With him there was a Ploughman , was his brother, That had y-laid of dung full many a fother. A true swinker and a good was he, Living in peace and perfect charity. God loved he bestë with all his heart At allë timës, were it gain or smart, And then his neighëbour right as himselve. He wouldë thresh, and thereto dike, and delve, For Christë’s sake, for every poorë wight, Withouten hire, if it lay in his might. His tithës payed he full fair and well, Both of his proper swink, and his chattel. In a tabard he rode upon a mare.
There was also a Reeve, and a Millere, A Sompnour, and a Pardoner also, A Manciple, and myself, there were no mo’.
The Miller was a stout carle for the nones, Full big he was of brawn, and eke of bones; That proved well, for ov’r all where he came, At wrestling he would bear away the ram. He was short-shouldered, broad, a thickë gnarr, There was no door, that he n’old heave off bar, Or break it at a running with his head. His beard as any sow or fox was red, And thereto broad, as though it were a spade. Upon the cop right of his nose he had A wart, and thereon stood a tuft of hairs Red as the bristles of a sowë’s ears. His nosë-thirlës blackë were