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The Pardoner's Tale

(From The Canterbury Tales)

In Flaundres whylom was a companye
Of yonge folk, that haunteden folye,

A ryot, hasard, stewes, and tavernes,

Where-as, with harpes, lutes, and giternes,

They daunce and pleye at dees both day and night,
And ete also and drinken over hir might,

Thurgh which they doon the devel sacrifyse
With-in that develes temple, in cursed wyse,
By superfluitee abhominable;

Hir othes been so grete and so dampnable,
That it is grisly for to here hem swere;
Our blissed lordes body they to-tere;
Hem thoughte Jewes rente him noght y-nough;
And ech of hem at otheres sinne lough.

Thise ryotoures three, of whiche I telle,

15

Longe erst er pryme rong of any belle,
Were set hem in a taverne for to drinke;

And as they satte, they herde a belle clinke

as riotous

Once upon a time there was in Flanders a company of young people who followed after foolishness living, gambling, brothels, and taverns, where with harps, lutes, and guitars they dance and play at dice both day and night, and also eat and drink beyond their capacity, by Their oaths which they do sacrifice to the devil in that devil's temple in scandalous fashion, by outrageous excess. are so many and so dreadful that it is terrible to hear them Our blessed Lord's body they do tear to pieces it seemed to them Jews tore him not enough; and each of them laughed at the others' sins.

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These three rioters of whom I tell, long before any bell struck nine, had gone into a tavern to drink; and as they

sat, they heard a bell ringing before a corpse that was being

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Biforn a cors, was caried to his grave;
That oon of hem gan callen to his knave,
"Go bet," quod he, "and axe redily,
What cors is this that passeth heer forby;
And look that thou reporte his name wel."
"Sir," quod the boy, "it nedeth never-a-del.
It was me told, er ye cam heer, two houres;
He was, pardee, an old felawe of youres;
And sodeynly he was y-slayn to-night,
For-dronke, as he sat on his bench upright;
Ther cam a privee theef, men clepeth Deeth,
That in this contree al the peple sleeth,
And with his spere he smoot his herte a-two,
And wente his way with-outen wordes mo.
He hath a thousand slayn this pestilence:
And, maister, er ye come in his presence,
Me thinketh that it were necessarie
For to be war of swich an adversarie :

Beth redy for to mete him evermore.

Thus taughte me my dame, I sey na-more."

carried to the grave. One of them called to his page, "Go quickly," said he, "and ask at once whose body is passing by; and be sure you report his name correctly."

"Sir," said this boy, "that's not at all necessary. It was told me two hours before you came here; he was, in faith, an old companion of yours, and he was suddenly slain tonight, dead drunk, as he sat straight up on his bench. There came a secret thief, whom men call Death, who slays all the people in this country; and with his spear he broke his heart in two, and went his way without more words. He hath slain a thousand during this plague; and master, before you come into his presence, it seems to me necessary that you be cautious of such an adversary; be always ready to meet him. So my mother taught me; that's all I have to

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"By seinte Marie," said this taverner,

"The child seith sooth, for he hath slayn this yeer,
Henne over a myle, with-in a greet village,
Both man and womman, child and hyne, and page.
I trowe his habitacioun be there;
To been avysed greet wisdom it were,
Er that he dide a man a dishonour."
"Ye, goddes armes," quod this ryotour,
"Is it swich peril with him for to mete?
I shal him seke by wey and eke by strete,
I make avow to Goddes digne bones!
Herkneth, felawes, we three been al ones;
Lat ech of us hold up his hond til other,
And ech of us bicomen otheres brother,
And we wol sleen this false traytour Deeth;
He shal be slayn, which that so many sleeth,
By Goddes dignitee, er it be night."

Togidres han thise three her trouthes plight,
To live and dyen ech of hem, for other,

As though he were his owene y-boren brother.

"By Saint Mary," said this taverner, "the child speaks
truth; for he hath slain this year, in a large village about a
mile hence, both man and woman, child and servant, and
page. I believe his habitation is there; it would be great
wisdom to be well advised before he caused a man trouble."
"By God's arms," said this rioter, "is it so perilous to
meet him? I shall seek him in the highways and the byways,
I hereby vow to God's noble bones! Listen, comrades, we
three are all of one mind; let each of us hold up his hand to
the other, and each of us become the other's brother, and we
will slay this false traitor Death, he who slays so many shall
himself be slain, by God's dignity, before night."

These three pledged their words to live and die for each
other as though he were his own blood brother. They started

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And therefore moot I han myn age stille,
As longe time as it is Goddes wille.

"Ne deeth, allas! ne wol nat han my lyf;
Thus walk I, lyk a restelees caityf,
And on the ground, which is my modres gate,
I knokke with my staf, bothe erly and late,
And seye, 'Leve moder, leet me in !
Lo, how I vanish, flesh, and blood, and skin!
Allas! whan shul my bones been at reste?
Moder, with yow wolde I chaunge my cheste,
That in my chambre longe tyme hath be,
Ye! for an heyre clout to wrappe me!'
But yet to me she wol nat do that grace,
For which ful pale and welked is my face.
"But, sirs, to yow it is no curteisye
To speken to an old man vileinye,
But he trespasse in worde, or elles in dede.
In holy writ ye may your-self wel rede,

Agayns an old man, hoor upon his heed,

Ye sholde aryse;' wherfor I yeve yow reed,

I must keep my age as long as it is God's will.

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"Even death, alas! will not have my life; so I keep going, like a restless wretch, and on the ground, which is my mother's gate, I knock with my staff early and late, saying, 'Dear mother [Earth], let me in! Lo, how I waste away, flesh, and blood, and skin! Alas! when shall my bones be at rest? Mother, I'd like to exchange the chest that hath been a long time in my chamber for a hairy shroud to wrap me in!' But yet she will not do me that favor, because of which my face is very pale and withered.

"But, sirs, it is not courteous of you to speak rudely to an old man, unless he do you wrong in word or deed. In Holy Writ you yourselves may read, 'In the presence of an old man, hoary-headed, you should rise;' wherefore I counsel you, do no harm to an old man now, any more than you would

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