The Miller’s Tale. Geoffrey Chaucer.

Mindful

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I was revisiting The Canterbury Tales, and was wondering how the Middle Ages rhetoric compared to the fruitier posts on various topics here on USMB.

When the first cock had crowed, up rose this frisky lover, and arrayed him in his gayest with all nicety. But first he chewed cardamoms and licorice to smell sweetly, before he had combed his hair, and put a true-love charm under his tongue, for by this he hoped to find favor. He rambled to the carpenter’s house, and stood still under the casement, which was so low it reached to his breast. He gave a soft half-cough,-”What do you, sweet Alison, honeycomb
and speak to me. You think right little upon my sorrow, who sweat for your love wherever I go! 3702
No wonder though I languish and sweat! I mourn like a lamb after the dug. In faith, darling, I have such love-longing that I mourn like the true turtle-dove. I cannot eat, no more than a maiden.” 3707
“Go from the window, Jack-fool,” she said. “On my soul, there will be no singing “Come kiss me now.” I love another better than you, by heaven, Absalom, and else I were at fault. Go your ways, or I will cast a stone at you, and let me sleep, in the Devil’s name!” 3713
“Alas!” he said. “Alackaday that true love was ever so ill bestowed! Then kiss me, since it may be no better, for Jesus’ love, and for the love of me.” 3717
“Will you then go your way with that?” she said. 3718
“Yes, surely, sweetheart,” said this Absolom. 3719
“Then make yourself ready,” she said, “I am coming now.” 3720
And to Nicholas she said silently, “Now hush, and you shall laugh your fill.” 3722
This Absolom set himself down on his knees and said, “I am a lord of the highest degree; for after this I hope there will come more. Sweetheart, your grace, and sweet bird, your favor!” 3726
She unlatches the window, and does so in haste. “Take this,” she said, “come now, and move quickly, lest our neighbors see you.” 3729
This Absolom wiped his mouth dry. Dark as pitch, or as coal, was the night, and at the window she put out her hole, and Absolom, who knew no better or worse but with his mouth he kissed her naked ass so sweetly, before he was aware of this. 3735
He started aback, and thought something was amiss, for well he knew a woman has no beard. He felt something all rough and long-haired, and said, “Fy! alas! What have I done?” 3739
“Tee hee!” she said, and shut the window, and Absolom went forth with troubled steps. 3741
“A beard! A beard!” said handy Nicholas, “By God’s body, this goes fair and well.” 3743
20 My fair bird, my darling! Awake, sweet cinnamon,

Read the rest of it. lol.

 
Damn, that brings back memories. I studied that waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back in H.S. for my Eng. Lit class. We did that unit right before Le Morte d'Arthur.

IIRC, everyone in class was assigned to do a report on a different tale or fragment.. .. .


The teacher had a wicked sense of humor too. He looked a bit like Jerry Garcia, TBH.

When we did Macbeth, he gave all the students parts in the play, and we read it out-loud in class, lots of fun.
We had three guys in the class named Richard. Each went by variations of that name, one, Richard, one Dicky, another, Rick.

The teacher assigned them the roles of the witches. .. they were the three Dicks.
 
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^^

Can you decipher this prose, from The Nun’s Tale? :cool:

A povre widwe, somdel stope in age,Was whylom dwelling in a narwe cotage, Bisyde a grove, stonding in a dale. This widwe, of which I telle yow my tale, Sin thilke day that she was last a wyf, In pacience ladde a ful simple lyf, For litel was hir catel and hir rente;

By housbondrye, of such as God hir sente, She fond hir-self, and eek hir doghtren two. Three large sowes hadde she, and namo, Three kyn, and eek a sheep that highte Malle. Ful sooty was hir bour, and eek hir halle, In which she eet ful many a sclendre meel. Of poynaunt sauce hir neded never a deel. No deyntee morsel passed thurgh hir throte; Hir dyete was accordant to hir cote.

Repleccioun ne made hir never syk; Attempree dyete was al hir phisyk, And exercyse, and hertes suffisaunce. The goute lette hir no-thing for to daunce, Napoplexye shente nat hir heed; No wyn ne drank she, neither whyt ne reed;

Hir bord was served most with whyt and blak, Milk and broun breed, in which she fond no lak, Seynd bacoun, and somtyme an ey or tweye, For she was as it were a maner deye.
 
This is the Miller's Tale I read.
Whilom ther was dwellynge at Oxenford
80A riche gnof, that gestes heeld to bord,
And of his craft he was a carpenter.
With hym ther was dwellynge a poure scoler,
Hadde lerned art, but al his fantasye
Was turned for to lerne astrologye,
85And koude a certeyn of conclusiouns,
To demen by interrogaciouns,
If that men asked hym in certain houres
Whan that men sholde have droghte or elles shoures,
Or if men asked hym what sholde bifalle
90Of every thyng; I may nat rekene hem alle.
This clerk was cleped hende Nicholas.
Of deerne love he koude and of solas;
And therto he was sleigh and ful privee,
And lyk a mayden meke for to see.
95A chambre hadde he in that hostelrye
Allone, withouten any compaignye,
Ful fetisly ydight with herbes swoote;
And he hymself as sweete as is the roote
Of lycorys, or any cetewale.
100His Almageste, and bookes grete and smale,
His astrelabie, longynge for his art,
His augrym stones layen faire apart,
On shelves couched at his beddes heed;
His presse ycovered with a faldyng reed
105And al above ther lay a gay sautrie,
On which he made a-nyghtes melodie
So swetely that all the chambre rong;
And Angelus ad virginem he song;
And after that he song the Kynges Noote.
110Ful often blessed was his myrie throte.
And thus this sweete clerk his tyme spente
After his freendes fyndyng and his rente.

You get the idea. Chaucer IS Chaucer.
 
^^

Can you decipher this prose, from The Nun’s Tale? :cool:

A povre widwe, somdel stope in age,Was whylom dwelling in a narwe cotage, Bisyde a grove, stonding in a dale. This widwe, of which I telle yow my tale, Sin thilke day that she was last a wyf, In pacience ladde a ful simple lyf, For litel was hir catel and hir rente;

By housbondrye, of such as God hir sente, She fond hir-self, and eek hir doghtren two. Three large sowes hadde she, and namo, Three kyn, and eek a sheep that highte Malle. Ful sooty was hir bour, and eek hir halle, In which she eet ful many a sclendre meel. Of poynaunt sauce hir neded never a deel. No deyntee morsel passed thurgh hir throte; Hir dyete was accordant to hir cote.

Repleccioun ne made hir never syk; Attempree dyete was al hir phisyk, And exercyse, and hertes suffisaunce. The goute lette hir no-thing for to daunce, Napoplexye shente nat hir heed; No wyn ne drank she, neither whyt ne reed;

Hir bord was served most with whyt and blak, Milk and broun breed, in which she fond no lak, Seynd bacoun, and somtyme an ey or tweye, For she was as it were a maner deye.

Um. . . I probably could, if I wanted to take the time to do it.. . it isn't something I am interested in now.

You? Are a very, VERY intelligent person, and can do that yourself though. It is the 21st century. Thirty years ago, we would have needed professionals to help us, this is no longer the case, we have the internet.



 
I was revisiting The Canterbury Tales, and was wondering how the Middle Ages rhetoric compared to the fruitier posts on various topics here on USMB.

When the first cock had crowed, up rose this frisky lover, and arrayed him in his gayest with all nicety. But first he chewed cardamoms and licorice to smell sweetly, before he had combed his hair, and put a true-love charm under his tongue, for by this he hoped to find favor. He rambled to the carpenter’s house, and stood still under the casement, which was so low it reached to his breast. He gave a soft half-cough,-”What do you, sweet Alison, honeycomb
and speak to me. You think right little upon my sorrow, who sweat for your love wherever I go! 3702
No wonder though I languish and sweat! I mourn like a lamb after the dug. In faith, darling, I have such love-longing that I mourn like the true turtle-dove. I cannot eat, no more than a maiden.” 3707
“Go from the window, Jack-fool,” she said. “On my soul, there will be no singing “Come kiss me now.” I love another better than you, by heaven, Absalom, and else I were at fault. Go your ways, or I will cast a stone at you, and let me sleep, in the Devil’s name!” 3713
“Alas!” he said. “Alackaday that true love was ever so ill bestowed! Then kiss me, since it may be no better, for Jesus’ love, and for the love of me.” 3717
“Will you then go your way with that?” she said. 3718
“Yes, surely, sweetheart,” said this Absolom. 3719
“Then make yourself ready,” she said, “I am coming now.” 3720
And to Nicholas she said silently, “Now hush, and you shall laugh your fill.” 3722
This Absolom set himself down on his knees and said, “I am a lord of the highest degree; for after this I hope there will come more. Sweetheart, your grace, and sweet bird, your favor!” 3726
She unlatches the window, and does so in haste. “Take this,” she said, “come now, and move quickly, lest our neighbors see you.” 3729
This Absolom wiped his mouth dry. Dark as pitch, or as coal, was the night, and at the window she put out her hole, and Absolom, who knew no better or worse but with his mouth he kissed her naked ass so sweetly, before he was aware of this. 3735
He started aback, and thought something was amiss, for well he knew a woman has no beard. He felt something all rough and long-haired, and said, “Fy! alas! What have I done?” 3739
“Tee hee!” she said, and shut the window, and Absolom went forth with troubled steps. 3741
“A beard! A beard!” said handy Nicholas, “By God’s body, this goes fair and well.” 3743
20 My fair bird, my darling! Awake, sweet cinnamon,

Read the rest of it. lol.


callimg "moms for liberty....."
 
Knowing you, l don’t know how to take that.
Good call.
Can you decipher this prose, from The Nun’s Tale? :cool:

A povre widwe, somdel stope in age,Was whylom dwelling in a narwe cotage, Bisyde a grove, stonding in a dale. This widwe, of which I telle yow my tale, Sin thilke day that she was last a wyf, In pacience ladde a ful simple lyf, For litel was hir catel and hir rente;
I'll take a blind stab at that much..

A poor widow, somewhat stooped in age, Was alone dwelling in a narrow cottage, Beside a grove, standing in a dale. This widow, of which I tell you my tale, Since the day she was last a wife, in patience led a simple life, for little was her care or her rent.
 

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