Ful loude he song, “Com hider, love, to me.”
This somnour bar to him a stif burdoun,
Was never trompe of half so greet a soun.
This pardoner hadde heer as yelow as wex,
But smothe it heng, as dooth a strike of flex;
By ounces henge his lokkes that he hadde,
And ther-with he his shuldres overspradde;
But thinne it lay, by colpons oon and oon;
But hood, for jolitee, ne wered he noon,
For it was trussed up in his walet.
Him thoughte, he rood al of the newe jet;
Dischevele, save his cappe, he rood al bare.
Swiche glaringe eyen hadde he as an hare.
A vernicle hadde he sowed on his cappe.
His walet lay biforn him in his lappe,
Bret-ful of pardoun come from Rome al hoot.
A voys he hadde as smal as hath a goot.
No berd hadde he, ne never sholde have,
As smothe it was as it were late y-shave;
I trowe he were a gelding or a mare.
But of his craft, fro Berwik into Ware,
Ne was ther swich another pardoner.
For in his male he hadde a pilwe-beer,
Which that, he seyde, was our lady veyl:
He seyde, he hadde a gobet of the seyl
That sëynt Peter hadde, whan that he wente
But well I know he lied indeed:
Excommunication each man should dread—
For curse will slay, as absolution saves—
And also avoid a warrant for arrest.
In his power in his own way had he
The young wenches of the diocese,
And knew their secrets, and gave them advice.
A garland had he set upon his head,
As big as if it were for a tavern sign;
A buckler had he made with a loaf of bread.

With him there rode a gentle PARDONER
Of Rouncival,40 his friend and his companion,
Who straight was come from the court of Rome.
Full loud he sang, “Come hither, love, to me.”
The summoner joined in with a strong bass voice,
No trumpet made half so much noise.
This pardoner had hair as yellow as wax,
But in truth it hung, as does a spray of flax;
In thin strands hung the locks that he had,
And therewith his shoulders overspread;
But thin it lay in small locks one by one;
But hood, for fashion’s sake, wore he none,
For it was packed up in his bag.
He thought he rode in the newest style;
With hair loose, save his cap, he rode with head bare.
Such staring eyes had he as a hare.
A veronica41 had he sewn on his cap.
His bag lay before him in his lap,
Brimful of pardons, fresh and hot from Rome.
A voice he had as small as a goat.
No beard had he, nor ever should have,
His face was smooth as if it were just shaved:
I believe he was a gelding or a mare.
But of his profession, from Berwick to Ware,
Never was there such another pardoner.
For in his bag he had a pillowcase,
That he said was Our Lady’s veil.
He said he had a piece of the sail
That Saint Peter had, when he strode
Up-on the see, til Jesu Crist him hente.
He hadde a croys of latoun, ful of stones,
And in a glas he hadde pigges bones.
But with thise relikes, whan that he fond
A povre person dwelling up-on lond,
Up-on a day he gat him more moneye
Than that the person gat in monthes tweye.
And thus, with feyned flaterye and japes,
He made the person and the peple his apes.
But trewely to tellen, atte laste,
He was in chirche a noble ecclesiaste.
Wel coude he rede a lessoun or a storie,
But alderbest he song an offertorie;
For wel he wiste, whan that song was songe
He moste preche, and wel affyle his tonge,
To winne silver, as he ful wel coude;
Therfore he song so meriely and loude.

Now have I told you shortly, in a clause,
Th‘estat, th’array, the nombre, and eek the cause
Why that assembled was this companye
In Southwerk, at this gentil hostelrye,
That highte the Tabard, faste by the Belle.
But now is tyme to yow for to telle
How that we baren us that ilke night,
Whan we were in that hostelrye alight.
And after wol I telle of our viage,
And al the remenaunt of our pilgrimage.