The Pardoner’s Tale
The Introduction
[... The Host speaking]
“BY CORPUS BONES!
1 UNLESS I have medicine,
Or else a draught of fresh and malty ale,
Or unless I hear anon a merry tale,
Mine heart is lost for pity of this maid.
You sweet friend, you Pardoner,”
2 he said,
“Tell us some mirth or jokes right anon.”
“It shall be done,” said he, “by Saint Runyan!
3 But first,” said he, “here at this tavern
I will both drink and eat cake.”
But right anon the gentle folk raised a cry,
“Nay, let him tell us of no ribaldry;
Tell us some moral thing, that we may learn
Something improving, and then will we listen gladly.”
“I grant, certainly,” said he, “but I must think
Upon some proper thing while I drink.”
The Prologue
Greed is the root of all evil [the Bible, 1 Timothy 6. 10].
“LORDINGS,” SAID HE, “IN churches when I preach,
I take pains to have an elevated speech,
And ring it out as round as sounds a bell,
For I know by rote all that I tell.
My theme is always one, and ever was—
Radix
malorum est
Cupiditas.4 First I proclaim from where I come,
And then my writs of indulgence show I, all and one.
Our bishop’s seal on my license,
That show I first, my person to authorize,
That no man be so bold, neither priest nor scholar,
To disturb me while I do Christ’s holy work;
And after that then forth I tell my tales.
Writs of indulgence from popes and cardinals,
From patriarchs, and bishops I show,
And in Latyn I speke a wordes fewe,
To saffron with my predicacioun,
And for to stire men to devocioun.
Than shewe I forth my longe cristal stones,
Y-crammed ful of cloutes and of bones;
Reliks been they, as wenen they echoon.
Than have I in latoun a sholder-boon
Which that was of an holy Jewes shepe.
‘Good men,’ seye I, ‘tak of my wordes kepe;
If that this boon he wasshe in any welle,
If cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swelle
That any worm hath ete, or worm y-stonge,
Tak water of that welle, and wash his tonge,
And it is hool anon; and forthermore,
Of pokkes and of scabbe, and every sore
Shal every sheep be hool, that of this welle
Drinketh a draughte; tak kepe eek what I telle.
If that the good-man that the bestes oweth,
Wol every wike, er that the cok him croweth,
Fastinge, drinken of this welle a draughte,
As thilke holy Jewe our eldres taughte,
His bestes and his stoor shal multiplye.
And, sirs, also it heleth jalousye;
For, though a man be falle in jalous rage,
Let maken with this water his potage,
And never shal be more his wyf mistriste,
Though he the sooth of hir defaute wiste;
Al had she taken preestes two or three.
Heer is a miteyn eek, that ye may see.
He that his hond wol putte in this miteyn,
He shal have multiplying of his greyn,
Whan he hath sowen, be it whete or otes,
So that he offre pens, or elles grotes.
Good men and wommen, o thing warne I yow,
If any wight be in this chirche now,
That hath doon sinne horrible, that he
Dar nat, for shame, of it y-shriven be,
Or any womman, be she yong or old,
That hath y-maad hir housbond cokewold,
And in Latin I speak a words few,
To spice my presentation,
And to stir them to devotion.
Then show I forth my crystal reliquaries,
Crammed full of rags and bones—
Saints’ relics they are,
5 or so they suppose.
Then have I in brass a shoulder bone
Of a holy Jew’s sheep.
‘Good men,’ say I, ‘of my words take heed:
If this bone be washed in any well,
If cow, or calf, or sheep, or ox swell,
That any worm has eaten, or by viper stung,
Take water of that well, and wash his tongue,
And it is healed anon; and furthermore,
Of pox and of scab and every sore
Shall every sheep be healed, that of this well
Drinks a draft. Take heed also what I tell:
If the good man who the beast owns
Will every week, before the cock crows,
While fasting, drink of this well a draft—
As Jacob our elders taught—
His beasts and his stock shall multiply.
And, sirs, also it heals jealousy:
For though a man be fallen in a jealous rage,
Let him make with this water his broth,
And never shall he more his wife mistrust,
Though he the truth of her should see—
Albeit she takes priests two or three.
Here is a mitten also, that you may see:
He who his hand will put in this mitten,
He shall have multiplying of his grain
When he has sown, be it wheat or oats,
Provided that he gives me pennies or groats.
Good men and women, one thing I warn you:
If any person be in this church now,
Who has done sin so horrible that he
Dare not for shame of it shriven be,
Or any woman, be she young or old,
Who has made her husband a cuckold,
Swich folk shul have no power ne no grace
To offren to my reliks in this place.
And who-so findeth him out of swich blame,
He wol com up and offre in goddes name,
And I assoille him by the auctoritee
Which that by bulle y-graunted was to me.’
By this gaude have I wonne, yeer by yeer,
An hundred mark sith I was Pardoner.
I stonde lyk a clerk in my pulpet,
And whan the lewed peple is doun y-set,
I preche, so as ye han herd bifore,
And telle an hundred false japes more.
Than peyne I me to strecche forth the nekke,
And est and west upon the peple I bekke,
As doth a dowve sitting on a berne.
Myn hondes and my tonge goon so yerne,
That it is joye to see my bisinesse.
Of avaryce and of swich cursednesse
Is al my preching, for to make hem free
To yeve her pens, and namely un-to me.
For my entente is nat but for to winne,
And no-thing for correccioun of sinne.
I rekke never, whan that they ben beried,
Though that her soules goon a-blakeberied!
For certes, many a predicacioun
Comth ofte tyme of yvel entencioun;
Som for plesaunce of folk and flaterye,
To been avaunced by ipocrisye,
And som for veyne glorie, and som for hate.
For, whan I dar non other weyes debate,
Than wol I stinge him with my tonge smerte
In preching, so that he shal nat asterte
To been defamed falsly, if that he
Hath trespased to my brethren or to me.
For, though I telle noght his propre name,
Men shal wel knowe that it is the same
By signes and by othere circumstances.
Thus quyte I folk that doon us displesances;
Thus spitte I out my venim under hewe
Such folk shall have no power or grace
To offer money to my relics in this place.
And whoso finds himself deserving not such blame,
He will come up and make an offering in God’s name,
And I will absolve him by the authority
That by those writs was granted to me.’
By this trick have I won, year by year,
A hundred marks since I was pardoner.
I stand like a scholar in my pulpit,
And when the ignorant people have sat down,
I preach, so as you heard before,
And tell a hundred false stories more.
Then I take pains to stretch forth my neck,
And east and west upon the people I nod
As does a dove, sitting in a barn.
My hands and my tongue move so fast
That it is a joy to see me at my business.
Of avarice and such cursedness
Is all my preaching, to make them generous
To give their pence, and namely unto me.
For my intent is not but to profit,
And not at all for correction of sin:
I care never, when they be buried,
If their souls go a-blackberrying!
For certainly, many a sermon,
Comes oftentimes of evil intention:
Some for amusement of folk and flattery,
To be advanced by hypocrisy,
And some for vainglory, and some for hate.
For when I dare no other way to attack,
Then will I sting my enemy with my tongue sharp
In preaching, so that he may not leap up to protest
At being defamed falsely, if he
Has wronged my fellow pardoners or me.
For, though I tell not his own name,
Men shall well know that it is the same
By signs and other circumstances.
Thus requite I folk who do offenses;
Thus I spit out venom under hue
Of holynesse, to seme holy and trewe.
But shortly myn entente I wol devyse;
I preche of no-thing but for coveityse.
Therfor my theme is yet, and ever was—
‘Radix malorum est cupiditas.’
Thus can I preche agayn that same vyce
Which that I use, and that is avaryce.
But, though my-self be gilty in that sinne,
Yet can I maken other folk to twinne
From avaryce, and sore to repente.
But that is nat my principal entente.
I preche no-thing but for coveityse;
Of this matere it oughte y-nogh suffyse.
Than telle I hem ensamples many oon
Of olde stories, longe tyme agoon:
For lewed peple loven tales olde;
Swich thinges can they wel reporte and holde.
What? trowe ye, the whyles I may preche,
And winne gold and silver for I teche,
That I wol live in povert wilfully?
Nay, nay, I thoghte it never trewely!
For I wol preche and begge in sondry londes;
I wol not do no labour with myn hondes,
Ne make baskettes, and live therby,
Because I wol nat beggen ydelly.
I wol non of the apostles counterfete;
I wol have money, wolle, chese, and whete,
Al were it yeven of the povrest page,
Or of the povrest widwe in a village,
Al sholde hir children sterve for famyne.
Nay! I wol drinke licour of the vyne,
And have a joly wenche in every toun.
But herkneth, lordings, in conclusioun;
Your lyking is that I shall telle a tale.
Now, have I dronke a draughte of corny ale,
By god, I hope I shal yow telle a thing
That shal, by resoun, been at your lyking.
For, though myself be a ful vicious man,
A moral tale yet I yow telle can,
Of holiness, to seem holy and true.
But briefly my intent I will describe:
I preach of nothing but out of covetousness.
Therefore my theme is yet, and ever was,
Radix malorum est cupiditas.
Thus can I preach against that same vice
Which I practice, and that is avarice.
But though I myself be guilty of that sin,
Yet can I make other folk depart
From avarice, and ardently to repent.
But that is not my principal intent:
I preach nothing but for covetousness.
Of this matter it ought enough suffice.
Then I tell them examples many a one
Of old stories of time long gone,
For unlearned people love stories told;
Such things can they well repeat and hold.
What? Do you believe that as long as I can preach
And win gold and silver because I teach,
That I will live by choice in poverty?
Nay, nay, I considered it never, truly!
For I will preach and beg in sundry lands,
I will do no labor with my hands,
Neither make baskets, and live thereby,
Because I will not beg unprofitably.
I will none of the apostles imitate:
I will have money, wool, cheese and wheat,
Even if it were given by the poorest page,
Or by the poorest widow in a village,
Even though her children die of famine.
Nay! I will drink liquor of the vine,
And have a jolly wench in every town.
But listen, lordings, in conclusion:
Your liking is that I shall tell a tale.
Now have I drunk a draft of malty ale,
By God, I hope I shall you tell a thing
That shall with reason be to your liking.
For though I am a full vice-ridden man,
A moral tale yet tell you I can,
Which I am wont to preche, for to winne.
Now holde your pees, my tale I wol beginne.”
The 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,
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.
And right anon than comen tombesteres
Fetys and smale, and yonge fruytesteres,
Singers with harpes, baudes, wafereres,
Whiche been the verray develes officeres
To kindle and blowe the fyr of lecherye,
That is annexed un-to glotonye;
The holy writ take I to my witnesse,
That luxurie is in wyn and dronkenesse.
Lo, how that dronken Loth, unkindely,
Lay by his doghtres two, unwitingly;
So dronke he was, he niste what he wroghte.
Herodes, (who-so wel the stories soghte,)
Whan he of wyn was replet at his feste,
Right at his owene table he yaf his heste
To sleen the Baptist John ful giltelees.
Senek seith eek a good word doutelees;
He seith, he can no difference finde
Bitwix a man that is out of his minde
And a man which that is dronkelewe,
But that woodnesse, y-fallen in a shrewe,
Persevereth lenger than doth dronkenesse.
Which I am wont to preach for profit.
Now hold your peace, my tale I will begin.”
The Tale
In Flanders once there was a company
Of young folk, who to folly gave themselves—
Such as revelry, dice, taverns and brothels,
There with harps, lutes, and guitars,
They danced and played at dice both night and day,
And ate and drank beyond their capacity,
Through which they did unto the devil sacrifice
Within the devil’s temple, in a cursed way,
To excess abominable.
Their oaths were so great and damnable,
That it was grisly to hear them swear.
Our blessed Lord’s body they into pieces tore
6—
They thought the Jews had not torn Him enough—
And each of them at the others’ sins laughed.
And right anon then came acrobats and dancers,
Shapely and slender, and young fruitpeddlars,
Singers with harps, bawds, pastryvendors,
Who were the very devil’s officers
To kindle and blow the fire of lechery
That is attached to gluttony:
The Holy Writ take I to my witness
That lechery is in wine and drunkenness.
Look, how the drunken Lot
7 unnaturally
Lay by his daughters two, unwittingly;
So drunk he was, he knew not what he did.
Herod, who well the stories should pursue,
When he of wine was replete at his feast,
Right at his own table at his behest
Slew John the Baptist
8 though he was guiltless.
Seneca
9 said a good word doubtless:
He said, he could no difference find
Between a man who is out of his mind
And a man who is soused,
Except that madness, having begun,
Lasts longer than inebriation.
O glotonye, ful of cursednesse,
O cause first of our confusioun,
O original of our dampnacioun,
Til Crist had boght us with his blood agayn!
Lo, how dere, shortly for to sayn,
Aboght was thilke cursed vileinye;
Corrupt was al this world for glotonye!
Adam our fader, and his wyf also,
For Paradys to labour and to wo
Were driven for that vyce, it is no drede;
For whyl that Adam fasted, as I rede,
He was in Paradys; and whan that he
Eet of the fruyt defended on the tree,
Anon he was out-cast to wo and peyne.
O glotonye, on thee wel oghte us pleyne!
O, wiste a man how many maladyes
Folwen of excesse and glotonyes,
He wolde been the more mesurable
Of his diete, sittinge at his table.
Alias! the shorte throte, the tendre mouth,
Maketh that, Est and West, and North and South,
In erthe, in eir, in water men to-swinke
To gete a glotoun deyntee mete and drinke!
Of this matere, o Paul, wel canstow trete,
“Mete un-to wombe, and wombe eek un-to mete,
Shal god destroyen bothe,” as Paulus seith.
Alias! a foul thing is it, by my feith,
To seye this word, and fouler is the dede,
Whan man so drinketh of the whyte and rede,
That of his throte he maketh his privee,
Thurgh thilke cursed superfluitee.
The apostel weping seith ful pitously,
“Ther walken many of whiche yow told have I,
I seye it now weping with pitous voys,
[That] they been enemys of Cristes croys,
Of whiche the ende is deeth, wombe is her god.”
O wombe! O bely! O stinking cod,
Fulfild of donge and of corrupcioun!
At either ende of thee foul is the soun.
Oh gluttony, full of cursedness!
Oh first cause of our ruination!
Oh origin of our damnation,
Until Christ had bought us with his blood again!
Look, at what cost, to make it brief,
Was bought that same cursed, evil deed;
Corrupted was all this world for gluttony!
Adam our father and his wife also
From Paradise to labor and to woe
Were driven for that vice, it is no doubt.
For while Adam fasted, as I read,
He was in Paradise, and when he
Ate of the fruit forbidden on the tree,
Anon he was cast out to woe and pain.
Oh gluttony, of you we ought to complain!
Oh, if only a man knew how many maladies
Followed from excess and gluttony,
He would be more temperate
In his diet, sitting at his table.
Alas! the brief sip, the tastebuds refined,
Cause, east and west, north and south,
On earth, in air, on water, men to labor
To get a glutton dainty meat and drink!
Of this matter, Paul, well can you treat:
“Meat unto stomach,
10 and stomach unto meat,
Shall God destroy both,” as Paul said.
Alas! a foul thing is it, by my faith,
To say this word, and fouler is the deed,
When man so drinks of the white and red
That of his throat he makes his privy,
Through that same superfluity.
The apostle, weeping, said full piteously,
11 “There walk many of you whom I have told”—
I say it now weeping with piteous voice—
“Who be enemies of Christ’s cross,
For whom the end is death: stomach is their god!”
Oh stomach! Oh belly! Oh stinking gut!
Filled full with dung and rot!
At either end of you foul is the sound.
How greet labour and cost is thee to finde!
Thise cokes, how they stampe, and streyne, and grinde,
And turnen substaunce in-to accident,
To fulfille al thy likerous talent!
Out of the harde bones knokke they
The mary, for they caste noght a-wey
That may go thurgh the golet softe and swote;
Of spicerye, of leef, and bark, and rote
Shal been his sauce y-maked by delyt,
To make him yet a newer appetyt.
But certes, he that haunteth swich delyces
Is deed, whyl that he liveth in tho vyces.
A lecherous thing is wyn, and dronkenesse
Is ful of stryving and of wrecchednesse.
O dronke man, disfigured is thy face,
Sour is thy breeth, foul artow to embrace,
And thurgh thy dronke nose semeth the soun
As though thou seydest ay “Sampsoun, Sampsoun”;
And yet, god wot, Sampsoun drank never no wyn.
Thou fallest, as it were a stiked swyn;
Thy tonge is lost, and al thyn honest cure;
For dronkenesse is verray sepulture
Of mannes wit and his discrecioun.
In whom that drinke hath dominacioun,
He can no conseil kepe, it is no drede.
Now keep yow fro the whyte and fro the rede,
And namely fro the whyte wyn of Lepe,
That is to selle in Fish-strete or in Chepe.
This wyn of Spayne crepeth subtilly
In othere wynes, growing faste by,
Of which ther ryseth swich fumositee,
That whan a man hath dronken draughtes three,
And weneth that he be at hoom in Chepe,
He is in Spayne, right at the toune of Lepe,
Nat at the Rochel, ne at Burdeux toun;
And thanne wol he seye, “Sampsoun, Sampsoun.”
But herkneth, lordings, o word, I yow preye,
That alle the sovereyn actes, dar I seye,
Of victories in th‘olde testament,
How great the labor and cost to provide for you!
These cooks, how they pound, and strain, and grind,
And turn substance into accident,
12 To fulfill all your gluttonous desire!
Out of the hard bones knock they
The marrow, for they cast nothing away
That may go through the gullet soft and sweet;
Of spices, of leaf, and bark, and root
Shall sauce be made to its delight,
To make it yet a newer appetite.
But truly, he who gives himself up to such delights
Is dead, while he lives in those vices.
A lecherous thing is wine, and drunkenness
Is full of quarreling and of wretchedness.
Oh drunk man, disfigured is your face,
Sour is your breath, foul are you to embrace,
And through your drunken nose snorts the sound
As though you said ever “Samson, Samson”;
13 And yet, God knows Samson never drank any wine.
You fall down, like a stuck swine;
Your tongue is lost, and all your decency,
For drunkenness is the true tomb
Of man’s wit, and his discretion.
He over whom drink has domination,
Can no counsel keep, it is no doubt.
Now keep you from the white and from the red—
And namely from the white wine of Lepe
That is for sale in Cheapside or on Fish Street.
This wine of Spain creeps subtly
Into other wines growing nearby,
From which there rises such vapor,
That when a man has drunk drafts three
And thinks that he is at home in Cheapside,
He is in Spain, right at the town of Lepe,
Not at La Rochelle, or Bordeaux town;
And then will he snore, “Samson, Samson.”
But listen, lordings, to one word I pray you:
All the supreme deeds, dare I say,
Of victories in the Old Testament,
Thurgh verray god, that is omnipotent,
Were doon in abstinence and in preyere;
Loketh the Bible, and ther ye may it lere.
Loke, Attila, the grete conquerour,
Deyde in his sleep, with shame and dishonour,
Bledinge ay at his nose in dronkenesse;
A capitayn shoulde live in sobrenesse.
And over al this, avyseth yow right wel
What was comaunded un-to Lamuel—
Nat Samuel, but Lamuel, seye I—
Redeth the Bible, and finde it expresly
Of wyn-yeving to hem that han justyse.
Na-more of this, for it may wel suffyse.
And now that I have spoke of glotonye,
Now wol I yow defenden hasardrye.
Hasard is verray moder of lesinges,
And of deceite, and cursed forsweringes,
Blaspheme of Crist, manslaughtre, and wast also
Of catel and of tyme; and forthermo,
It is repreve and contrarie of honour
For to ben holde a commune hasardour.
And ever the hyër he is of estaat,
The more is he holden desolaat.
If that a prince useth hasardrye,
In alle governaunce and policye
He is, as by commune opinioun,
Y-holde the lasse in reputacioun.
Stilbon, that was a wys embassadour,
Was sent to Corinthe, in ful greet honour,
Fro Lacidomie, to make hir alliaunce.
And whan he cam, him happede, par chaunce,
That alle the grettest that were of that lond,
Pleyinge atte hasard he hem fond.
For which, as sone as it mighte be,
He stal him hoom agayn to his contree,
And seyde, “ther wol I nat lese my name;
Ne I wol nat take on me so greet defame,
Yow for to allye un-to none hasardours.
Sendeth othere wyse embassadours;
Through the true God, who is omnipotent,
Were done in abstinence and in prayer:
Look in the Bible, and there you may it learn.
Consider that Attila,
14 the great conqueror,
Died in his sleep, in shame and dishonor,
Bleeding at his nose from drunkenness:
A captain should live in soberness.
And over all this, be you well advised
What was commanded unto Lemuel
15—
Not Samuel, but Lemuel, say I—
Read the Bible, and find it speaks explicitly
About giving wine to those who decide justice.
No more of this, for it may well suffice.
And now that I have spoken of gluttony,
Now will I forbid you gambling at dice.
Gambling is the true mother of lies,
And of deceit and cursed perjuries,
Blasphemy of Christ, manslaughter and waste also
Of goods and time; and furthermore,
It is a reproach and contrary to honor
To be held a common gambler.
And the higher he is of rank
The more is he held debased:
If a prince gambles,
In all governance and policy
Common opinion holds him,
The less in reputation.
Stilbon, who was a wise ambassador,
Was sent to Corinth in full great honor,
From Sparta to win their alliance.
And when he arrived, it happened by chance
That all the great men of that land
He found playing at dice.
For which, as soon as could be,
He stole away again to his country,
And said, “There will I not lose my name,
Nor will I take on me so great dishonor,
To ally you with a company of gamblers.
Send other wise ambassadors—
For, by my trouthe, me were lever dye,
Than I yow sholde to hasardours allye.
For ye that been so glorious in honours
Shul nat allyen yow with hasardours
As by my wil, ne as by my tretee.”
This wyse philosophre thus seyde he.
Loke eek that, to the king Demetrius
The king of Parthes, as the book seith us,
Sente him a paire of dees of gold in scorn,
For he hadde used hasard ther-biforn;
For which he heeld his glorie or his renoun
At no value or reputacioun.
Lordes may finden other maner pley
Honeste y-nough to dryve the day awey.
Now wol I speke of othes false and grete
A word or two, as olde bokes trete.
Gret swering is a thing abhominable,
And false swering is yet more reprevable.
The heighe god forbad swering at al,
Witnesse on Mathew; but in special
Of swering seith the holy Jeremye,
“Thou shalt seye sooth thyn othes, and nat lye,
And swere in dome, and eek in
rightwisnesse;”
But ydel swering is a cursednesse.
Bihold and see, that in the firste table
Of heighe goddes hestes honurable,
How that the seconde heste of him is this—
“Tak nat my name in ydel or amis.”
Lo, rather he forbedeth swich swering
Than homicyde or many a cursed thing;
I seye that, as by ordre, thus it stondeth;
This knowen, that his hestes understondeth,
How that the second heste of god is that.
And forther over, I wol thee telle al plat,
That vengeance shal nat parten from his hous,
That of his othes is to outrageous.
“By goddes precious herte, and by his nayles,
And by the blode of Crist, that it is in Hayles,
For by my troth, I would rather die
Than to gamblers I should you ally.
For you who are so glorious in honors
Shall not ally yourself with gamblers
Neither by my will nor my negotiations.”
This wise philosopher, thus said he.
Look also to the king Demetrius,
16 The king of Parthia, as the book tells us,
Sent a pair of golden dice in scorn,
For he had gambled there before;
For which he held his glory or his renown
At no value or reputation.
Lords may find other kinds of play
Honorable enough to drive the day away.
Now will I speak of oaths false and great
A word or two, as old books treat.
Great cursing is a thing abominable,
And false swearing is yet more reproachable.
The high God forbade swearing at all—
Witness on Matthew—but in special
Of swearing says the holy Jeremiah,
17 “Thou shalt swear truly your oaths and not lie,
And swear in good judgement, and also in
righteousness;”
But vain swearing is a wickedness.
Behold and see, in Moses’ first tablet
Of high God’s ten commandments,
That the second commandment of him is this:
“Take not my name wrongly or in vain.”
Look, he forbade such swearing even
Before homicide or many a cursed thing—
I say that, in terms of order, thus it stands—
He knows this, who his commandments understands,
How the second commandment of God is that.
And furthermore, I will tell you flat
That vengeance shall not depart from his house
Who of his oaths is too outrageous.
“By God’s precious heart,” and “By his nails,”
And “By the blood of Christ that is in Hayles.
18 Seven is my chaunce, and thyn is cink and treye;
By goddes armes, if thou falsly pleye,
This dagger shal thurgh-out thyn herte go”—
This fruyt cometh of the bicched bones two,
Forswering, ire, falsnesse, homicyde.
Now, for the love of Crist that for us dyde,
Leveth your othes, bothe grete and smale;
But, sirs, now wol I telle forth my tale.
Thise ryotoures three, of whiche I telle,
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
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 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;
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 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
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,
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,
Seven is my chance, and yours is five and three;
By God’s arms, if you falsely play,
This dagger shall through your heart go!”
This fruit comes from the bitchy bones two
19—
Perjury, anger, falseness, homicide.
Now for the love of Christ who for us died,
Cease your oaths, both great and small.
But, sirs, now will I tell forth my tale.
These three revelers of whom I tell
Long before prime rang of any bell,
Had set themselves down in a tavern to drink;
And as they sat, they heard a bell clink
Before a corpse being carried to his grave.
The one of them began calling to his knave,
“Go quick,” he said, “and ask straightaway,
What corpse is this that passes by;
And look that you get his name right.”
“Sir,” said this boy, “no need to inquire.
I learned it two hours before you arrived.
He was, by God, an old companion of yours;
And suddenly he was slain last night,
Dead drunk, as he sat on his bench upright.
There came a secret thief that men call Death,
Who has slain many in this region,
And with his spear he smote his heart in two,
And went his way without words more.
He has a thousand slain during this plague.
20 And master, before you come in his presence,
Methinks that it is necessary
For to be aware of such an adversary:
Be ready for to meet him at any hour.
Thus taught me my mother, I say no more.”
“By Saint Mary,” said this tavernkeeper,
“The child says the truth, for he has slain this year,
For a mile around, within a great village,
Both man and woman, child, and servant, and laborer;
I believe his habitation to be there.
Be advised to be careful that he
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 eek by strete,
I make avow to goddes digne bones!
Herkneth, felawes, we three been al ones;
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.”
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 al dronken, in this rage,
And forth they goon towardes that village,
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, alias! ne wol nat han my lyf;
Thus walke I, lyk a restelees caityf,
And on the ground, which is my modres gate,
Has to dishonor you no opportunity.”
“God’s arms!” said this reveler,
“Is it such peril with him to meet?
I shall him seek by road and also by street,
I make a vow of it by God’s worthy bones!
Harken, fellows, let’s we three be agreed:
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 shall be slain, he who so many slays,
By God’s worthiness, before it be night.”
Together have these three their troths plighted
To live and die each of them for the other,
As though they were their own born brothers.
And up they started, all drunk in this passion,
And forth they went toward that village
Of which the tavernkeeper had before spoken,
And many a grisly oath then did they swear,
And Christ’s blessed body they tore to pieces—
Death would be dead, if they could him seize.
When they had gone not fully half a mile,
Just as they would have stepped over a stile,
An old and poor man they did meet.
This old man full meekly them greeted,
And said thus, “Now lords, may God you protect!”
The proudest of these revelers three
Answered again, “What, fellow, confound you!
Why are you all wrapped up except your face?
Why do you live so long to such great age?”
This old man looked him in the eye,
And said thus, “Because I cannot find
A man, though I walk to India,
Neither in city or in village,
Who would change his youth for my age;
And therefore must I have my age still,
As long time as it is God’s will.
Nor will Death take my life.
Thus walk I, like a restless captive,
And on the ground, which is my mother’s 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 courteisye
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,
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.
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.
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,
I knock with my staff both early and late,
And say, ‘Dear mother, let me in!
Look, how I am wasting, flesh, and blood, and skin!
Alas! When shall my bones be at rest?
Mother, with you would I exchange my chest
Of clothes that in my chamber long time has been,
Yes, for a haircloth shroud to wrap me in!’
But yet to me she will not do that grace,
For which full pale and withered is my face.
But sirs, it is not polite of you
To speak to an old man in a manner so rude,
Unless he has offended you in word or deed.
In Holy Writ you may yourselves well read,
21 ‘Before an old man, hoarfrost upon his head,
You should arise.’ I therefore give you this advice:
Do no harm unto an old man now,
No more than you would have men do to you
When old, if you shall so long abide.
And God be with you, where you walk or ride;
I must go thither where I have to go.”
“No, old fellow, by God, you shall not so,”
Said this other gambler anon;
“You won’t get away so lightly, by Saint John!
You speak right now of that same traitor Death
Who in this country all our friends slays.
Have here my pledge, since you are his spy,
Tell where he is, or you shall for it pay,
By God, and by the holy sacrament!
For truly you are his agent
To slay us young folk, you false thief!”
“Now, sirs,” said he, “if you so much desire
To find Death, turn up this crooked way,
For in that grove I left him, by my faith,
Under a tree, and there he will abide:
Your boast will not make him hide.
See that oak? Right there you shall him find.
God save you, who redeemed mankind,
And you improve!” Thus said this old man.
And each of these revelers ran,
Til he cam to that tree, and ther they founde
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,
That doun they sette hem by this precious hord.
The worste of hem he spake the firste word.
“Brethren,” quod he, “tak kepe what I seye;
My wit is greet, though that I bourde and pleye.
”This tresor hath fortune un-to us yiven,
In mirthe and jolitee our lyf to liven,
And lightly as it comth, so wol we spende.
Ey! goddes precious dignitee! who wende
To-day, that we sholde han so fair a grace?
But mighte this gold be caried fro this place
Hoom to myn hous, or elles un-to youres—
For wel ye woot that al this gold is cures—
Than were we in heigh felicitee.
But trewely, by daye it may nat be;
Men wolde seyn that we were theves stronge,
And for our owene tresor doon us honge.
This tresor moste y-caried be by nighte
As wysly and as slyly as it mighte.
Wherfore I rede that cut among us alle
Be drawe, and lat see wher the cut wol falle;
And he that hath the cut with herte blythe
Shal renne to the toune, and that ful swythe,
And bringe us breed and wyn ful prively.
And two of us shul kepen subtilly
This tresor wel; and, if he wol nat tarie,
Whan it is night, we wol this tresor carie
By oon assent, wher-as us thinketh best.”
That oon of hem the cut broughte in his fest,
And bad hem drawe, and loke wher it wol falle;
And it fill on the yongeste of hem alle;
And forth toward the toun he wente anon.
And al-so sone as that he was gon,
That oon of hem spak thus un-to that other,
Till he came to that tree, and there they found
Of florins fine of gold coined round
Well nigh eight bushels, or so it seemed.
No longer then after Death they sought,
Each of them so glad was of that sight—
For the florins were so fair and bright—
That down they set them by this precious hoard.
The worst of them spoke the first word.
“Brothers,” said he, “take heed of what I say:
My understanding is great, though I jest and play.
This treasure has Fortune unto us given
Our lives in mirth and jollity to live,
And lightly as it comes, so will we spend.
Hey! God’s precious dignity! Who would have guessed
Today that we should find so fair a grace?
If only might this gold be carried from this place
Home to my house—or else unto yours—
For well we know that all this gold is ours—
Then were we in high felicity.
But truly, by day it may not be done:
Men would say that we were thieves,
And for our own treasure have us hung.
This treasure must be carried by night,
As wisely and as slyly as we might.
Therefore I suggest that lots among us all
Be drawn, and let’s see to whose lot it shall fall;
And he who has the lot with heart blithe
Shall run to the town, in quick time,
And secretly bring us bread and wine.
And two of us shall guard with care
This treasure well; and if he will not tarry,
When it is night we will this treasure carry,
By one assent, where we think best.”
The fellow brought the cut in his fist,
And he bade them draw, and look where it would fall;
And it fell on the youngest of them all,
And forth toward the town he went anon.
But as soon as he was gone,
One of the other two spoke thus to the other:
“Thou knowest wel thou art my sworne brother,
Thy profit wol I telle thee anon.
Thou woost wel that our felawe is agon;
And heer is gold, and that ful greet plentee,
That shal departed been among us three.
But natheles, if I can shape it so
That it departed were among us two,
Hadde I nat doon a freendes torn to thee?”
That other answerde, “I noot how that may be;
He woot how that the gold is with us tweye,
What shal we doon, what shal we to him seye?”
“Shal it be conseil?” seyde the firste shrewe,
“And I shal tellen thee, in wordes fewe,
What we shal doon, and bringe it wel aboute.”
“I graunte,” quod that other, “out of doute,
That, by my trouthe, I wol thee nat biwreye.”
“Now,” quod the firste, “thou woost wel we be tweye,
And two of us shul strenger be than oon.
Look when that he is set, and right anoon
Arys, as though thou woldest with him pleye;
And I shal ryve him thurgh the sydes tweye
Whyl that thou strogelest with him as in game,
And with thy dagger look thou do the same;
And than shal al this gold departed be,
My dere freend, bitwixen me and thee;
Than may we bothe our lustes al fulfille,
And pleye at dees right at our owene wille.”
And thus acorded been thise shrewes tweye
To sleen the thridde, as ye han herd me seye.
This yongest, which that wente un-to the toun,
Ful ofte in herte he rolleth up and doun
The beautee of thise florins newe and brighte.
“O lord!” quod he, “if so were that I mighte
Have al this tresor to my-self allone,
Ther is no man that liveth under the trone
Of god, that sholde live so mery as I!”
And atte laste the feend, our enemy,
Putte in his thought that he shold poyson beye,
With which he mighte sleen his felawes tweye;
“You well know that you are my sworn brother;
So something to your advantage will I tell you anon.
You know well that our companion is gone,
And here is gold, and plenty of it,
That shall be divided between us three.
But nevertheless, if I can arrange it so
That it divided were between us two,
Would I not have done a friend’s turn to you?”
The other answered, “I know not how that may be:
He knows how the gold is with us two.
What shall we do? What shall we say?”
“Can you keep a secret?” said the first wretch;
“And I shall tell in words few
What we shall do, to bring it about.”
“I grant it,” said that other, “you can be sure,
That, by my word of honor, I will not betray you.”
“Now,” said the first, “you know well we be two,
And two of us are stronger than one.
As soon as he has sat down, then right away
Arise as though you would with him play;
And I shall stab him through both sides
While you struggle with him as if in play,
And with your dagger you do the same;
And then shall all this gold divided be,
My dear friend, between you and me.
Then may we both our desires fulfill,
And play at dice whenever we will.”
And thus these cursed fellows two agreed
To slay the third, as you have heard me say.
This youngest, who went into the town,
Full often in his mind’s eye rolled up and down
The beauty of those florins new and bright.
“Oh Lord,” said he, “if it were that I might
Have all this treasure to myself alone,
There is no man who lives under the throne
Of God who should live so merry as I!”
And at the last the devil, our enemy,
Put in his thought that he should poison buy,
With which he might slay his fellows two—
For-why the feend fond him in swich lyvinge,
That he had leve him to sorwe bringe,
For this was outrely his fulle entente
To sleen hem bothe, and never to repente.
And forth he gooth, no lenger wolde he tarie,
Into the toun, un-to a pothecarie,
And preyed him, that he him wolde selle
Som poyson, that he mighte his rattes quelle;
And eek ther was a polcat in his hawe,
That, as he seyde, his capouns hadde y-slawe,
And fayn he wolde wreke him, if he mighte,
On vermin, that destroyed him by nighte.
The pothecarie answerde, “and thou shalt have
A thing that, al-so god my soule save,
In al this world ther nis no creature,
That ete or dronke hath of this confiture
Noght but the mountance of a corn of whete,
That he ne shal his lyf anon forlete;
Ye, sterve he shal, and that in lasse whyle
Than thou wolt goon a paas nat but a myle;
This poyson is so strong and violent.”
This cursed man hath in his hond y-hent
This poyson in a box, and sith he ran
In-to the nexte strete, un-to a man,
And borwed [of] him large botels three;
And in the two his poyson poured he;
The thridde he kepte clene for his drinke.
For al the night he shoop him for to swinke
In caryinge of the gold out of that place.
And whan this ryotour, with sory grace,
Had filled with wyn his grete botels three,
To his felawes agayn repaireth he.
What nedeth it to sermone of it more?
For right as they had cast his deeth bifore,
Right so they han him slayn, and that anon.
And whan that this was doon, thus spak that oon,
“Now lat us sitte and drinke, and make us merie,
And afterward we wol his body berie.”
And with that word it happed him, par cas,
Because the fiend found him living in such a way
That he had God’s permission to bring him sorrow:
For this was his full intent,
To slay them both, and never to repent.
And forth he went—no longer would he tarry—
Into the town, unto an apothecary,
And prayed him to sell
Some poison, that he might his rats quell,
And also there was a weasel in his yard,
That, as he said, upon his chickens gnawed,
And gladly would he avenge himself, if he might,
On vermin, that were ruining him by night.
The apothecary answered, “And you shall have
Something that, so God my soul save,
In all this world there is no creature,
That having eaten or drunk of this mixture
No more than amounts to a grain of wheat,
Then shall he anon his life forfeit.
Yes, die he shall, and that in less time
Than at walking pace you should go a mile,
This poison is so strong and vile.”
This cursed man in his hand grasped
This poison in a box, and then he ran
Into the next street unto a man
And borrowed from him large bottles three,
And in the two his poison poured he—
The third he kept clean for his own drink—
For all the night he himself readied
For carrying the gold out of that place.
And when this reveler, by evil blessed,
Had filled with wine his great bottles three,
To his fellows again returned he.
Why need we speak of it more?
For right as they had planned his death before,
Right so they did him slay, and that anon.
And when this was done, thus spoke that one:
“Now let us sit and drink, and make us merry,
And afterward we will his body bury.”
And with that word it befell him, by chance,
To take the botel ther the poyson was,
And drank, and yaf his felawe drinke also,
For which anon they storven bothe two.
But, certes, I suppose that Avicen
Wroot never in no canon, ne in no fen,
Mo wonder signes of empoisoning
Than hadde thise wrecches two, er hir ending.
Thus ended been thise homicydes two,
And eek the false empoysoner also.
O cursed sinne, ful of cursednesse!
O traytours homicyde, o wikkednesse!
O glotonye, luxurie, and hasardrye!
Thou blasphemour of Crist with vileinye
And othes grete, of usage and of pryde!
Alias! mankinde, how may it bityde,
That to thy creatour which that thee wroghte,
And with his precious herte-blood thee boghte,
Thou art so fals and so unkinde, alias!
Now, goode men, god forgeve yow your trespas,
And ware yow fro the sinne of avryce.
Myn holy pardoun may yow alle waryce,
So that ye offre nobles or sterlinges,
Or elles silver broches, spones, ringes.
Boweth your heed under this holy bulle!
Cometh up, ye wyves, offreth of your wolle!
Your name I entre heer in my rolle anon;
In-to the blisse of hevene shul ye gon;
I yow assoile, by myn heigh power,
Yow that wol offre, as clene and eek as cleer
As ye were born; and, lo, sirs thus I preche.
And Jesu Crist, that is our soules leche,
So graunte yow his pardon to receyve;
For that is best; I wol yow nat deceyve.
The Epilogue
But sirs, o word forgat I in my tale;
I have relikes and pardon in my male,
As faire as any man in Engelond,
To take the bottle where the poison was,
And drank, and gave his fellow drink also,
For which anon they died both two.
But certainly, I suppose that Avicenna
22 Described never, in any chapter or treatise,
More awful symptoms of poisoning
Than had these wretches two, before their ending.
Thus ended these murderers two,
And also the false poisoner as well.
Oh cursed sin of all cursedness!
Oh traitorous murderers, oh wickedness!
Oh gluttony, lechery and gambling!
You blasphemer of Christ with vile words
And oaths great, out of pride and habit!
Alas! mankind, how may it happen
That to your Creator who you wrought,
And with his precious heart blood you redeemed,
You are so false and so unnatural, alas!
Now, good men, may God forgive you your trespasses,
And protect you from the sin of avarice.
My holy pardon may all you cure—
So long as you offer coin of gold or sterling,
Or else silver brooches, spoons or rings.
Bow your head under this holy bull!
Come up, you wives, offer of your wool!
Your names I enter here in my list anon:
Into the bliss of heaven you shall go.
I you absolve, by my high power—
You who will make an offering—as clean and pure
As you were born. And look, sirs, thus I preach.
And Jesus Christ, who is our souls’ healer,
May He grant you His pardon to receive,
For that is best; I will you not deceive.
The Epilogue
But sirs, one word forgot I in my tale:
I have relics and pardons in my pouch
As fair as any man in England,
Whiche were me yeven by the popes hond.
If any of yow wol, of devocioun,
Offren, and han myn absolucioun,
Cometh forth anon, and kneleth heer adoun,
And mekely receyveth my pardoun:
Or elles, taketh pardon as ye wende,
Al newe and fresh, at every tounes ende,
So that ye offren alwey newe and newe
Nobles and pens, which that be gode and trewe.
It is an honour to everich that is heer,
That ye mowe have a suffisant pardoneer
T‘assoille yow, in contree as ye ryde,
For aventures which that may bityde.
Peraventure ther may falle oon or two
Doun of his hors, and breke his nekke atwo.
Look which a seuretee is it to yow alle
That I am in your felaweship y-falle,
That may assoille yow, bothe more and lasse,
Whan that the soule shal fro the body passe.
I rede that our hoste heer shal biginne,
For he is most envoluped in sinne.
Com forth, sir hoste, and offre first anon.
And thou shalt kisse the reliks everichon,
Ye, for a grote! unbokel anon thy purs.
“Nay, nay,” quod he, “than have I Cristes curs!
Lat be,” quod he, “it shal nat be, so thee‘ch!
Thou woldest make me kisse thyn old breech,
And swere it were a relik of a seint,
Thogh it were with thy fundement depeint!
But by the croys which that seint Eleyne fond,
I wolde I hadde thy coillons in myn hond
In stede of relikes or of seintuarie;
Lat cutte hem of, I wol thee helpe hem carie;
They shul be shryned in an hogges tord.”
This pardoner answerde nat a word;
So wrooth he was, no word ne wolde he seye.
“Now,” quod our host, “I wol no lenger pleye
With thee, ne with noon other angry man.”
But right anon the worthy Knight bigan,
Which were given to me by the Pope’s hand.
If any of you will out of devotion
Offer and have my absolution,
Come forth now, and kneel here down,
And meekly receive my pardon;
Or else, take pardon as you travel,
All new and fresh, at every mile’s end—
So long as you make an offering anew each time
Of gold coins or pence, which be good and true.
It is an honor to everyone who is here
To have such an able pardoner
To absolve you, as you ride the countryside,
For anything that may you betide.
Perhaps there may fall one or two
Down off his horse, and break his neck in two.
Look what a security it is to you all
That I am in your fellowship befallen,
Who may absolve you, both great and small,
When the soul shall from the body pass.
I advise our Host here to begin,
For he is the most wrapped up in sin.
Come forth, sir Host, and offer first now,
And you shall kiss the relics every one,
Yes, for a groat: unbuckle now your purse.
“No, no,” said he, “then have I Christ’s curse!
Let be,” said he, “it shall not be so as I hope to prosper!
You would make me kiss your old breeches
And swear they are the relic of a saint,
Though by your fundament they be stained!
But by the true cross that Saint Helena found,
I would I had your balls in my hand
Instead of relics or things holy.
Let them be cut off! I will help you them carry.
They shall be enshrined in a hog’s turd!”
This Pardoner answered not a word;
So angry he was, no word would he say.
“Now,” said our Host, “I will no longer play
With you, nor with any other angry man.”
But right anon the worthy Knight began,
Whan that he saugh that al the peple lough,
“Na-more of this, for it is right y-nough;
Sir Pardoner, be glad and mery of chere;
And ye, sir host, that been to me so dere,
I prey yow that ye kisse the Pardoner.
And Pardoner, I prey thee, drawe thee neer.
And, as we diden, lat us laughe and pleye.”
Anon they kiste, and riden forth hir weye.
When he saw all the people laugh,
“No more of this, for it is quite enough!
Sir Pardoner, be glad and merry of cheer;
And you, sir Host, who is to me so dear,
I pray that you kiss the Pardoner.
And Pardoner, I pray you, draw yourself near,
And, as we did, let us laugh and play.”
Anon they kissed, and rode forth on their way.