The Canterbury Tales; EPILOGUE
Part
17
EPILOGUE
The
wordes
of
the
Hoost
to
the
Phisicien
and
the
Pardoner.
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
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
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.
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,
Thyn
ypocras
and
eek
thy
Galianes
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.
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,
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."
"It
shal
be
doon,"
quod
he,
"by
Seint
Ronyon;
But
first,"
quod
he,
"heere
at
this
ale-stake,
I
wol
bothe
drynke
and
eten
of
a
cake."
And
right
anon
the
gentils
gonne
to
crye,
"Nay,
lat
hym
telle
us
of
no
ribaudye!
Telle
us
som
moral
thyng
that
we
may
leere
Som
wit,
and
thanne
wol
we
gladly
heere!"
"I
graunte,
ywis,"
quod
he,
"but
I
moot
thynke
Upon
som
honeste
thyng,
while
that
I
drynke."
