Church. Their words were full of high meaning, but my poor wit cannot
remember all they said. Also the Wife of Bath had grown confidential
towards evening, and, amid her talk of husbands and clothes,
pilgrimages and cloth measures, I could hear little of the priests.

Their solemn talk was a fitting conclusion to our second day's
riding, and that night we lay at Rochester.



TALES OF THE THIRD DAY

The Doctor began the story-telling of the third day with a tale about
a wicked judge who caused the death of a fair maid in Rome. During
the telling of it Harry Bailey grew more and more excited with pity
for the girl, and anger against the judge. At the end he burst out,
"This was a false churl, I say! A shameful death befall all such
treacherous men! The maid paid dearly for her beauty, did she not,
good Doctor? Truly, it was so pitiful a tale that unless I have a
draught of cool corny ale to cheer my spirits, or else hear a merry
tale at once, I shall weep for sorrow! Come, Sir Pardoner," he
called, "tell us of mirth and quips and cranks!" "That shall be
done," answered the Pardoner, stopping the love song which he had
been singing all the morning; "but first I must drink at this inn
here, and eat a cake." The gentlefolk of our company looked
suspicious. "We want no vulgar tales," they said. "Let him tell us
of morals that we may learn good, or let him hold his peace." "That
shall be as you wish, good folk," the Pardoner replied. "I will
think of something virtuous while I quaff my ale."