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Here biginneth the Pardoners Tale.

IN Flaundres whylom was a companye
Of yonge folk, that haunteden folye,
As ryot, hasard, stewes, and tavernes,
Wher-as, with harpes, lutes, and giternes,
They daunce and pleye at dees bothe day and night,
And ete also and drinken over hir might.


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Thise ryotoures three, of whiche I telle,
Longe erst er pryme rong


Were set hem in a taverne for to drinke;
And as they satte, they herde a belle clinke
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;

15 And look that thou reporte his name wel.'

'Sir,' quod this boy, ‘it nedeth never-a-del. It was me told, er ye cam heer, two houres; He was, pardee, an old felawe of youres;

* GEOFFREY CHAUCER (?1340-1400), writer of this story, was the chief story-teller of the fourteenth century in England. His Canterbury Tales, from which this narrative is taken, were probably composed in the years after 1380. The plot of The Pardoner's Tale came ultimately from the Orient. See also pp. 3-12.


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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,
5 And with his spere he smoot his herte a-two,
And wente his wey 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
10 For to be war of swich an adversarie:

Beth redy for to mete him evermore.
Thus taughte me my dame, I sey na-more.'
' By seinte Marie,' seyde this taverner,

"The child seith sooth, for he hath slayn this yeer, 15 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.'
20 ‘Ye, goddes armes,' quod this ryotour,

'Is it swich peril with him for to mete? I shal him seke by wey and eek by strete, I make avow to goddes digne bones!

Herkneth, felawes, we three been al ones; 25 Lat ech of us holde 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.' 30

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.
And up they sterte all dronken, in this rage,
And forth they goon towardes that village,

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Of which the taverner had spoke biforn,
And many a grisly ooth than han they sworn,
And Cristes blessed body they to-rente-
'Deeth shal be deed, if that they may him hente.'

Whan they han goon nat fully half a myle,
Right as they wolde han troden over a style,
An old man and a povre with hem mette.
This olde man ful mekely hem grette,
And seyde thus, ‘now, lordes, god yow see!'

The proudest of thise ryotoures three
Answerde agayn, “what? carl, with sory grace,
Why artow al forwrapped save thy face?
Why livestow so longe in so greet age?'

This olde man gan loke in his visage,
And seyde thus, ‘for I ne can nat finde
A man, though that I walked in-to Inde,
Neither in citee nor in no village,
That wolde chaunge his youthe for myn age;
And therfore moot I han myn age stille,
As longe time as it is goddes wille.

Ne deeth, allas! ne wol nat han my lyf;
Thus walke 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,

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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,
5 Ne dooth un-to an old man noon harm now,

Na-more than ye wolde men dide to yow
In age, if that ye so longe abyde;
And god be with yow, wher ye go or ryde.
I moot go thider as I have to go.'

Nay, olde cherl, by god, thou shalt nat so,'
Seyde this other hasardour anon;
'Thou partest nat so lightly, by seint John!
Thou spak right now of thilke traitour Deeth,

That in this contree alle our frendes sleeth. 15 Have heer my trouthe, as thou art his aspye,

Tel wher he is, or thou shalt it abye,
By god, and by the holy sacrament!
For soothly thou art oon of his assent,
To sleen us yonge folk, thou false theef!'

'Now, sirs,' quod he, “if that yow be so leef
To finde Deeth, turne up this croked wey,
For in that grove I lafte him, by my fey,
Under a tree, and ther he wol abyde;

Nat for your boost he wol him no-thing hyde. 25 See ye that ook? right ther ye shul him finde.

God save yow, that boghte agayn mankinde, And yow amende!'—thus seyde this olde man, And everich of thise ryotoures ran,

Til he cam to that tree, and ther they founde 30 Of florins fyne of golde y-coyned rounde

Wel ny an eighte busshels, as hem thoughte.
No lenger thanne after Deeth they soughte,
But ech of hem so glad was of that sighte,
For that the florins been so faire and brighte,


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