|
Oure Hooste gan to swere as he were wood; |
| "Harrow!" quod he, "by nayles and by blood! |
| This was a fals cherl and a fals justice! |
| As shameful deeth as herte may devyse |
| 5 | Come to thise juges and hire advocatz! |
| Algate this sely mayde is slayn, allas! |
| Allas, to deere boughte she beautee! |
| Wherfore I seye al day, as men may see |
| That yiftes of Fortune and of Nature |
| 10 | Been cause of deeth to many a creature. |
| (Hir beautee was hir deeth, I dar wel sayn; |
| Allas, so pitously as she was slayn!) |
| Of bothe yiftes that I speke of now |
| Men han ful ofte moore harm than prow. |
| 15 | But trewely, myn owene maister deere, |
| This is a pitous tale for to heere. |
| But nathelees, passe over is no fors; |
| I pray to God so save thy gentil cors, |
| And eek thyne urynals and thy jurdanes, |
| 20 | Thyn ypocras and eek thy galiones |
| And every boyste ful of thy letuarie, |
| God blesse hem, and oure lady Seinte Marie! |
| So moot I theen, thou art a propre man, |
| And lyk a prelat, by Seint Ronyan! |
| 25 | Seyde I nat wel? I kan nat speke in terme; |
| But wel I woot thou doost myn herte to erme, |
| That I almoost have caught a cardyacle. |
| By corpus bones, but I have triacle, |
| Or elles a draughte of moyste and corny ale, |
| 30 | Or but I heere anon a myrie tale, |
| Myn herte is lost, for pitee of this mayde! |
| Thou beelamy, thou Pardoner," he sayde, |
| "Telle us som myrthe or japes right anon." |
|
| Our Host began to swear as madman would: |
| "Help!" he said, "now by Christ's nails and blood! |
| This was a false man and a false judge! |
| A shameful death as reward for his fudge, |
| 5 | Come to this judge and his lawyers' snake pit! |
| And so this hapless girl is killed, that's it! |
| Alas, too dearly paid she for beauty! |
| Wherefore I always say, as men may see, |
| That Fortune's gifts, or those of Dame Nature, |
| 10 | Are cause of death to many a good creature. |
| Her beauty was her death, I say again; |
| Alas, so pitiably she there was slain! |
| From both the kinds of gift I speak of now |
| Men often take more harm than help, I vow. |
| 15 | But truly, my own master lief and dear, |
| This is a very pitiful tale to hear, |
| Yet let us pass it by as of no force. |
| I pray to God to save your gentle corse, |
| Your urinals and all your chamberpots, |
| 20 | Your hippocras and medicines and tots |
| And every boxful of electuary; |
| God bless them, and Our Lady, holy Mary! |
| So may I prosper, you're a proper man, |
| And like a prelate too, by Saint Ronan! |
| 25 | Said I not well? I can't speak in set terms; |
| But well I know my heart with grief so warms |
| That almost I have caught a cardiac pain. |
| Body and Bones! Save I some remedy gain, |
| Or else a draught of fresh-drawn, malty ale, |
| 30 | Or except I hear, at once, a merry tale, |
| My heart is lost for pity of this maid. |
| You, bon ami, you pardoner," he said, |
| "Tell us some pleasant tale or jest, anon." |
|
