And fayde ther, I wol not lefe my name,
Ne wol not take on me fo gret defame,
You for to allie unto non hafardours:
Sendeth fom other wife embassadours,
For by my trouthe me were liver die
Than I you fhuld to hafardours allie;
For ye, that ben fo glorious in honours,
Shal not allie you to non hafardours,
As by my wille, ne as by my tretee.
This wife philofophre thus fayd he.

Loke eke how to the King Demetrius
The King of Parthes, as the book fayth us,
Sent him a pair of dis of gold in fcorne,
For he had ufed hafard therbeforne,

For which he held his glory and his renoun
At no value or reputatioun.
Lordes may finden other maner play
Honeft ynough to drive the day away.
Now wol I fpeke of othes falfe and grete
A word or two, as olde bookes trete.
Gret fwering is a thing abhominable,
And falfe fwering is yet more reprevable.
The highe God forbad fwering at al,
Witneffe on Mathew; but in special
Of (wering fayth the holy Jeremie,
Thou shalt fwere foth thin othes, and not lie,
And fwere in dome, and eke in rightwifneffe,
But idel fwering is a curfedneffe.

Behold and fee that in the firfte table
Of highe Goddes hestes honourable
How that the fecond heft of him is this,
Take not my name in idle or amis.
Lo, rather he forbedeth fwiche fwering
Than homicide or many an other thing.
1 fay that as by ordre thus it ftondeth,
This knoweth he that his heftes understondeth
How that the fecond heft of God is that:
And forthermore, I wol the tell all plat
That vengeance fhal not parten from his hous
That of his othes is outrageous.

By Goddes precious herte, and by his nailes,
And by the blood of Crift that is in Hailes,
Seven is my chance, and thin is cink and treye :
By Goddes armes if thou fallly pleye
This dagger fhal thurghout thin herte go.
This fruit cometh of the bicchel bones two,
Forfwering, ire, falfeneffe, and homicide.

Now for the love of Crift, that for us dide,
Leteth your othes bothe gret and smale.
But, Sires, now wol I tell you forth my Tale.
Thife riotoures three of which I tell,
Long erft or prime rong of any bell,
Were fet hem in a taverne for to drinke,
And as they fat they herd a belle clinke
Beforn a corps was caried to his grave;
That on of hem gan callen to his knave,
Go bet, quod he, and axe redily
What corps is this that paffeth here forth by,
And loke that thou report his name wel.

Sire, quod this boy, it nedeth never a del; It was me told or ye came here two houres; He was parde an old felaw of youres, And fodenly he was yflain to-night, For dronke as he fat on his bench upright; VOL. I.

Ther came a privee theef men clepen Deth,
That in this contree all the peple fieth,
And with his fpere he fmote his herte atwo,
And went his way withouten wordes mo.
He hath a thousand flain this peftilence;
And, maifter, or ye come in his prefence
Me thinketh that it were ful neceffarie
For to beware of fwiche an adverfarie :
Beth redy for me to mete him evermore;
Thus taughte me my dame; I fay no more.

By Seinte Marie, fayd this tavernere,
The child fayth foth, for he hath flain this yere,
Hens over a mile, within a gret village,
Both man and woman, child, and hyne and page,

I trowe his habitation be there :
To ben avised gret wisdom it were
Or that he did a man a difhonour.

Ye, Goddes armes, quod this riotour,
Is it fwiche peril with him for to mete?
I fhal him seke by stile and eke by strete,
I make a vow by Goddes digne bones.
Herkeneth, felawes, we three ben alle ones;
Let eche of us hold up his hond to other,
And eche of us becomen others brother,
And we wol flen this falfe traitour Deth:
He fhal be flain, he that so many fleth,
By Goddes dignitee, or it be night.

Togeder han thise three hir trouthes plight
To live and dien eche of hem for other,
As though he were his owen boren brother.
And up they ftert al dronken in this rage,
And forth they gon towards that village
Of which the taverner had spoke beforn,
And many a grifly oth than have they fworn,
And Criftes bleffed body they to-rent,
Deth fhal be ded, if that we may him hent.

Whan they han gon not fully half a mile,
Right as they wold han troden over a stile,
An olde man and a poure with hem mette:
This olde man ful mekely hem grette,
And fayde thus; Now, Lordes, God you fee!
The proudeft of thise riotoures three
Anfwerd agen; What? cherl, with fory grace,
Why art thou all forwrapped fave thy face?
Why liveft thou fo longe in fo gret age?

This olde man gan loke in his vifage,
And fayde thus; For Ine cannot finde
A man, though that I walked into Inde,
Neither in citee ne in no village,

That wolde change his youthe for min age;
And therefore mote I han min age ftill
As longe time as it is Goddes will.
Ne Deth, alas! ne wil not han my lif:
Thus walke I like a reftcles caitif,
And on the ground, which is my modres gate,
I knocke with my staf erlich and late,
And fay to hire, Leve mother, let me in.
Lo, how I vanish, flesh, and blood, and skin..
Alas! whari fhul my bones ben at refte?
Mother, with you wold I changen my chefte,
That in my chambre longe time hath be,
Ye, for an heren clout to wrap in me.
But yet to me fhe wol nct don that grace,
For which ful pale and welked is my face.

Η

But, Sires, to you it is no curtefie
To fpeke unto an olde man vilanie,
But he trefpafe in word or elles in dede.
In holy writ ye moun yourfelven rede
Ageins an olde man hore upon his hede
Ye fhuld arife: therefore I yeve you rede
Ne doth unto an olde man non harm now,
No more than that ye wold a man did you
In age, if that ye may fo long abide;
And God be with you where you go or ride:
I mofte go thider as I have to go.

Nay, olde cherl, by God thou shalt not fo,
Sayde this other hafardour anon;
Thou parteft not fo lightly, by Seint John.
Thou fpake right now of thilke traitour Deth,
'That in this contree all our frendes fleth;
Have here my trouth, as thou art his efpie,
Tell wher he is, or thou shalt it abie
By God and by the holy facrement,
For fothly thou art on of his affent
To flen us yonge folk, thou false these.

Now, Sires, quod he, if it be you fo lefe
'To finden Deth, tourne up this croked way,
For in that grove I left him by my fay
Under a tree, and ther he wol abide,
Ne for your boft he wol him nothing hide.
Se ye that oke? right ther ye fhuln him find.
God fave you that bought agen mankind,
And you amende! Thus fayd this olde man.
And everich of thife riotoures ran

Til they came to the tree, and ther they found
Of Floreins fine of gold ycoined round
Wel nigh and eighte bufhels, as hem thought:
No lenger than after Dethe they fought,
But eche of hem fo glad was of the fight,
For that the Floreins ben fo faire and bright,
'That doun they fette hem by the precious hord:
The werfte of hem he fpake the firfte word.
Brethren, qued he, take kepe what I fhal fay;
My wit is gret though that I bourde and play.
This trefour hath Fortune unto us yeven,
In mirth and jolitee our lif to liven,
And lightly as it cometh fo wol we spend.
Ey, Goddes precious dignitee! who wend
To-day that we fhuld han so faire a grace?
But might this gold be caried fro this place
Home to myn hous, or elles unto youres,
(For wel I wote that all this gold is oures)
Thanne were we in high felicitee;
But trewely by day it may not be,
Men wolden fay that we were theeves strong,
And for our owen trefour don us hong.
This trefour muft ycaried be by night
As wifely and as fleighly as it might;
Wherfore I rede that cut among us alle
We drawe, and let fee wher the cut wol falle;
And he that hath the cut, with herte blith,
Shal rennen to the toun, and that ful fwith,
And bring us bred and win ful prively;
And two of us fhal kepen subtilly
'This trefour wel; and if he wol not tarien,
Whan it is night we wol this trefour carien
By on affent wher as us thinketh best.

That on of hem the cut brought in his fest,

And bad him drawe, and loke wher it wold falle,
And it fell on the yongeft of hem alle,
And forth toward the toun he went anon:
And al fo fone as that he was agon

That on of hem spake thus unto that other;
Thou woteft wel thou art my fworen brother,
Thy profite wol I tell the right anon.
Thou woft wel that our felaw is agon,
And here is gold, and that ful gret plentee,
That fhal departed ben among us three;
But natheles, if I can fhape it fo
That it departed were among us two,
Had I not don a frendes turn to thee?

That other anfwerd, I n'ot how that may be :
He wote wel that the gold is with us tweye.
What fhuln we don, what fhuln we to him feye?
Shal it be confeil? fayde the firfte shrewe,
And I fhal tellen thee in wordes fewe
What we fhul don, and bring it wel aboute.

I grante, quod that other, out of doute, That by my trouth I wol thee not bewreie.

Now, quod the first, thou woft wel we ben
And tweic of us fhal ftrenger be than on. [tweie.
Loke, whan that he is fet thou right anon
Arife, as though thou woldest with him play,
And I fhal rive him thurgh the fides tway
While that thou ftrogleft with him as in game,
And with thy dagger loke thou do the fame;
And than fhal this gold departed be,
My dere frend! betwixen thee and me;
Than moun we bothe our luftes al fulfille,
And play at dis right at our owen wille.
And thus accorded ben thise fhrewes tweye
To flen the thridde, as ye han herde me feye.
This yongeft, which that wente to the toun
Ful oft in herte he rolleth up and doun
The beautee of thife Floreins new and bright,
O Lord! quod he, if fo were that I might
Have all this trefour to myself alone,
Ther n'is no man that liveth under the trone
Of God that fhulde live fo mery as I.
And at the last the fend our enemy
Putte in his thought that he shuld poison beye,
With which he mighte flen his felaws tweye.
For why? the fend fond him in fwiche living
That he had leve to forwe him to bring;
For this was outrely his ful entente,
To flen hem both and never to repente.
And forth he goth, no lenger wold he tary,
Into the toun unto a potecary,
And praied him that he wolde fell
Some poison, that he might his ratouns quell;
And eke ther was a polkat in his hawe
That, as he fayd, his capons had yflawe;
And fayn he wolde him wreken, if he might,
Of vermine that deftroied hem by night.

The potecary anfwerd, Thou shalt have,
A thing, as willy God my foule save,
In all this world ther n'is no creature
That ete or dronke hath of this confecture
Not but the mountance of a corne of whete,
That he ne fhal his lif anon forlete,
Ye, terve he fhal, and that in leffe while
Than thou wolt gon a pas not but a mile;

This poifon is fo ftrong and violent.

This curfed man hath in his hond yhent
This poifon in a box, and swithe he ran
Into the nexte ftrete unto a man,

And borwed of him large botelles three,
And in the two the poifen poured he;
The thridde he kepte clene for his drinke,
For all the night he fhope him for to fwinke
In carying of the gold out of that place.

And whan this riotour with fory grace
Hath filled with win his grete bottelles three
To his felawes agen repaireth he.

What nedeth it thereof to fermon more?
For right as they had caft his deth before,
Right fo they han him flain, and that anon.
And whan that this was don, thus fpake that on;
Now let us fit 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 poifon was,
And dronke, and yave his felaw drinke alfo,
For which aaon they ftorven bothe two.
But certes I fuppofe that Avicenne
Wrote never in no canon ne in no fenne
Mo wonder fignes of empoifoning

Than had thife wretches two or hir ending.
Thus ended ben thife homicides two,
And eke the falfe empoifoner alfo.

O curfedneffe of all curfedneffe;
O traitours homicide! o wickedneffe!
O glotonie, luxurie, and hafardrie !
Thou blafphemour of Crift with vilanie
And othes grete of ufage 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 fo falfe and fo unkind? alas!

Now, good men, God foryeve you your trefpas, And ware you fro the finne of avarice, Min holy pardon may you all warice, So that ye offre nobles or starlinges, Or elles filver broches, fpones, 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 bliffe of heven fhul ye gon: I you affoile by min high powere, You that wiln offre, as clene and eke as clere As ye were borne. Lo, Sires, thus I preche; And Jefu Crift, that is our foules leche, So graunte you his pardon to receive. For that is beft, 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 Engelond, Which were me yeven by the Popes hond. If any of you wol of devotion Offren, and han my abfolution, Cometh forth anon, and kneleth here adoun, And mekely receiveth my pardoun; Or elles taketh pardon as ye wende, Al new 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 fuffifant Pardonere To affoilen 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 necke atwo. Loke, which a feurtee is it to you alle That I am in your felawship yfalle, That may affoile you both more and leffe, Whan that the foule fhal fro the body passe. I rede that our Hofte fhal beginne, For he is most envoluped in finne. Come forth, Sire Hofte, and offre first anon, And thou fhalt kiffe the relikes everich on, Ye for a grote: unbokel anon thy purse.

Nay, nay, quod he; than have I Criftes curfe. Let be, quod he; it fhal not be, fo the ich. Thou woldeft make me kiffe thin olde brech, And fwere it were a relike of a feint, 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 Inftede of relikes or of feintuarie. Let cut hem of, I wol thee help hem carie: They fhul be fhrined in an hogges tord.

This Pardoner answered not a word;
So wroth he was no worde ne wolde he fay.
Now, quod our Hofte, 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 Hofte, that ben to me fo dere,
pray you that ye kiffe the Pardoner;
And, Pardoner, I pray thee draw thee ner,
And as we diden let us laugh and play.
Anon they kiffed, and riden forth hir way.

Hij

OUR Hofte upon his stirrops ftode anon,
And faide, Good men, herkeneth everich on,
This was a thrifty Tale for the nones.
Sire Parish Preeft, quod he, for Goddes bones
Tell us a Tale, as was thy forward yore;
I fee wel that ye lerned men in lore
Can mochel good, by Goddes dignitee.
The Perfon him anfwerd, Benedisite!
What eileth the man fo finfully to fwere?

Our Hofte anfwerd, O Jankin! be ye there?
Now good men, quod our Hofte, herkneth to me?
I fmell a Loller in the wind, quod he :
Abideth for Goddes digne paflion,
For we fhul han a predication:

This Loller here wol prochen us fomwhat.

Nay, by my fathers foule, that fhal he nat, Sayde the Shipman; here fhal he nat preche He fhal no gofpel glofen here ne teche. We leven all in the gret God, quod he: He wolde fowen fom difficultee, Or fpringen cockle in our clene corne; And therefore Hofte, I warne thee beforne My joly body fhal a Tale telle, And I fhal clinken you fo mery a belle That I fhal waken all this compagnieg But it fhal not ben of philofophie, Ne of phyfike, ne termes queinte of lawe Ther is but litel Latin in my mawe.

A Marchant whilom dwelled at Seint Denise
'That riche was, for which men held him wife:
A wif he had of excellent beautee,
And compaignable and revelous was fhe,
Which is a thing that causeth more difpence
'Than worth is all the chere and reverence
That men hem don at festes and at dances:
Swiche falutations and contenances
Paffen as doth a fhadwe upon the wal;
But wo is him that payen mote for all.
The fely 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 luft not fwiche difpence endure,
But thinketh it is wafted and yloft,
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 fo gret repaire For his largeffe, and for his wif was faire, That wonder is. But herkeneth to my Tale. Amonges all thise geftes gret and fmale 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 fo faire of face, Acquainted was fo with this goode man, Sithen that hire firfte knowlege began, That in his hous as familier was he As it poffible is any frend to be. And for as mochel us this goode man And cke this monk of which that I began Were bothe two yborne in o village, The monk him claimeth as for cofinage,

And he again him fayd not ones nay,
But was as glad therof as foule of day,
For to his herte it was a gret plefance.
Thus ben they knit with eterne alliance,
And eche of hem gan other for to enfure
Of brotherhed while that hir lif may dure.
Free was Dan John, and namely of difpence,
As in that hous, and ful of diligence
To don plefance, and alfo gret coftage:
He not forgate to yave the lefte page
In all that hous, but after hir degree
He yave the lord aud fithen his meipec,
Whan that he came, fom maner honest thing,
For which they were as glad of his coming
As foule is fayn whan that the fonne up rifeth.
No more of this as now, for it fufficeth.

But fo befell this marchant on a day
Shope him to maken redy his array
Toward the toun of Brugges for to fare,
To byen ther a portion of ware,
For which he hath to Paris fent anon
A meffager, and praied hath Dan John
That he fhuld come to Seint Denis, and pleie
With him and with his wif a day or tweie,
Or he to Brugges went, in all wife.

This noble monk, of which I you devise,
Hath of his abbot as him lift licence,
(Because he was a man of high prudence,
And eke an officer out for to ride
To feen hir granges and hir bernes wide)
And unso Seint Denis he cometh anon.

Who was fo welcome as my Lord Dan John, Our dere coufin, ful of curtefie ?

With him he brought a jubbe of Malvefie,
And eke another ful of fine Vernage,
And volatile, as ay was his ufage.

And thus I let hem ete, and drinke, and pleye,
This marchant and this monk, a day or tweye.
The thridde day this marchant up arifeth,
And on his nedes fadly him avifeth,
And up into his countour hous goth he,
To reken with himfelven, wel may be,
Of thilke yere how that it with him stood,
And how the dispended had his good,
And if that ne encrefed were or non.
His bookes and his bagges many on
He layeth beforn him on his counting bord.
Ful riche was his trefour and his hord,
For which ful fafte his countour dore he fhet,
And eke he n'olde no man fhuld him let
Of his accountes for the mene time;
And thus he fit til it was paffed prime.
Dan John was risen in the morwe also,
And in the gardin walked to and fro,
And hath his thinges fayd ful curteifly.

This goode wif came walking prively
Into the gardin ther he walketh soft,
And him falueth, as fhe hath don oft:
A maiden child came in hire compagnie,
Which as hire luft she may governe and gie,
For yet under the yerde was the maide.

O dere cousin min! Dan John, she saide,
What aileth you so rathe for to arise?
Nese, quod he, it ought ynough fuffife

Five houres for to flepe upon a night,
But it were for an olde appalled wight,
As ben thife wedded men, that lie and dare,
As in a fourme fitteth a wery hare

Were al forftraught with houndes gret and finale,
But, dere nece! why be ye fo pale?

I trowe certes that our goode man
Hath you laboured fith this night began,
That you were nede to reften haftily.
And with that word he lough ful merily,
And of his owen thought he wexe all red.

This faire wif gan for to shake hire hed,
And faied thus; Ye, God wote all, quod fhe :
Nay, cofin min, it ftant not fo with me;
For by that God that yave me foule and lif
In all the reame of Fraunce is ther no wif
That laffe luft hath to that fory play,
For I may fing alas and wala wa
That I was borne! but to no wight (quod fhe)
Dare I not tell how that it ftant with me;
Wherfore I thinke out of this lond to wende,
Or elles of myself to make an ende,

So ful am I of drede and eke of care.

This monk began upon this wif to stare,
And fayd, Alas! my nece, God forbede
That ye for any forwe or any drede
Fordo yourself: but telleth me your grefe,
Paraventure I may in your mifchefe
Confeile or helpe; and therfore telleth me
All your annoy, for it fhal ben fecree;
For on my portos here I make an oth
That never in my lif, for lefe ne loth,
Ne fhal I of no confeil you bewray.

The fame agen to you, quod fhe, I fay.
By God and by this portos I you fwere,
Though men me wolden all in pieces tere,
Ne fhall I never, for to gon to helle,
Bewrey o word of thing that ye me tell;
Nought for no cofinage ne alliance,
But veraily for love and affiance.

Thus ben they fworne, and hereupon they kiste,
And eche of hem told other what hem lifte.

Cofin, quod fhe, if that I had a space, As I have non, and namely in this place, Than wold I tell a legend of my lif, What I have fuffred fith I was a wif With min hufbond, al be he your cofin.

Nay, quod this monk, by God and Seint Martin He n'is no more cofin unto me

Than is the leef that hangeth on the tree;

I clepe him fo, by Seint Denis of France,
To han the more caufe of acquaintance
Of you, which I have loved fpecially
Aboven alle women fikerly;
This fwere I you on my profeffioun.
Telleth your grefe, left that he come adoun,
And hafteth you, and goth away anon.

My dere love! quod fhe, o my Dan John!
Ful lefe were me this confeil for to hide,
But out it mote, I may no lenger abide.

Myn husbond is to me the werste man
That ever was fith that the world began:
But fith I am a wif, it fit not me
To tellen no wight of our privetec