THE

PARDONERES PROLOGUE.

Oun Hoste gan to swere as he were wood;
"Harow!" (quod he) "by nailes and by blood,
This was a false cherl, and a false justice.
As shameful deth as herte can devise,
Come to thise juges and hir advocas.
Algate this sely maide is slain, alas!
Alas! to dere abought she hire beautee.
Wherfore I say, that al day man may see,
That yeftes of fortune and of nature
Ben cause of deth to many a creature.
Hire beautee was hire deth, I dare wel sain;
Alas! so pitously as she was slain.

Of bothe yeftes, that I speke of now,

Men han ful often more for harm than prow
"But trewely, min owen maister dere,
This was a pitous tale for to here:
But natheles, passe over, is no force.
I pray to God to save thy gentil corps,
And eke thyn urinals, and thy jordanes,
Thin Ypocras, and eke thy Galianes,
And every boist ful of thy letuaries,
God blesse hem and our lady Seinte Marie.
So mote I the, thou art a propre man,
And like a prelat by Seint Ronian ;

Said I not wel? I cannot speke in terme;
But wel I wot, thou dost min herte to erme,
That I have almost caught a cardiacle:
By corpus domini but I have triacle,
Or elles a draught of moist and corny ale,
Or but I here anon a mery tale,

Myn herte is lost for pitee of this maid.
Thou bel amy, thou Pardoner," he said,
"Tel us som mirth of japes right anon."

"It shal be don," quod he, "by Seint Ronion. "But first” (quod he) “here at this ale-stake I wol both drinke, and biten on a cake." But right anon thise gentiles gan to crie; "Nay, let him tell us of no ribaudrie. Tell us som moral thing, that we mow lere Som wit, and thanne wol we gladly here." "I graunte ywis," quod he, "but I must thinke Upon som honest thing, while that I drinke."

THE PARDONERES TALĖ.

LORDINGS, quod he, in chirche whan I preche,
I peine me to have an hautein speche,
And ring it out, as round as goth a bell,

For I can all by rote that I tell.

My teme is alway on, and ever was;

Radix malorum est cupiditas.

First I pronounce whennes that I come,
And than my bulles shew I all and some:
Our liege lordes sele on my patente,
That shew I first my body to warrente,
That no man be so bold, ne preest ne clerk,
Me to disturbe of Cristes holy werk.

And after that than tell I forth my tales.
Bulles of popes, and of cardinales,
Of patriarkes, and bishoppes I shewe,
And in Latin I speke a wordes fewe,
To saffron with my predication,
And for to stere men to devotion.
Than shew I forth my longe cristal stones,
Ycrammed ful of cloutes and of bones,
Relikes they ben, as wenen they echon.
Than have I in laton a shulder bone,
Which that was of an holy Jewes shepe.
"Good men," say I, "take of my wordes kepe:
If that this bone be washe in any well,
If cow, or calf, or shepe, or oxe swell,
That any worm hath ete, or worm ystonge,
Take water of that well, and wash his tonge,
And it is hole anon: and forthermore
Of pockes, and of scab, and every sore
Shal every shepe be hole, that of this well
Drinketh a draught; take kepe of that I tell.

"If that the good man, that the bestes oweth, Wol every weke, or that the cok him croweth, Fasting ydrinken of this well a draught,

As thilke holy Jew our eldres taught,
His bestes and his store shal multiplie.
And, sires, also it heleth jalousie.
For though a man be falle in jalous rage,
Let maken with this water his potage,
And never shal he more his wif mistrist,
'Though he the soth of hire defaute wist;
Al had she taken preestes two or three.

"Here is a mitaine eke, that ye may see:
He that his hand wol put in this mitaine,
He shal have multiplying of his graine,

Whan he hath sowen, be it whete or otes,
So that he offer pens or elles grotes.

'And, men and women, o thing warne I you: If any wight be in this chirche now,

That hath don sinne horrible, so that he
Dare not for shame of it yshriven be:
Or any woman, be she yong or old,
That hath ymade hire husbond cokewold,
Swiche folk shul han no power ne no grace
To offer to my relikes in this place.

And who so findeth him out of swiche blame,
He wol come up and offer in Goddes name,
And I assoyle him by the authoritee,
Which that by bulle ygranted was to me."
By this gaude have I wonnen yere by yere
An hundred mark, sin I was pardonere.
I stonde like a clerk in my pulpet,
And whan the lewed peple is doun yset,
I preche so as ye han herd before,
And tell an hundred false japes more.

Than peine I me to stretchen forth my necke,
And est and west upon the peple I becke,
As doth a dove, sitting upon a berne :
Myn hondes and my tonge gon so yerne,
That it is joye to see my besinesse.
Of avarice and of swiche cursednesse
Is all my preching, for to make hem free
To yeve hir pens, and namely unto me.
For min entente is not but for to winne,
And nothing for correction of sinne.
I recke never whan that they be beried,
Though that hir soules gon a blake beried.
For certes many a predication

Cometh oft time of evil entention;

Som for plesance of folk, and flaterie,
To ben avanced by hypocrisie ;

And som for vaine glorie, and som for hate.
For whan I dare non other wayes debate,
Than wol I sting him with my tonge smerte
In preching, so that he shal not asterte
To ben defamed falsely, if that he
Hath trespased to my brethren or to me.
For though I telle not his propre name,
Men shal wel knowen that it is the same
By signes, and by other circumstances.
Thus quite I folk, that don us displesances:
Thus spit I out my venime under hewe
Of holinesse, to seme holy and trewe.
But shortly min entente I wol devise,
I preche of nothing but for covetise.
Therfore my teme is yet, and ever was,
Radax malorum est cupiditas.

Thus can I preche again the same vice
Which that I use, and that is avarice.
But though myself be gilty in that sinne,
Yet can I maken other folk to twinne
From avarice, and sore hem to repente.
But that is not my principal entente;
I preche nothing but for covetise.
Of this matere it ought ynough suffise.
Than tell I hem ensamples many on
Of olde stories longe time agon.
For lewed peple loven tales olde;

Swiche thinges can they wel report and holde,
What? trowen ye, that whiles I may preche
And winnen gold and silver for I teche,
That I wol live in poverte wilfully?

Nay, nay, I thought it never trewely.