Now let us sit and drinke, and make us mery, And afterward we wiln his body bery.

And with that word it happed him par cas,
To take the botelle, ther the poison was,
And dronke, and yave his felaw drinke also,
For which anon they storven bothe two.

But certes I suppose that Avicenne
Wrote never in no cannon, ne in no fenne,
Mo wonder signes of empoisoning,
Than' had thise wretches two or hir ending.
Thus ended ben thise homicides two,
And eke the false empoisoner also.

O cursednesse of alle cursednesse!
O traitours homicide! O wickednesse!
O glotonie, luxurie, and hasardrie!
Thou blasphemour of Crist with vilanie,
And othes grete, of usage and of pride!
Alas! mankinde, how may it betide,

That to thy Creatour, which that thee wrought,
And with his precious herte-blood thee bought,
Thou art so false and so unkind, alas!
Now, good men, God foryeve you your trespas,
And ware you fro the sinne of avarice.
Min holy pardon may you all warice,
So that ye offre nobles or starlinges,
Or elles silver broches, spones, ringes.
Boweth your hed under this holy Bulle.
Cometh up, ye wives, and offreth of your wolle;
Your names I entre here in my roll anon;
Into the blisse of heven shul ye gon:

I you assoile by min high powere,

You that wiln offre, as clene and eke as clere As ye were borne. Lo, sires, thus I preche; And Jesu Crist, that is our soules leche,

So graunte you his pardon to receive;
For that is best, I wol you not deceive.

But, sires, o word forgate I in my tale;
I have relikes and pardon in my male,
As faire as any man in Englelond,
Which were me yeven by the Popes hond.
If any of you wol of devotion

Offren, and han min absolution,

Cometh forth anon, and kneleth here adoun,
And mekely receiveth my pardoun.
Or elles taketh pardon, as ye wende,
Al newe and freshe at every tounes ende,
So that ye offren alway newe and newe,
Nobles or pens, which that ben good and trewe.
It is an honour to everich that is here,
That ye moun have a suffisant pardonere
To assoilen you in contree as ye ride,
For aventures, which that moun betide.
Paraventure ther may falle on, or two,
Doun of his hors, and breke his neck atwo.
Loke, which a seurtee is it to yeu alle,
That I am in your felawship yfalle,

That may assoile you bothe more and lasse,
Whan that the soule shal fro the body passe.
I rede that our hoste shal beginne,

For he is most envoluped in sinne.

Come forth, sire hoste, and offre first anon,
And thou shalt kisse the relikes everich on,
Ye for a grote; unbokel anon thy purse.

Nay nay, quod he, than have I Cristes curse. Let be, quod he, it shal not be, so the ich. Thou woldest make me kisse thin olde brech, And swere it were a relike of a seint,

Though it were with thy foundement depeint.

But by the crois, which that Seint Heleine fond,
I wolde I had thin coilons in min hond,
Instede of relikes, or of seintuarie.

Let cut hem of, I wol thee help hem carie;
They shul be shrined in an hogges tord.

This Pardoner answered not a word;
So wroth he was, no word ne wolde he say.
Now, quod our hoste, I wol no lenger play
With thee, ne with non other angry man.

But right anon the worthy knight began,
(Whan that he saw that all the peple lough)
No more of this, for it is right ynough.
Sire Pardoner, be mery and glad of chere;
And ye, sire hoste, that ben to me so dere,
I pray you that ye kisse the Pardoner;
And, Pardoner, I pray thee draw thee ner,
And as we diden, let us laugh and play.
Anon they kissed, and riden forth hir way.

THE SHIPMANNES PROLOGUE.
OUR hoste upon his stirrops stode anon,
And saide; Good men, herkeneth everich on,
This was a thrifty tale for the nones.

Sire parish preest, quod he, for Goddes bones,
Tell us a tale, as was thy forward yore:
I see wel that ye lerned men in lore
Can mochel good, by Goddes dignitee.
The Person him answerd, Benedicite!
What eileth the man, so sinfully to swere?
Our hoste answerd, O Jankin, be ye there?
Now, good men, quod our hoste, herkneth to me.
I smell a loller in the wind, quod he.

Abideth for Goddes digne passion,

For we shul han a predication:

This loller here wol prechen us somwhat.
Nay by my fathers soule, that shal he nat,
Sayde the Shipman, here shal he nat preche,
He shal no gospel glosen here ne teche.
We leven all in the gret God, quod he.
He wolde sowen som difficultee,
Or springen cockle in our clene corne.
And therfore, hoste, I warne thee beforne,
My joly body shal a tale telle,

And I shal clinken you so mery a belle,
That I shal waken all this compagnie :
But it shal not ben of philosophie,
Ne of physike, ne termes queinte of lawe;
Ther is but litel Latin in my mawe.

THE SHIPMANNES TALE.

A MARCHANT whilom dwelled at Seint Denise,
That riche was, for which men held him wise.
A wif he had of excellent beautee,

And compaignable, and revelous was she,
Which is a thing that causeth more dispence,
Than worth is all the chere and reverence,
That men hem don at festes and at dances.
Swiche salutations and contenances
Passen, as doth a shadwe upon the wall:
But wo is him that payen mote for all.
The sely husbond algate he mote pay,
He mote us clothe and he mote us array
All for his owen worship richely:
In which array we dancen jolily.

And if that he may not paraventure,
Or elles lust not swiche dispence endure,
But thinketh it is wasted and ylost,
Than mote another payen for our cost,
Or lene us gold, and that is perilous.

This noble Marchant held a worthy hous,
For which he had all day so gret repaire
For his largesse, and for his wif was faire,
That wonder is: but herkeneth to my tale.

Amonges all thise gestes gret and smale,
Ther was a Monk, a faire man and a bold,
I trow a thritty winter he was old,

That ever in on was drawing to that place.
This yonge Monk, that was so faire of face,
Acquainted was so with this goode man,
Sithen that hir firste knowlege began,
That in his hous as familier was he,
As it possible is any frend to be.
And for as mochel as this goode man
And eke this Monk, of which that I began,
Were bothe two yborne in o village,
The Monk him claimeth, as for cosinage,
And he again him sayd not ones nay,
But was as glad therof, as foule of day;
For to his herte it was a gret plesance.

Thus ben they knit with eterne alliance,
And eche of hem gan other for to ensure
Of brotherhed, while that hire lif may dure.
Free was Dan John, and namely of dispence
As in that hous, and ful of diligence
To don plesance, and also gret costage:
He not forgate to yeve the leste page
In all that hous; but, after hir degree,
He yave the lord, and sithen his meinee,