THE PARDONER
ME. Text
With him there rode a gentle pardoner
Of Rouncival, his friend and counseller,
Directly from the court of Rome, came he
Loudly he sang "Come hither love, to me!"
The Summoner joining him in the round;
There never was so half as great a sound.
This Pardoner had hair, yellow as wax,
But hanging smooth as does a yield of flax;
It hung in flounces down from off his head,
On to his shoulders which it overspread;
But it lay thin, as hairs do one by one.
But as for head covering he had none,
For he kept it in his wallet meanwhile.
For he thought he rode in the latest style;
Saving a cap, dishevelled, head all bare.
Such glaring eyes he had, bright as a hare.
A veronica was sewn on to his cap
His wallet lay before him on his lap,
Brimful of pardons, from Rome, piping hot.
But his voice was small as a goats, God wot!
He had no beard nor could one seem to grow,
His chin was so smooth, no razor need mow.
I thought him to be gelded or a mare,
But in his craft, from Berwick unto Ware.
There never was such a true pardoner,
For in his scrip a pillowcase did bear,
Made from Our Lady’s own lace and her veil;
And said he had a piece of the same sail
That St. Peter used in times that he spent
On the sea, until Jesus Christ was sent.
He had a latten cross, set with some stones,
And in a glass bottle he had pigs bones.
And with these so-called relics, when he found
Some simple countryfolk who tilled the ground,
He made much more money on that same day
Than they could ever make from two month’s pay;
Thus, with feigned fulsome flattery and japes,
He made parsons and people look like apes.
But truthfully, in all justice, at last,
For the church he was an ecclesiast.
He could read well, a lesson or story,
But was the best in sung offertory;
For he well knew that when that song was sung,
That he could preach well with a polished tongue
To win more silver for which he was proud ;
So therefore he sang, merrily out loud.
THE TABARD'S HOST
[ME. Text]
Now I have told you clearly in a clause,
Estates, arrays, numbers, also the cause
Of why we gathered in such company
In Southwark, at this gentle hostelry
Well known as the Tabard, close by the Bell.
But now the time has come for me to tell
How we did bear ourselves on that same night,
In that hostelry in boisterous plight;
And afterwards of our wondrous voyage
And the remainder of our pilgrimage.
But first I pray you of your courtesy,
Do not accuse me of vulgarity,
For though I speak plainly in matters here,
Telling you of their thoughts and words of cheer,
Retelling their very words and not lie,
You all are knowing, just as well as I,
Who tells a tale told by another man,
He must tell it, truthfully as he can
Every such word as well he might recall,
They might be rude, licentious; tell them all,
Else he will falter with a tale untrue,
Invent new matter and meaning undo.
He must not spare even though his brother;
Always speaking the true word, no other.
Christ always spoke so in the holy writ,
So you should know there is no harm in it.
And Plato said, for those who might so read,
"Words must also be cousins to the deed."
And forgiveness I ask of you, prithee,
That I do not rank folks by their degree
Within these tales, as they should truly stand.
My wits are not the best, you’ll undersatnd.
Great cheer our host offered us, everyone,
A fine supper he set for us, anon.
And served us victuals of the very best;
With strong wine to drink for every guest.
A seemly man was our host, for withal
Fit to be a marshal in some great hall.
He was a large man with eyes set so wide,
Yet no finer burgher in all Cheapside.
Outright in speech he was, wise and well taught,
And as for true manhood he lacked him naught.
Also he was a very merry man,
THE TALE'S GENESIS
[ME. Text]
For after our supper, joking began,
Speaking of mirth, and many other things,
And said, we having paid our reckonings,
"Now lordlings, please listen closely to me,
You will always be welcome here, heartily;
For by my own troth, the truth this shall be,
This year I have not served such company
In this I, as merry, as I do now.
And I would make you merrier, but how?
But wait awhile, I have a simple thought,
To give you passing joy and cost you nought.
You all go to Canterbury – God speed,
And may the blessed martyr meet your need.
And I guess that as you go by the way,
All of you will have good tales to relay;
For indeed, there is no comfort alone
With one’s own thoughts, as dumb as if a stone;
And so I will suggest a game of sorts,
By which you will ensure yourselves comforts.
And if you like the idea you assent
And thereafter abide by my judgement,
And work at all the things that I shall say,
Tomorrow, when you ride upon your way,
By my father’s soul, he who is now dead,
If you’re not merry, I’ll give you my head !
Hold up your hands if you agree, not speak."
Our full agreement was not hard to seek.
We thought it not worth our while to say no,
And granted him his wish and told him so,
And bade him tell us of his merry plan.
"Lordlings," he said, "hear this, every man;
Do not , I pray you, listen with disdain.
Here is the point, I’ll put it short and plain,
That each of you to shorten each long day,
On this journey, tell two tales on the way
To Canterbury town and then, thereto,
On the return trip, tell another two
Of adventures that he once did befall.
And he that tells of one the best of all,
That is to say, a tale that fits our mood,
Is vastly amusing but not too rude,
Shall have a good supper, with all the host,
Here in this place and sitting by this post,
When we all come back from Cantebury.
And to further make you all free from worry,
Myself also will undertake to ride ,
With you at my own cost and be your guide.
But any who would my judgement gainsay,
Shall pay all that we spend upon the way.
So, if you all vouchsafe that this be so,
Tell me at once, otherwise tell me no,
And I will quickly confirm and no more.
But we all agreed, our oaths duly swore
With glad hearts and urged him fully also
That he would consent and would say no,
And that he would be our sole ,govenor,
And the judge of our tales and arbitor,
And set the supper at a certain price,
And we all would be ruled by his advice
In all things, great or small, so by assent
And stood committed to his own judgement.
Then the wine was fetched and then, thereupon,
We drank our toasts and to our rest were gone.
Next morning, without undue tarrying,
As dawn broke and the day began to spring,
Up rose our host to start the journey’s clock,
And gathered us together in one flock,
And we rode forth at a very slow pace
Until we reached a pilgrim’s watering place;
And there our host stopped his horse by this rill
And said, "Now Lordlings, listen if you will.
Last night we all agreed our solemn word,
If evensong and morning hymn accord,
Let us decide who shall tell the first tale.
And as I intend to drink wine or ale
And any who rebels at my judgement
Shall forfeit all this days every payment.
Let us draw straws before we distance win,
And he who draws the shortest shall begin.
Sire Knight", quoth he, " My master and my lord,
Draw the first straw for that is my accord.
Draw near," quoth he, "My Lady Prioress.
And you, Sir Clerk, disguise your bashfullness,
Do not hold back, a hand from every man!
And so, drawing straws in turn, we began
And so to cut this tale short as may be,
Whether by adventure or sorcery,
The truth is that the chance fell to the knight,
At which all were filled with secret delight,
That he was the one first to tell his tale,
Our common understanding thus prevail,
For all here had heard, he could not say no,
And when this good knight saw that it was so,
Being a good man he was obedient
And kept his sworn word and gave his assent,
Saying thus, "Since I shall begin this game,
Well I welcome the draw, in my God’s name!
Now, let us ride, hearken to what I say."
And with that word we rode forth on our way,
And he began to tell, with merry voice,
His tale. Now listen to the Knight’s first choice!
THUS ENDS THIS PROLOGUE