gere, And on a hors the sack he cast anon: Forth goth Alein the clerk, and also John, With good swerd and with bokeler by hir side. John knew the way, him neded not no guide, And at the mille the sak adoun he laith. Alein spake first; All haile, Simond, in faith, Swa werkes ay the wanges12 in his hed: It shal be don (quod Simkin) by my fay. How that the hopper wagges til and fra. Alein answered; John, and wolt thou swa? |