love of her.

They lived long in richness and health. Never was fairer wife than
Emily; never was knight more faithful than Palamon. There I leave
them. God bless them, and grant His grace and loving-kindness to this
fair company. Amen.

* * * * *

When the Knight had finished his tale, the whole company, young and
old, praised it. The Host was delighted; he burst out laughing. "The
play goes finely," he cried. "Now we have started the ball rolling,
who will tell the next tale? Will you, Sir Monk, give us a worthy
follower to the Knight?" Before the Monk had time to answer, the
Miller interrupted. He was a broad, thick-set fellow with a red
beard, a great wide mouth, and a wart on his nose. He wore a white
coat and blue hood, and was armed with a sword and buckler. By this
time he was so overcome by riding and drinking that he could hardly
sit his horse, and what manners he possessed had left him. "I can
tell a fine tale," he shouted, "a good match for the Knight's." The
Host saw that he was in no fit state to tell a tale. "Good friend
Robin, take thy turn," he said. "Let a better man than thee speak
first." "Not I," said the Miller. "I tell my tale when I like, or
leave the party." "Well," said the Host, "tell if thou must, but thou
art making a fool of thyself."

"Now hearken!" began the Miller. "I begin my tale with a declaration.
I am drunk. I know it, and I bid you excuse any mistakes I make for
that very reason. It's the fault of Southwark ale, not mine, and my
tale is about a carpenter and how a scholar deceived him." "Forbear!"