tubbës three, Then shalt thou hang them in the roof full high, So that no man our purveyance espy: And when thou hast done thus as I have said, And hast our vitaille fair in them y-laid, And eke an axe to smite the cord in two When that the water comes, that we may go, And break an hole on high upon the gable Into the garden-ward, over the stable, That we may freely passë forth our way, When that the greatë shower is gone away. Then shalt thou swim as merry, I undertake, As doth the whitë duck after her drake: Then will I clepe, ‘How, Alison? How, John? Be merry: for the flood will pass anon.’ And thou wilt say, ‘Hail, Master Nicholay, Good-morrow, I see thee well, for it is day.’ And then shall we be lordës all our life Of all the world, as Noë and his wife. But of one thing I warnë thee full right, Be well advised, on that ilkë night, When we be enter’d into shippë’s board, That none of us not speak a single word, Nor clepe nor cry, but be in his prayére, For that is Goddë’s owen hestë dear. Thy wife and thou must hangen far atween, For that betwixtë you shall be no sin, No more in looking than there shall in deed. This ordinance is said: go, God thee speed. To-morrow night, when men be all asleep, Into our kneading tubbës will we creep, And sittë there, abiding Goddë’s grace. Go now thy way, I have no longer space To make of this no longer sermoníng: Men say thus: Send the wise, and say nothing: Thou art so wise, it needeth thee nought teach. Go, save our lives, and that I thee beseech.”
This silly carpenter went forth his way, Full oft he said, “Alas! and Well-a-day!” And to his wife he told his privity, And she was ware, and better knew than he What all this quaintë cast was for to say. But natheless she fear’d as she would dey, And said: “Alas! go forth thy way anon. Help us to scape, or we be dead each one. I am thy true and very wedded wife; Go, dearë spouse, and help to save our life.” Lo, what a great thing is affectión! Men may die of imaginatión, So deeply may impressión be take. This silly carpenter begins to quake: He thinketh verily that he may see This newë flood come weltering as the sea To drenchen Alison, his honey dear. He weepeth, waileth, maketh sorry cheer; He sigheth, with