neck, looking now this way, now that, like a pigeon in a barn. My
head and my hand keep time with my voice, and I sing better than
anyone I know in my profession."

I could well believe this of the Pardoner. He looked like a man who
could please a congregation. He had long straight yellow hair hanging
about his shoulders and bright shining eyes. He wore no hood, but
rode according to the latest fashion, bare-headed except for a small
cap.

"Oh, I can preach, good folk," he continued. "It's a pity, of course,
that I am the greatest sinner against my own text, for I own that all
I do is for my own gain. But there, while I can talk so well, and
tell merry and comforting tales, why should I live in poverty and
make baskets for a living? I like money, woollen clothes to wear,
and cheese and wheaten bread to eat. I cannot follow the Apostles'
lead. This life offers too many enjoyments for me, even though widows
starve to enrich me!

"But you asked for a tale; and now I've loosed my tongue with a drink
I'll tell you one. Although I'm none too good myself, my tale shall
be virtuous, and one that I tell from the pulpit."

With this introduction he began the following tale in a rich musical
voice:



THE PARDONER'S TALE OF THE MEN WHO WOULD SLAY DEATH