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Behold my blody woundes depe and wide: 15021 Arife up erly in the morwe tide,

And at the weft gate of the toun (quod he)

A carte ful of donge ther shalt thou fee,
In which my body is hid prively;
Do thilke carte arreften boldely.

My gold caufed my mordre, foth to fain.
And told him every point how he was flain
With a ful pitous face, pale of hewe;

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And trufteth wel his dreme he found ful trewe;

For on the morwe as fone as it was day

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To his felawes inne he toke his way,

And whan that he came to this oxes ftalle

After his felaw he began to calle.

The hofteler antwered him anon,

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And faide, Sire, your felaw is agon;

As fone as day he went out of the toun..

This man gan fallen in fufpecioun,

Remembring on his dremes that he mette,

And forth he goth, no lenger wold he lette, 15040
Unto the weft gate of the toun, and fond

A dong carte as it went for to dong lond,
That was arraied in the fame wife
As ye han herde the dede man devife,
And with an harde herte he gan to crie
Vengeance and juftice of this felonie;
My felaw mordred is this fame night,
And in this carte he lith gaping upright.

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I crie out on the miniftres, quod he,

That fhulden kepe and reulen this citee:

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Harow! alas! here lith my felaw flain.

What fhuld I more unto this tale fain?
The peple out stert and cast the cart to ground,
And in the middel of the dong they found
The dede man that mordred was all newe.

O blisful God! that art so good and trewe,
Lo, how that thou bewreyeft mordre alway!
Mordre wol out, that fee we day by day:
Mordre is fo wlatfom and abhominable
To God, that is so just and resonable,
That he ne wol not fuffre it hylled be:
Though it abide a yere, or two or three,
Mordre wol out; this is my conclufioun.

And right anon the miniftres of the toun
Han hent the carter, and fo fore him pined,
And eke the hofteler fo fore engined,
That they beknew hir wickednesse anon,
And were anhanged by the necke bon.
Here moun ye fee that dremes ben to drede.

And certes in the fame book I rede,

Right in the nexte chapitre after this,

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(I gabbe not, so have I joye and blis)

Two men that wold han paffed over the fee,
For certain cause, in to a fer contree,
If that the wind ne hadde ben contrarie,
That made hem in a citee for to tarie

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Elades Family

4-29-32.

THE CANTERBURY TALES.

THE NONNES PREESTES PROL.
Ho! quod the Knight, good Sire, no more of this;
That ye han faid is right ynough ywis,
And mochel more; for litel hevineffe
Is right ynough to mochel folk I gesse.
I fay for me it is a gret disese

Wher as men have ben in gret welth and efe
To heren of hir foden fall, alas!

And the contrary is joye and gret folas,
As whan a man hath ben in poure estat,

And climbeth up and wexeth fortunat,

0 And ther abideth in profperitee:

Swich thing is gladfom as it thinketh me,

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And of fwiche thing were goodly for to telle. 14785
Ye, quod our Hofte, by Seint Poules belle.
Ye fay right foth: this Monk hath clapped loude;
He fpake how Fortune covered with a cloude
I wote not what, and als of a tragedie

Right now ye herd; and parde no remedie 14790
It is for to bewailen ne complaine

That that is don, and als it is a paine,

As ye han faid, to here of hevineffe.

Sire Monk, no more of this, fo God you blefe;
Your Tale anoyeth all this compagnie;

Swiche talking is not worth a boterflie,

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For therin is ther no difport ne game;
Therfore Sire Monk, Dan Piers by your name,

I pray you hertely tell us femwhat elles,
For fikerly n'ere clinking of your belles
That on your bridel hange on every side,
By heven king, that for us alle dide,

I fhuld er this have fallen doun for flepe,
Although the flough had ben never so depe,

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Than hadde your Tale all ben tolde in vain: 14805
For certainly, as that thife clerkes fain,
Wher as a man may have non audience
Nought helpeth it to tellen his fentence;
And wel I wote the fubftance is in me
If any thing fhal wel reported be.

Sire, fay fomwhat of hunting I you pray.

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Nay, quod this Monk, I have not luft to play:

Now lette another telle as I have told.

Than spake oure Hofte with rude fpeche and bold, And fayd unto the Nonnes Preest anon, 14815 Come nere, thou Preeft, come hither, thou Sire John;

. 14811. fay fomwhat of hunting] For the propriety of this requeft fee the note on ver. 166 of the Monkes character.

. 14816. thou Sire John] I know not how it has happened that in the principal modern languages John (or its equivalent) is a name of contempt, or at leaft of flight. So the Italians use Gianni, from whence Zani, the Spaniards Juan, as Bobo Juan, a foolish John, the French Jean, with various additions, and in English when we call a man a John we do not mean it as a title of honour. Chaucer, in ver. 3708, ufes Jacke Fool as the Spaniards do Bolo Juan, and I fuppofe Jack Afs has the fame etymology. The title of Sire was usually given, by courtesy, to pricfts both fecular and regular.

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