after this I hope ther cometh more;
Lemman, thy grace, and, swete bryd, thyn ore.”
The wyndow she undyd, and that in hast;
“Have doon,” quod sche, “com of, and speed the fast,
Lest that our neygheboures the aspye.”
This Absolon gan wipe his mouth ful drye,
Derk was the night as picche or as a cole,
Out atte wyndow putte sche hir hole:
And Absolon him fel no bet ne wers,
But with his mouth he kist hir naked ers
Ful savorly. Whan he was war of this,
Abak he sterte, and thought it was amys,
For wel he wist a womman hath no berd.
He felt a thing al rough and long i-herd,
And seyde, “Fy, allas! what have I do?”
“Te- hee!” quod sche, and clapte the wyndow to;
And Absolon goth forth a sory paas.
“A berd, a berd!” quod heende Nicholas;
“By Goddes corps, this game goth fair and wel.”
This seely Absolon herd every del,
And on his lippe he gan for angir byte;
And to himself he seyde, “I schal the quyte.”

Who rubbith now, who froteth now his lippes
With dust, with sand, with straw, with cloth, with chippes,
But Absolon? that seith ful ofte, “Allas,
My soule bytake I unto Sathanas!
But me were lever than alle this toun,” quod he,
“Of this dispit awroken for to be.
Allas!” quod he, “allas! I nadde y-bleynt!”
His hoote love was cold, and al i-queint.
For fro that tyme that he hadde kist her ers,
Of paramours ne sette he nat a kers,
For he was helyd of his maledye;
Ful ofte paramours he gan deffye,
And wept as doth a child that is i-bete.
A softe paas went he over the strete
Unto a smyth, men clepith daun Gerveys,
That is his forge smythede plowh-harneys;
He scharpeth schar and culture bysily.
This Absolon knokketh al esily.
And seyde, “Undo, Gerveys, and that anoon.”
“What, who art thou?” “It am I Absolon.”
“What? Absolon, what for Cristes swete tree!
Why ryse ye so rathe? benedicite,
What eyleth you? some gay gurl, God it woot,
Hath brought you thus upon the verytrot;
By seinte Noet! ye wote wel what I mene.”
This Absolon ne roughte nat a bene
Of al this pley, no word agayn he yaf;
For he hadde more tow on his distaf
Than Gerveys knew, and seyde, “Freend so deere,
That hote cultre in the chymney heere
As lene it me, I have therwith to doone;
I wol it bring agayn to the ful soone.”
Gerveys answerde, “Certes, were it gold,
Or in a poke nobles all untold,
Ye schul him have, as I am trewe smyth.
Ey, Cristes fote! what wil ye do therwith?”
“Therof,” quod Absolon, “be as be may;
I schal wel telle it the to morwe day;”
And caughte the cultre by the colde stele.
Ful soft out at the dore he gan it stele,
And wente unto the carpenteres wal.
He cowheth first, and knokketh therwithal
Upon the wyndow, right as he dede er.
This Alisoun answerde, “Who is ther
That knokketh so? I warant it a theef.”
“Why nay,” quod he, “God woot, my sweete leef,
I am thyn Absolon, o my derlyng.
Of gold,” quod he, “I have the brought a ryng;
My mooder yaf it me, so God me save!
Ful fyn it is, and therto wel i-grave;
This wol I yive the, if thou me kisse.”
This Nicholas was risen for to pysse,
And thought he wold amenden al the jape,
He schulde kisse his ers or that he skape.
And up the wyndow dyde he hastily,
And out his ers putteth he pryvely
Over the buttok, to the haunche bon.
And therwith spak this clerk, this Absolon,
“Spek, sweete bryd, I wot nat wher thou art.”
This Nicholas anon let flee a fart,
As gret as it hadde ben a thundir dent,
And with that strook he was almost i-blent;
And he was redy with his yren hoot,
And Nicholas amid the ers he smoot.
Of goth the skyn an hande brede aboute,
The hoote cultre brente so his toute;
And for the smert he wende for to dye;
As he were wood, anon he gan to crye,
“Help, watir, watir, help, for Goddes herte!”
This carpentir out of his slumber sterte,
And herd on crye watir, as he wer wood.
He thought, “Allas, for now cometh Noes flood!”
He sit him up withoute wordes mo,
And with his ax he smot the corde a-two;
And doun he goth; he fond nowthir to selle
No breed ne ale, til he com to the selle
Upon the floor, and ther aswoun he lay.
Up styrt hir Alisoun, and Nicholay,
And cryden, “out and harrow!” in the strete,
The neygheboures bothe smal and grete,
In ronnen, for to gauren on this man,
That yet aswowne lay, bothe pale and wan;
For with the fal he brosten had his arm.
But stond he muste to his owne harm,
For whan he spak, he was anon born doun
With heende Nicholas and Alisoun.
They tolden every man that he was wood;
He was agast and feerd of Noes flood
Thurgh fantasie, that of his vanité
He hadde i-bought him knedyng tubbes thre,
And hadde hem hanged in the roof above;
And that he preyed hem for Goddes love
To sitten in the roof par compaignye.
The folk gan lawhen at his fantasye;
Into the roof they kyken, and they gape,
And torne al his harm into a jape.
For whatsoever the carpenter answerde,
Hit was for nought, no man his resoun herde,
With othis greet he was so sworn adoun,
That he was holden wood in al the toun.
For every clerk anon right heeld with othir;
They seyde, “The man was wood, my leeve brother;”
And every man gan lawhen at his stryf.

Thus swyved was the carpenteres wyf
For al his kepyng and his gelousye;
And Absolon hath kist hir nethir ye;
And Nicholas is skaldid in his towte.
This tale is doon, and God save al the route.