The abbot and his cloister marvelled to hear this miracle. Then the
abbot took away the grain, and they bore the little body and laid it
in a clear marble tomb with honour befitting so noble a martyr.

O blessed Hugh, whom wicked Jews also slew, pray for us weak people
that Mary, Mother of God, may grant us grace. Amen.

* * * * *

The effect of the Prioress's tale was to make the whole company
silent and wondrously solemn for a while, so feelingly had she told
the story of the miracle; but at length our Host began his joking
again. He looked round the party and caught sight of me. "What man
are you?" he asked. "You look nowhere but upon the ground as though
you would find a hare there. Come here, good sir, be cheerful. Make
way!" he cried to the others, "let this man pass. I swear he is no
stripling, his waist is as large as mine. He ought to be a gallant
man and fond of company, but he rides alone, and is so silent that I
suspect the elves have bewitched him." The company laughed. "Tell us
your tale," said Harry Bailey to me again, "and let it be a merry
one." "Good host," I answered humbly, "I know few tales. All that I
can offer is a ballad I learned long ago." "That's good!" said the
Host. "Begin. It's a jolly tale, I'll wager." This is the tale I
told:




CHAUCER'S RIME OF SIR THOPAS [*]