No Fear Literature: The Canterbury Tales: The Pardoner's Tale The Pardoner’s Tale Page 9

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Original Text	Modern Text
Whan they han goon nat fully half a myle, Right as they wolde han troden over a style, An old man and a povre with hem mette. This olde man ful mekely hem grette, And seyde thus, ‘now, lordes, God yow see!’	Whan they han goon nat fully half a myle, Right as they wolde han troden over a style, An old man and a povre with hem mette. This olde man ful mekely hem grette, And seyde thus, ‘now, lordes, God yow see!’
The proudest of thise ryotoures three Answerde agayn, ‘what? carl, with sory grace, Why artow al forwrapped save thy face? Why livestow so longe in so greet age?’	The proudest of thise ryotoures three Answerde agayn, ‘what? carl, with sory grace, Why artow al forwrapped save thy face? Why livestow so longe in so greet age?’
This olde man gan loke in his visage, And seyde thus, ‘for I ne can nat finde A man, though that I walked in-to Inde, Neither in citee nor in no village, That wolde chaunge his youthe for myn age; And therfore moot I han myn age stille, As longe time as it is Goddes wille.	This olde man gan loke in his visage, And seyde thus, ‘for I ne can nat finde A man, though that I walked in-to Inde, Neither in citee nor in no village, That wolde chaunge his youthe for myn age; And therfore moot I han myn age stille, As longe time as it is Goddes wille.
Ne deeth, allas! ne wol nat han my lyf; Thus walke I, lyk a restelees caityf, And on the ground, which is my modres gate, I knokke with my staf, bothe erly and late, And seye, “leve moder, leet me in! Lo, how I vanish, flesh, and blood, and skin! Allas! whan shul my bones been at reste? Moder, with yow wolde I chaunge my cheste, That in my chambre longe tyme hath be, Ye! for an heyre clout to wrappe me!” But yet to me she wol nat do that grace, For which ful pale and welked is my face.	Ne deeth, allas! ne wol nat han my lyf; Thus walke I, lyk a restelees caityf, And on the ground, which is my modres gate, I knokke with my staf, bothe erly and late, And seye, “leve moder, leet me in! Lo, how I vanish, flesh, and blood, and skin! Allas! whan shul my bones been at reste? Moder, with yow wolde I chaunge my cheste, That in my chambre longe tyme hath be, Ye! for an heyre clout to wrappe me!” But yet to me she wol nat do that grace, For which ful pale and welked is my face.

Original Text	Modern Text
Whan they han goon nat fully half a myle, Right as they wolde han troden over a style, An old man and a povre with hem mette. This olde man ful mekely hem grette, And seyde thus, ‘now, lordes, God yow see!’	Whan they han goon nat fully half a myle, Right as they wolde han troden over a style, An old man and a povre with hem mette. This olde man ful mekely hem grette, And seyde thus, ‘now, lordes, God yow see!’
The proudest of thise ryotoures three Answerde agayn, ‘what? carl, with sory grace, Why artow al forwrapped save thy face? Why livestow so longe in so greet age?’	The proudest of thise ryotoures three Answerde agayn, ‘what? carl, with sory grace, Why artow al forwrapped save thy face? Why livestow so longe in so greet age?’
This olde man gan loke in his visage, And seyde thus, ‘for I ne can nat finde A man, though that I walked in-to Inde, Neither in citee nor in no village, That wolde chaunge his youthe for myn age; And therfore moot I han myn age stille, As longe time as it is Goddes wille.	This olde man gan loke in his visage, And seyde thus, ‘for I ne can nat finde A man, though that I walked in-to Inde, Neither in citee nor in no village, That wolde chaunge his youthe for myn age; And therfore moot I han myn age stille, As longe time as it is Goddes wille.
Ne deeth, allas! ne wol nat han my lyf; Thus walke I, lyk a restelees caityf, And on the ground, which is my modres gate, I knokke with my staf, bothe erly and late, And seye, “leve moder, leet me in! Lo, how I vanish, flesh, and blood, and skin! Allas! whan shul my bones been at reste? Moder, with yow wolde I chaunge my cheste, That in my chambre longe tyme hath be, Ye! for an heyre clout to wrappe me!” But yet to me she wol nat do that grace, For which ful pale and welked is my face.	Ne deeth, allas! ne wol nat han my lyf; Thus walke I, lyk a restelees caityf, And on the ground, which is my modres gate, I knokke with my staf, bothe erly and late, And seye, “leve moder, leet me in! Lo, how I vanish, flesh, and blood, and skin! Allas! whan shul my bones been at reste? Moder, with yow wolde I chaunge my cheste, That in my chambre longe tyme hath be, Ye! for an heyre clout to wrappe me!” But yet to me she wol nat do that grace, For which ful pale and welked is my face.