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The Pardoner's Prologue and Tale (ca. 1386)
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The Introduction
Oure Hoste gan to swere as he were wood;
"Harrow," quod he, "by nailes and by blood,
This was a fals cherl and a fals justise.
As shameful deeth as herte may devise
5 Come to thise juges and hir advocats.
Algate this sely maide is slain, allas!
Allas, too dere boughte she beautee!
Wherfore I saye alday that men may see
The yiftes of Fortune and of Nature
10 Been cause of deeth to many a creature.
As bothe yiftes that I speke of now,
Men han ful ofte more for harm than prow.
"But trewely, myn owene maister dere,
This is a pitous tale for to heere.
15 But nathelees, passe over, is no fors:
I praye to God to save thy gentil cors,
And eek thine urinals and thy jurdones,
Thyn ipocras and eek thy galiones,
And every boiste ful of thy letuarye-
20 God blesse hem, and oure lady Sainte Marye.
So mote I theen, thou art a propre man,
And lik a prelat, by Saint Ronian!
Saide I nat wel? I can nat speke in terme.
But wel I woot, thou doost myn herte to erme
25 That I almost have caught a cardinacle.
By corpus bones, but if have triacle,
Or elles a draughte of moiste and corny ale,
Or but I here anoon a merye tale,
Myn herte is lost for pitee of this maide.
30 "Thou bel ami, thou Pardoner," he saide,
"Tel us som mirthe or japes right anoon."
"It shal be doon," quod he, "by Saint Ronion.
But first," quod he, "here at this ale-stake
I wol bothe drinke and eten of a cake."
35 And right anoon thise gentils gan to crye,
"Nay, lat him telle us of no ribaudye.
Tel us som moral thing that we may lere,
Som wit, and thanne wol we gladly heere."
"I graunte, ywis, " quod he, "but I moot thinke
40 Upon som honeste thing whil that I drinke."
The Prologue
Lordinges-quod he-in chirches whan I preche,
I paine me to han an hautein speeche,
And ringe it out as round as gooth a belle,
For I can al by rote that I telle.
45 My theme is alway oon, and evere was:
Radix malorum est cupiditas.
First I pronounce whennes that I come,
And thanne my bulles shewe I alle and some:
Oure lige lordes seel on my patente,
50 That shewe I first, my body to warente,
That no man be so bold, ne preest ne clerk,
Me to destourbe of Cristes holy werk.
And after that thanne telle I forth my tales-
Bulles of popes and of cardinales,
55 Of patriarkes and bisshopes I shewe,
And in Latin I speke a wordes fewe,
To saffron with my predicacioun,
And for to stire hem to devocioun.
Thanne shewe I forth my longe crystal stones,
60 Ycrammed ful of cloutes and of bones-
Relikes been they, as weenen they eechoon.
Thanne have I in laton a shulder-boon
Which that was of an holy Jewes sheep.
"Goode men," I saye, "take of my wordes keep:
65 If that this boon be wasshe in any welle,
If cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swelle,
That any worm hath ete or worm ystonge,
Take water of that welle and wassh his tonge,
And it is hool anoon. And ferthermoor,
70 Of pokkes and of scabbe and every soor
Shal every sheep be hool that of this welle
Drinketh a draughte. Take keep eek that I telle:
If that the goode man that the beestes oweth
Wol every wike, er that the cok him croweth,
75 Fasting drinken of this welle a draughte-
As thilke holy Jew oure eldres taughte-
His beestes and his stoor shal multiplye.
"And sire, also it heleth jalousye:
For though a man be falle in jalous rage,
80 Lat maken with this water his potage,
And nevere shal he more his wif mistriste,
Though he the soothe of hir defaute wiste,
Al hadde she taken preestes two or three.
"Here is a mitein eek that ye may see:
85 He that his hand wol putte in this mitein
He shal have multiplying of his grain,
Whan he hath sowen, be it whete or otes-
So that he offre pens or elles grotes.
"Goode men and wommen, oo thing warne I you:
90 If any wight be in this chirche now
That hath doon sinne horrible, that he
Dar nat for shame of it yshriven be,
Or any womman, be she yong or old,
That hath ymaked hir housbonde cokewold,
95 Swich folk shal have no power ne no grace
To offren to my relikes in this place;
And whoso findeth him out of swich blame,
He wol come up and offre in Goddes name,
And I assoile him by the auctoritee
100 Which that by bulle ygraunted was to me."
By this gaude have I wonne, yeer by yeer,
An hundred mark sith I was pardoner.
I stonde lik a clerk in my pulpet,
And whan the lewed peple is down yset,
105 I preche so as ye han herd bifore,
And telle an hundred false japes more.
Thanne paine I me to strecche forth the nekke,
And eest and west upon the peple I bekke
As dooth a douve, sitting on a berne;
110 Mine handes and my tonge goon so yerne
That it is joye to see my bisinesse.
Of avarice and of swich cursednesse
Is al my preching, for to make hem free
To yiven hir pens, and namely unto me,
115 For myn entente is nat but for to winne,
And no thing for correccion of sinne:
I rekke nevere whan that they been beried
Though that hir soules goon a-blakeberied.
For certes, many a predicacioun
120 Comth ofte time of yvel entencioun:
Som for plesance of folk and flaterye,
To been avaunced by ypocrisye,
And som for vaine glorye, and som for hate;
For whan I dar noon otherways debate ,
125 Thanne wol I stinge him with my tonge smerte
In preching, so that he shal nat asterte
To been defamed falsly, if that he
Hath trespassed to my bretheren or to me.
For though I telle nought his propre name,
130 Men shal wel knowe that it is the same
By signes and by othere circumstaunces.
Thus quite I folk that doon us displesaunces;
Thus spete I out my venim under hewe
Of holinesse, to seeme holy and trewe.
135 But shortly myn entente I wol devise:
I preche of no thing but for coveitise;
Therfore my theme is yit and evere was
Radix malorum est cupiditas.
Thus can I preche again that same vice
140 Which that I use, and that is avarice.
But though myself be gilty in that sinne,
Yit can I make other folk to twinne
From avarice, and sore to repente-
But that is nat my principal entente:
145 I preche no thing but for coveitise.
Of this matere it oughte ynough suffise.
Thanne telle I hem ensamples many oon
Of olde stories longe time agoon,
For lewed peple loven tales olde-
150 Swiche thinges can they wel reporte and holde.
What, trowe ye that whiles I may preche,
And winne gold and silver for I teche,
That I wol live in poverte wilfully?
Nay, nay, I thoughte it nevere, trewely,
155 For I wol preche and begge in sondry landes;
I wol nat do no labour with mine handes,
Ne make baskettes and live therby,
By cause I wol nat beggen idelly.
I wol none of the Apostles countrefete:
160 I wol have moneye,wolle, cheese, and whete,
Al were it yiven of the pooreste page,
Or of the pooreste widwe in a village-
Al sholde hir children sterve for famine.
Nay, I wol drinke licour of the vine
165 And have a joly wenche in every town.
But herkneth, lordinges, in conclusioun,
Youre liking is that I shal telle a tale:
Now have I dronke a draughte of corny ale,
By God, I hope I shal you telle a thing
170 That shal by reson been at youre liking;
For though myself be a ful vicious man,
A moral tale yit I you telle can,
Which I am wont to preche for to winne.
Now holde youre pees, my tale I wol biginne.
The Tale
175 In Flandres whilom was a compaignye Of yonge folk that haunteden folye- As riot, hasard, stewes, and tavernes, Wher as with harpes, lutes, and giternes They daunce and playen at dees bothe day and night, 180 And ete also and drinke over hir might, Thurgh which they doon the devel sacrifise Within that develes temple in cursed wise By superfluitee abhominable. Hir othes been so grete and so dampnable 185 That it is grisly for to heere hem swere: Oure blessed Lordes body they totere- Hem thoughte that Jewes rente him nought ynough. And eech of hem at otheres sinne lough. And right anoon thanne comen tombesteres, 190 Fetis and smale, and yonge frutesteres, Singeres with harpes,bawdes,wafereres- Whiche been the verray develes officeres, To kindle and blowe the fir of lecherye That is annexed unto glotonye: 195 The Holy Writ take I to my witnesse That luxure is in win and dronkenesse. Lo, how that dronken Lot unkindely Lay by his doughtres two unwitingly: So dronke he was he niste what he wroughte. 200 Herodes, who so wel the stories soughte, Whan he of win was repleet at his feeste, Right at his owene table he yaf his heeste To sleen the Baptist John, ful giltelees. Senek saith a good word doutelees: 205 He saith he can no difference finde Bitwixe a man that is out of his minde And a man which that is dronkelewe, But that woodnesse, yfallen in a shrewe, Persevereth lenger than dooth dronkenesse. 210 O glotonye, ful of cursednesse! O cause first of oure confusioun! O original of oure dampnacioun, Til Crist hadde bought us with his blood again! Lo, how dere, shortly for to sayn, 215 Abought was thilke cursed vilainye; Corrupt was al this world for glotonye: Adam oure fader and his wif also Fro Paradis to labour and to wo Were driven for that vice, it is no drede. 220 For whil that Adam fasted, as I rede, He was in Paradis; and whan that he Eet of the fruit defended on a tree, Anoon he was out cast to wo and paine. O glotonye, on thee wel oughte us plaine! 225 O, wiste a man how manye maladies Folwen of excesse and of glotonies, He wolde been the more mesurable Of his diete, sitting at his table. Allas, the shorte throte, the tendre mouth, 230 Maketh that eest and west and north and south, In erthe, in air, in water, men to swinke, To gete a gloton daintee mete and drinke. Of this matere, O Paul, wel canstou trete: "Mete unto wombe, and wombe eek unto mete, 235 Shal God destroyen bothe," as Paulus saith. . Allas, a foul thing is it, by my faith, To saye this word, and fouler is the deede Whan man so drinketh of the white and rede That of his throte he maketh his privee 240 Thurgh thilke cursed superfluitee. The Apostle weeping saith ful pitously, "Ther walken manye of which you told have I- I saye it now weeping with pitous vois- They been enemies of Cristes crois, 245 Of whiche the ende is deeth-wombe is hir god!" O wombe, O bely, O stinking cod, Fulfilled of dong and of corrupcioun! At either ende of thee foul is the soun. How greet labour and cost is thee to finde! 250 Thise cookes, how they stampe and straine and grinde, And turnen substance into accident To fulfillen al thy likeroustalent! Out of the harde bones knokke they The mary, for they caste nought away 255 That may go thurgh the golet softe and soote. Of spicerye of leef and bark and roote Shal been his sauce ymaked by delit, To make him yit a newer appetit. But certes, he that haunteth swiche delices 260 Is deed whil that he liveth in tho vices. A lecherous thing is win, and dronkenesse Is ful of striving and of wrecchednesse. O dronke man, disfigured is thy face! Sour is thy breeth, foul artou to embrace! 265 And thurgh thy dronke nose seemeth the soun As though thou saidest ay, "Sampsoun, Sampsoun." And yit, God woot, Sampson drank nevere win. Thou fallest as it were a stiked swin; Thy tonge is lost, and al thyn honeste cure, 270 For dronkenesse is verray sepulture Of mannes wit and his discrecioun. In whom that drinke hath dominacioun He can no conseil keepe, it is no drede. Now keepe you fro the white and fro the rede- 275 And namely fro the white win of Lepe That is to selle in Fisshstreete or in Chepe: The win of Spaine creepeth subtilly In othere wines growing faste by, Of which ther riseth swich fumositee 280 That whan a man hath dronken draughtes three And weeneth that he be at hoom in Chepe, He is in Spaine, right at the town of Lepe, Nat at The Rochele ne at Burdeux town; And thanne wol he sayn, "Sampsoun, Sampsoun." 285 But herkneth, lordinges, oo word I you praye, That alle the soverein actes, dar I saye, Of victories in the Olde Testament, Thurgh verray God that is omnipotent, Were doon in abstinence and in prayere: 290 Looketh the Bible and ther ye may it lere. Looke Attila, the grete conquerour Deide in his sleep with shame and dishonour, Bleeding at his nose in dronkenesse: A capitain sholde live in sobrenesse. 295 And overal this,aviseth you right wel What was comanded unto Lamuel- Nat Samuel, but Lamuel, saye I- Redeth the Bible and finde it expresly, Of win-yiving to hem that han justise: 300 Namore of this, for it may wel suffise. And now that I have spoken of glotonye, Now wol I you defende hasardrye: Hasard is verray moder of lesinges, And of deceite and cursed forsweringes, 305 Blaspheme of Crist, manslaughtre, and wast also Of catel and of time; and ferthermo, It is repreve and contrarye of honour For to been holden a commune hasardour, And evere the hyer he is of estat 310 The more is he holden desolat. If that a prince useth hasardrye, In alle governance and policye He is, as by commune opinioun, Yholde the lasse in reputacioun. 315 Stilbon, that was a wis embassadour, Was sent to Corinthe in ful greet honour Fro Lacedomye to make hir alliaunce, And whan he cam him happede parchaunce That alle the gretteste that were of that lond 320 Playing at the hasard he hem foond, For which as soone as it mighte be He stal him hoom again to his contree, And saide, "Ther wol I nat lese my name, N'I wol nat take on me so greet defame 325 You to allye unto none hasardours: Sendeth othere wise embassadours, For by my trouthe, me were levere die Than I you sholde to hasardours allye. For ye that been so glorious in honours 330 Shal nat allye you with hasardours As by my wil, ne as by my tretee." This wise philosophre, thus saide he. Looke eek that to the king Demetrius The King of Parthes, as the book saith us, 335 Sente him a paire of dees of gold in scorn, For he hadde used hasard therbiforn, For which he heeld his glorye or his renown At no value or reputacioun. Lordes may finden other manere play 340 Honeste ynough to drive the day away. Now wol I speke of othes false and grete A word or two, as olde bookes trete: Greet swering is a thing abhominable, And fals swering is yit more reprevable. 345 The hye God forbad swering at al- Witnesse on test Mathew. But in special Of swering saith the holy Jeremie, "Thou shalt swere sooth thine othes and nat lie, And swere in doom and eek in rightwisnesse, 350 But idel swering is a cursednesse." Biholde and see that in the firste Table Of hye Goddes heestes honorable How that the seconde heeste of him is this: "Take nat my name in idel or amis." 355 Lo, rather he forbedeth swich swering Than homicide, or many a cursed thing. I saye that as by ordre thus it stondeth- This knoweth that his heestes understondeth How that the seconde heeste of God is that. 360 And fertherover, I wol thee telle al plat That vengeance shal nat parten from his hous That of his othes is too outrageous. "By Goddes precious herte!" and "By his nailes!" And "By the blood of Crist that is in Hailes, 365 Sevene is my chaunce, and thyn is cink and traye!" "By Goddes armes, if thou falsly playe This daggere shal thurghout thyn herte go!" This fruit cometh of the bicche bones two- Forswering, ire, falsnesse, homicide. 370 Now for the love of Crist that for us dyde, Lete youre othes bothe grete and smale. But sires, now wol I telle forth my tale. Thise riotoures three of whiche I telle, Longe erst er prime ronge of any belle, 375 Were set hem in a taverne to drinke, And as they sat 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 380 What cors is this that passeth heer forby, And looke that thou reporte his name weel." "Sire," quod this boy, "it needeth neveradeel: It was me told er ye cam heer two houres. He was, pardee, an old felawe of youres, 385 And sodeinly he was yslain tonight, Fordronke as he sat on his bench upright; Ther cam a privee thief men clepeth Deeth, That in this contree al the peple sleeth, And with his spere he smoot his herte atwo, 390 And wente his way withouten wordes mo. He hath a thousand slain this pestilence. And maister, er ye come in his presence, Me thinketh that it were necessarye For to be war of swich an adversarye; 395 Beeth redy for to meete him everemore: Thus taughte me my dame. I saye namore." "By Sainte Marye," saide this taverner, "The child saith sooth, for he hath slain this yeer, Henne over a mile, within a greet village, 400 Bothe man and womman, child and hine and page. I trowe his habitacion be there. To been avised greet wisdom it were Er that he dide a man a dishonour." "Ye, Goddes armes," quod this riotour, 405 "Is it swich peril with him for to meete? I shal him seeke by way and eek by streete, I make avow to Goddes digne bones. Herkneth, felawes, we three been alle ones: Lat eech of us holde up his hand to other 410 And eech of us bicome otheres brother, And we wol sleen this false traitour Deeth. He shal be slain, he that so manye sleeth, By Goddes dignitee, er it be night." Togidres han thise three hir trouthes plight 415 To live and dien eech of hem with other, As though he were his owene ybore brother. And up they sterte, al dronken in this rage, And forth they goon towardes that village Of which the taverner hadde spoke biforn,. 420 And many a grisly ooth thanne han they sworn, And Cristes blessed body they torente: Deeth shal be deed if that they may him hente. Whan they han goon nat fully half a mile, Right as they wolde han treden over a stile, 425 An old man and a poore with hem mette; This olde man ful mekely hem grette, And saide thus, "Now lordes, God you see." The pruddeste of thise riotoures three Answerde again, "What, carl with sory grace, 430 Why artou al forwrapped save thy face? Why livestou so longe in so greet age?" This olde man gan looke in his visage, And saide thus, "For I ne can nat finde A man, though that I walked into Inde, 435 Neither in citee ne in no village, That wolde chaunge his youthe for myn age; And therefore moot I han myn age stille, As longe time as it is Goddes wille. "Ne Deeth, allas, ne wol nat have my lif. 440 Thus walke I lik a restelees caitif, And on the ground which is my modres gate I knokke with my staf bothe erly and late, And saye, 'Leve moder, leet me in: Lo, how I vanisshe, flessh and blood and skin. 445 Allas, whan shal my bones been at reste? Moder, with you wolde I chaunge my cheste That in my chambre longe time hath be, Ye, for an haire-clout to wrappe me.' But yit to me she wol nat do that grace, 450 For which ful pale and welked is my face. But sires, to you it is no curteisye To speken to an old man vilainye, But he trespasse in word or elles in deede. In Holy Writ ye may yourself wel rede, 455 'Agains an old man, hoor upon his heed, Ye shall arise.' Wherfore I yive you reed, Ne dooth unto an old man noon harm now, Namore than that ye wolde men dide to you In age, if that ye so longe abide. 460 And God be with you wher ye go or ride: I moot go thider as I have to go." "Nay, olde cherl, by God thou shalt nat so," Saide this other hasardour anoon. "Thou partest nat so lightly, by Saint John! 465 Thou speke right now of thilke traitour Deeth, That in this contree alle oure freendes sleeth: Have here my trouthe, as thou art his espye, Tel wher he is, or thou shalt it abye, By God and by the holy sacrament! 470 For soothly thou art oon of his assent To sleen us yonge folk, thou false thief." "Now sires," quod he, "if that ye be so lief To finde Deeth, turne up this crooked way, For in that grove I lafte him, by my fay, 475 Under a tree, and ther he wol abide: Nat for youre boost he wol him no thing hide. See ye that ook? Right ther ye shal him finde. God save you, that boughte again mankinde, And you amende." Thus saide this olde man. 480 And everich of thise riotoures ran Til he cam to that tree, and ther they founde Of florins fine of gold ycoined rounde Wel neigh an eighte busshels as hem thoughte- Ne lenger thanne after Deeth they soughte, 485 But eech of hem so glad was of the sighte, For that the florins been so faire and brighte, That down they sette hem by this precious hoord. The worste of hem he spak the firste word: "Bretheren," quod he, "take keep what that I saye: 490 My wit is greet though that I bourde and playe. This tresor hath Fortune unto us yiven In mirthe and jolitee oure lif to liven, And lightly as it cometh so wol we spende. Ey, Goddes precious dignitee, who wende 495 Today that we sholde han so fair a grace? But mighte this gold be caried fro this place Hoom to myn hous-or elles unto youres- For wel ye woot that al this gold is oures- Thanne were we in heigh felicitee. 500 But trewely, by daye it mighte nat be: Men wolde sayn that we were theves stronge, And for oure owene tresor doon us honge. This tresor moste ycaried be by nighte, As wisely and as slyly as it mighte. 505 Therefore I rede that cut amonges us alle Be drawe, and lat see wher the cut wol falle; And he that hath the cut with herte blithe Shal renne to the town, and that ful swithe, And bringe us breed and win ful prively; 510 And two of us shal keepen subtilly This tresor wel, and if he wol nat tarye, Whan it is night we wol this tresor carye By oon assent wher as us thinketh best." That oon of hem the cut broughte in his fest 515 And bad hem drawe and looke wher it wol falle; And it fil on the yongeste of hem alle, And forth toward the town he wente anoon. And also soone as that he was agoon, That oon of hem spak thus unto that other: 520 "Thou knowest wel thou art my sworen brother; Thy profit wol I telle thee anoon: Thou woost wel that oure felawe is agoon, And here is gold, and that ful greet plentee, That shall departed been among us three. 525 But nathelees, if I can shape it so That it departed were among us two, Hadde I nat doon a freendes turn to thee?" That other answerde, "I noot how that may be: He woot that the gold is with us twaye. 530 What shal we doon? What shal we to him saye?" "Shal it be conseil?" saide the firste shrewe. "And I shal telle in a wordes fewe What we shul doon, and bringe it wel aboute." "I graunte," quod that other, "out of doute, 535 That by my trouthe I wol thee nat biwraye." "Now," quod the firste, "thou woost wel we be twaye, And two of us shal strenger be than oon: Looke whan that he is set that right anoon Aris as though thou woldest with him playe, 540 And I shal rive him thurgh the sides twaye, Whil that thou strugelest with him as in game, And with thy daggere looke thou do the same; And thanne shal al this gold departed be, My dere freend, bitwixe thee and me. 545 Thanne we may bothe oure lustes al fulfille, And playe at dees right at oure owene wille." And thus accorded been thise shrewes twaye To sleen the thridde, as ye han herd me saye. This yongeste, which that wente to the town, 550 Ful ofte in herte he rolleth up and down The beautee of thise florins newe and brighte. "O Lord," quod he, "if so were that I mighte Have al this tresor to myself allone, Ther is no man that liveth under the trone 555 Of God that sholde live so merye as I." And at the laste the feend oure enemy Putte in his thought that he sholde poison beye, With which he mighte sleen his felawes twaye- Forwhy the feend foond him in swich livinge 560 That he hadde leve him to sorwe bringe: For this was outrely his fulle entente, To sleen hem bothe, and nevere to repente. And forth he gooth-no lenger wolde he tarye- Into the town unto a pothecarye, 565 And prayed him that he him wolde selle Som poison that he mighte his rattes quelle, And eek ther was a polcat in his hawe That, as he saide, his capons hadde yslawe, And fain he wolde wreke him if he mighte 570 On vermin that destroyed him by nighte. The pothecarye answerde, "And thou shalt have A thing that, also God my soule save, In al this world there is no creature That ete or dronke hath of this confiture- 575 Nat but the mountance of a corn of whete- That he ne shal his lif anoon forlete. Ye, sterve he shal, and that in lasse while Than thou wolt goon a paas nat but a mile, The poison is so strong and violent." 580 This cursed man hath in his hand yhent This poison in a box and sith he ran Into the nexte streete unto a man And borwed of him large botels three, And in the two his poison poured he- 585 The thridde he kepte clene for his drinke, For al the night he shoop him for to swinke In carying of the gold out of that place. And whan this riotour with sory grace Hadde filled with win his grete botels three, 590 To his felawes again repaireth he. What needeth it to sermone of it more? For right as they had cast his deeth bifore, Right so they han him slain, and that anoon. And whan that this was doon, thus spak that oon: 595 "Now lat us sitte and drinke and make us merye, And afterward we wol his body berye." And with that word it happed him par cas To take the botel ther the poison was, And drank, and yaf his felawe drinke also, 600 For which anoon they storven bothe two. But certes I suppose that test Wroot nevere in no canon ne in no fen Mo wonder signes of empoisoning Than hadde thise wrecches two er hir ending: 605 Thus ended been thise homicides two, And eek the false empoisonere also. O cursed sinne of alle cursednesse! O traitours homicide, O wikkednesse! O glotonye, luxure, and hasardrye! 610 Thou blasphemour of Crist with vilainye And othes grete of usage and of pride! Allas, mankinde, how may it bitide That to thy Creatour which that thee wroughte, And with his precious herte blood thee boughte, 615 Thou art so fals and so unkinde, allas? Now goode men, God foryive you youre trespas, And ware you fro the sinne of avarice: Myn holy pardon may you alle warice- So that ye offre nobles or sterlinges, 620 Or elles silver brooches, spoones, ringes. Boweth your heed under this holy bulle! Cometh up, ye wives, offreth of youre wolle! Youre name I entre here in my rolle: anoon Into the blisse of hevene shul ye goon. 625 I you assoile by myn heigh power- Ye that wol offre-as clene and eek as cleer As ye were born.-And lo, sires, thus I preche. And Jesu Crist that is oure soules leeche So graunte you his pardon to receive, 630 For that is best-I wol you nat deceive.
The Epilogue
"But sires, oo word forgat I in my tale:
I have relikes and pardon in my male
As faire as any man in Engelond,
Whiche were me yiven by the Popes hond.
635 If any of you wol of devocioun
Offren and han myn absolucioun,
Come forth anoon, and kneeleth here adown,
And mekely receiveth my pardoun,
Or elles taketh pardon as ye wende,
640 Al newe and fressh at every miles ende-
So that ye offre alway newe and newe
Nobles or pens whiche that be goode and trewe.
It is an honour to everich that is heer
That ye have a suffisant pardoner
645 T'assoile you in contrees as ye ride,
For aventures whiche that may bitide:
Paraventure ther may falle oon or two
Down of his hors and breke his nekke atwo;
Looke which a suretee is it to you alle
650 That I am in youre felaweshipe yfalle
That may assoile you, bothe more and lasse,
Whan that the soule shal fro the body passe.
I rede that oure Hoste shal biginne,
For he is most envoluped in sinne.
655 Com forth, sire Host, and offre first anoon,
And thou shalt kisse the relikes everichoon,
Ye, for a grote: unbokele anoon thy purs."
"Nay, nay," quod he, "thanne have I Cristes curs!
Lat be," quod he, `'it shal nat be, so theech!
660 Thou woldest make me kisse thyn olde breech
And swere it were a relik of a saint,
Though it were with thy fundament depeint
But, by the crois which that Sainte Elaine foond,
I wolde I hadde thy coilons in myn hond,
665 In stede of relikes or of saintuarye.
Lat cutte hem of: I wol thee helpe hem carye.
They shal be shrined in an hogges tord."
This Pardoner answerde nat a word:
So wroth he was no word ne wolde he saye.
670 "Now," quod oure Host, "I wol no lenger playe
With thee, ne with noon other angry man."
But right anoon the worthy Knight bigan,
Whan that he sawgh that al the peple lough,
"Namore of this, for it is right ynough.
675 Sire Pardoner, be glad and merye of cheere,
And ye, sire Host that been to me so dere,
I praye you that ye kisse the Pardoner,
And Pardoner, I praye thee, draw thee neer,
And as we diden lat us laughe and playe."
680 Anoon they kiste and riden forth hir waye.
Editor´s Comment
Geoffrey Chaucer was a sophisticated poet. He knew about the literature of the ancient world, and he knew what was being written in his own time, in France and Italy as well as England. He knew something of science, of medicine and astronomy, and he understood the intellectual battles which were being fought out in the late fourteenth century, many of them within the church. As someone who worked in both government and business (as we might say now) he was familiar with the social and the economic changes which were transforming European life in the late Middle Ages. Cities were larger, more complex, more powerful politically; there were many ways to make a living in his world, some of them quite new -- as he shows in one of his tales, it was even possible to make money in foreign exchange, by becoming a trader in monetary futures, you might say. And he put all of this rich and sometimes learned complexity into his writing.
But this is where he did something quite surprising: he wrote in English. In Chaucer's time, most writing which had any pretension to seriousness was much more likely to be in Latin or French than in English. He was certainly not the first poet to write in English, but his writing was ambitious, and it made the English language a real possibility for writers who followed him. The choice of English did something else as well. In opening his poetry to the vernacular, to the spoken language of everyday life, Chaucer found a way to ground intellectual work in the lived experience of ordinary men and women. The Canterbury Tales are full of ideas -- new ideas and old ones, naive superstitions and the latest philosophical insights, bald-faced lies invented by con-men to cheat others -- but all of these ideas (or half-ideas) are made to contend with each other in a way which is always local, always socially rooted. A story like the Pardoner's Tale can tell us a great deal about English thought in the late fourteenth century. But Chaucer's great contribution was to show that "English thought" was not just an abstraction. When Chaucer opened his poem to the spoken language, he opened it to the great multiplicity of men and women who take up ideas, use them, and then leave them, perhaps a bit the worse for wear, for others to take up in their turn. And that is just what the Pardoner does. He's a liar and a crook, but he finds some powerful ideas in his world, and he uses them to tell a wonderful tale. Readers have been trying to separate the character from the story ever since.
Historical Considerations
The Poet´s Life and Work
- Biography
- The Poet's Craft
Critical Essays
- Peter G. Beidler, "The Plague and Chaucer's Pardoner."
- Ralph W. V. Elliott, "The Pardoner's Sermon and Its Exemplum."
- George Lyman Kittredge, "Chaucer's Pardoner."
Poem
Comments
Historical Considerations
Life & Work
Essays
