wywm299471
Dołączył: 09 Paź 2011
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Skąd: England
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 Wysłany: Pią 13:02, 14 Paź 2011 Temat postu: A pretty dagger had he in his pouch |
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For certainly, when I was born, I know Death turned my tap of life and let it flow; And ever since that day the tap has run Till nearly empty now is all the tun. The stream of life now drips upon the chime; The silly tongue may well ring out the time Of wretchedness that passed so long before; For oldsters, save for dotage, there's no more." Now when our host had heard this sermoning, Then did he speak as lordly as a king; He said: "To what amounts, now, all this wit? Why should we talk all day of holy writ? The devil makes a steward for to preach, And of a cobbler, a sailor or a leech. Tell, forth your tale, and do not waste the time. Here's Deptford! And it is half way to prime. There's Greenwich town that many a scoundrel's in; It is high time your story should begin." "Now, sirs," then said this Oswald called the reeve, The Canterbury Tales The Canterbury Tales 80"I pray you all, now, that you will not grieve Though I reply and somewhat twitch his cap; It's lawful to meet force with force, mayhap. "This drunken miller has related here How was beguiled and fooled a carpenter Perchance in scorn of me, for I am one. So, by your leave, I'll him requite anon; All in his own boor's language will I speak. I only pray to God his neck may break. For in my eye he well can see the mote, But sees not in his own the beam, you'll note." HERE ENDS THE PROLOGUE THE REEVE'S TALE At Trumpington, not far from Cambridge town, There is a bridge wherethrough a brook runs down, Upon the side of which brook stands a mill; And this is very truth that now I tell. A miller dwelt there, many and many a day; As any peacock he was proud and gay. He could mend nets, and he could fish, and flute, Drink and turn cups, and wrestle well, and shoot; And in his leathern belt he did parade A cutlass with a long trenchant blade.
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[link widoczny dla zalogowanych] A pretty dagger had he in his pouch; There was no man who durst this man to touch. A Sheffield whittler bore he in his hose; Round was his face and turnedup was his nose. As bald as any ape's head was his skull; He was a marketswaggerer to the full. There durst no man a hand on him to lay, Because he swore he'd make the beggar pay. A thief he was, forsooth, of corn and meal, And sly at that, accustomed well to steal. His name was known as arrogant Simpkin. A wife he had who came of gentle kin; The parson of the town her father was. With her he gave full many a pan of brass, To insure that Simpkin with his blood ally. She had been bred up in a nunnery; For Simpkin would not have a wife, he said, Save she were educated and a maid To keep up his estate of yeomanry. And she was proud and bold as is a pie. A handsome sight it was to see those two; The Canterbury Tales The Canterbury Tales 81On holy days before her he would go With a broad tippet bound about his head; And she came after in a skirt of red, While Simpkin's hose were dyed to match that same. There durst no man to call her aught but dame; Nor was there one so hardy, in the way, As durst flirt with her or attempt to play, Unless he would be slain by this Simpkin With cutlass or with knife or with bodkin. For jealous folk are dangerous, you know, At least they'd have their wives to think them so. Besides, because she was a dirty bitch, She was as high as water in a ditch; And full of scorn and full of backbiting. She thought a lady should be quite willing To greet her for her kin and culture, she Having been brought up in that nunnery. A daughter had they got between the two, Of twenty years, and no more children, no, Save a boy baby that was six months old; It lay in cradle and was strong and bold. This girl right stout and well developed was, With nose tiptilted and eyes blue as glass, With buttocks broad, and round breasts full and high, But golden was her hair, I will not lie. The parson of the town, since she was fair, Was purposeful to make of her his heir, Both of his chattels and of his estate, But all this hinged upon a proper mate. He was resolved that he'd bestow her high Into some blood of worthy ancestry; For Holy Church's goods must be expended On Holy Church's blood, as it's descended. Therefore he'd honour thus his holy blood, Though Holy Church itself became his food. Large tolls this miller took, beyond a doubt, With wheat and malt from all the lands about; Of which I'd specify among them all A Cambridge college known as Soler Hall; He ground their wheat and all their malt he ground. And on a day it happened, as they found, The manciple got such a malady That all men surely thought that he should die. Whereon this miller stole both flour and wheat A hundredfold more than he used to cheat; For theretofore he stole but cautiously, But now he was a thief outrageously, At which the warden scolded and raised hell; The miller snapped his fingers, truth to tell, And cracked his brags and swore it wasn't so. There were two poor young clerks, whose names I know, The Canterbury Tales The Canterbury Tales 82That dwelt within this Hall whereof I say. Willful they were and lusty, full of play, And (all for mirth and to make reverly) After the warden eagerly did they cry To give them leave, at least for this one round, To go to mill and see their produce ground; And stoutly they proclaimed they'd bet their neck The miller should not steal one half a peck Of grain, by trick, nor yet by force should thieve; And at the last the warden gave them leave.
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