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The Norman Blake Editions of The Canterbury Tales
Me list nat of the chaf , or of the stree Maken so long a tale , as of the corn What sholde I tellen , of the realtee At mariages or which cours gooth biforn Who bloweth in trompe
beem For it was day , and eke hise hennes alle And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle For he hadde founde a corn , lay in the yerd Real he was , he was namoore aferd
he rometh vp and doun Hym deyned nat to sette his foot to grounde And chukketh whan he hath a corn yfounde And to hym rennen thanne , hise wyues alle Thus real , as a Prince is in his
in lasse while That he ne shal his lyf , anoon for lete Nat but the montaūce , of a corn of whete Thus ended been , thise homicides two What nedeth it to sarmone of it moore And with
on hym legge That he ne swoor , he sholde anon abegge A theef he was for sothe , of corn and mele And þt a sleigh , and vsant for to stele His name was hoten , deynous Symkyn
on a maladie Men wenden wisly , þt he sholde dye For which this Millere , stal bothe mele and corn An hondred tyme , moore than biforn For ther biforn , he stal but curteisly But now , he
Allas quod Iohn , the day þt I was born Now ar we dryuen , til hethyng til scorn Oure corn is stole , men wil vs foolis calle . Bothe the wardeyn , and oure felawes alle And namely
thus That gif a man , in a point be agreued That in another , he sal be releued Oure corn is stoln , soothly it is na nay And we han had , an ille fit to day And
of yuory His felawe hadde a staf , typped with horn And beggeth Mele , and chese , or ellis corn In euery hous , he gan to poure and prye With scryppe and typped staf , y tukked hye
qd Iohn , that day that I was borñ Now ar we dreuyn til hethyng , and to skorn Oure corn is stole , men wyl vs fonnes calle Bothe the wardeyn , and oure felawes alle And namely the
thus That gyf a man , in a poynt be greued That in a nother , he shal bereleued Oure corn is stolen , sothly it is na nay And we han had , an ylle fyt this day And
He was a Iangler , and a goliardeys And that was moost of synne and harlotries Wel koude he stelen corn , and tollen thries And yet he hadde , a thombe of gold pardee A whit cote , and
his pan Sholde haue a wyf , for al the world is lorn Religioū , hath take vp al the corn Of tredyng. and we borel men been shrympes Of fieble trees , ther comen wrecched ympes This maketh ,
nat but a Mile That he ne shal , his lif anon forlete Noght , but the montance of a corn of whete And fayn he wolde , wreke hym , if he myghte Som poysou , þt he myghte
thus That gif a man , in a point be ygreued That in another , he sal be releued Oure corn is stoln , shortly is ne nay And we han had , an il fit al this day And
hye In euery hous , he gan to poure and prye And beggeth mele , and chese , or elles corn His felawe hadde a staf , tipped with horn A peyre of tables , al of yuory And a
comyth aleyn Allas Ï Iohn þe day þt I was born Now are we dreuyn tyl hethng to scorn Oure corn is stole men wele vs folys calle Boþe þe wardayn oure felas alle And namely þe mellere weyleawey Thus