From The Prologue to the Pardoner's Tale.'

'LORDINGS,' quod he, 'in chirches whan I preche,
I peyne me to han an hauteyn1 speche,
And ringe it out as round as gooth a belle,
For I can al by rote that I telle.

My theme is alwey oon, and ever was—
"Radix malorum est Cupiditas."2

First I pronounce whennes that I come,
And than my bulles3 shewe I, alle and somme.
Our lige lordes seel on my patente,

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 than telle I forth my tales,
Bulles of popes and of cardinales,
Of patriarkes, and bishoppes I shewe;
And in Latyn I speke a wordes fewe,
To saffron with my predicacioun,5
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 latoun7 a sholder-boon
Which that was of an holy Jewes shepe.
"Good men," seye I, "tak of my wordes kepe;
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 y-stonge,
Tak water of that welle, and wash his tonge,
And it is hools anon; and forthermore,
Of pokkes and of scabbe, and every sore

1 Loud.

3 Papal Bulls.

6 Sermon. 7 Metal.

2 Avarice is the root of evil.

4 Colour.

6 As they all suppose.

8 Whole.

Shal every sheep be hool, that of this welle Drinketh a draughte; tak kepe eek what I telle.

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I

yow,

Good men and wommen, o thing1 warne
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,
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 assoille2 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 lewed3 peple is douny-set,
I preche, so as ye han herd bifore,
And telle an hundred false japes1 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.5
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-blake-beried !8

1 One thing.

4 Tricks, jests.

2 Absolve.
Barn.

3 Common.

• Briskly.

7 To give their money, and especially to me. 8 Blackberrying=astray.

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 asterte1
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
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 twinne2
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, long 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!

1 Escape.

2 To depart from.

For I wol preche and begge in sondry londes ;
I wol not do no labour with myn hondes,1
Ne make baskettes, and live therby,
Because I wol nat beggen ydelly.

2

I wol non of the apostles counterfete;
I wol have money, wolle, chese, and whete,
Al were it yeven of the povrest page,2
Or of the povrest widwe in a village,
Al sholde hir children sterve for famine.
Nay! I wol drinke licour of the vyne,
And have a joly wenche in every toun.

WILLIAM LANGLAND [1340-1400 ?].
From The Vision of William concerning Piers the
Plowman.'

In a somere seyson whan softe was the sonne,
Y shap me in-to shrobbis as y a shepherde were,
In abit as an ermite unholy of werkes ;
Ich wente forth in the world wonders to hure,
And saw meny cellis and selcouthe thynges.
Ac on a may morwenyng on Malverne hulles
Me byfel for to slepe for werynesse of wandryng;
And in a launde as ich lay lenede ich and slepte,
And merveylously me mette as ich may yow telle;
Al the welthe of this worlde and the woo bothe,

In a summer season, when the sun was warm, I betook me to the shrubs (ie., to an out-of-door life) as if I were a shepherd, dressed like a hermit of unholy works; I went forth in the world to hear wonders, and saw many cells (in religious houses) and strange things. But on a May morning on Malvern hills I happened to sleep, through weariness of wandering; and as I lay in a meadow I reclined and slept, and marvellously I dreamed, as I may tell you. All the wealth of the world and the woe, 2 Although it were given by.

1 Hands.

Wynkyng as it were wyterly ich saw hyt,

Of tryuthe and of tricherye of tresoun and of gyle, Al ich saw slepynge as ich shal yow telle.

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Somme putte hem to plow and pleiden ful seylde,
In settyng and in sowyng swonken ful harde,
And wonne that thuse wasters with glotenye
destroyeth.

And somme chosen cheffare they cheude the betere, As hit semeth to oure syght that souche men thryveth.

And somme murthes to make as mynstrals conneth, That wollen neyther swynke ne swete bote swery grete othes,

And fynde up foule fantesyes and foles hem maken, And haven witte at wylle to worche yf they wolde. That Paul prechith of hem proven hit ich myghte, Qui turpiloquium loquitur ys Lucyfers knave. Bydders and beggers faste a-boute yoden,

Tyl hure bagge and hure belly were bretful ycrammyd,

Faytynge for hure fode and fouhten atten ale,

sleeping as it were, I certainly saw it. Of truth and of treachery, of treason and of guile, I saw all, sleeping, as I shall tell you. Some set themselves to plough, and amused themselves very seldom; with planting and sowing they worked very hard and gained what these spendthrifts destroy with gluttony. . . . And some chose merchandise; they prospered better, as it seems to our sight that such men thrive. And some are skilled to make mirth as minstrels, that will neither toil nor sweat, but swear great oaths, and invent foul fancies, and make fools of themselves, and (yet) have their wit at their will, (being able) to work if they wished. What Paul preaches about them I might adduce here (2 Thess. iii. 10), (but will not, for) he who speaks slander is Lucifer's servant. Beggars went about quickly till their wallet and belly were crammed brimful, telling lies for their food, and quarrelling at the ale