A poor Parish Priest was there also.  He was too occupied in holy works, in teaching and diligently tending the sick to have time to hunt for high positions in London.  To him, all that mattered was that his parishioners should know the true Gospel, and never, for rain, thunder, sickness, nor danger did he to visit his people, scattered as they were over the wide country-side.  Often he gave them of his own poor substance, for he was the true shepherd who gives all for his sheep.  A better priest, I warrant, could nowhere be found.  He taught Christ’s lore, but first he followed it himself that his followers might find an example in him, and learn by his practices, as well as by his words.

This Priest had brought his brother, a strong good-hearted Ploughman.  He too was a true Christian.  Many a time had he dug and threshed for a poor widow to help her pay her rent, and would take no reward for it.  He wore a loose tabard, and rode on a mare.

The workers from the town included a Weaver, a Carpenter, a Haberdasher, a Dyer, and an Upholsterer.  All prosperous men they were, as indeed you could tell from the silver trappings on their pouches and knives, and fit to be aldermen of their boroughs.  Their wives would have liked it, I know!  These men had brought their Cook with them.

Some of the pilgrims had come from far afield.  The Pardoner’s home was in Roncivale, while the Shipman hailed from Dartmouth.  There lay his little barque, “The Magdalene.”  His dagger hung on his lanyard and he rode unsteadily, in sailor fashion, on a nag.

From Bath we had a buxom Wife—­a champion cloth-weaver.  I daresay her Sunday head-dress weighed ten pounds.  Even her riding-hat was as broad as a shield.  Her stockings were scarlet.  Her shoes were cut in the latest fashion and had sharp spurs attached.  She had travelled far, even to Jerusalem, and gossipped amusingly of herself and her numerous adventures.

The Reeve of the company came from Baldeswelle in Norfolk.

A Miller, a Steward, a Doctor, a solemn Merchant, a Franklin and myself completed the company The Doctor was one of the best of his profession.  He knew exactly when to make his images of wax, and under what moon he should gather his herbs.  He was very learned; I could not tell you of all the authors he had read.  He was rich too, for the Black Death had brought him no little gain.

Now let me tell what happened at the inn.

At supper we made a merry party, for the wine was strong, and Harry Bailey, our host, a jovial soul.  Seeing us in good humour, he addressed us thus “My friends, you are welcome here.  Tomorrow you depart; but surely it will be very dull if you ride silent and morose.  I have a plan to keep you merry all the way.  What say you, shall I tell it?” We held up our hands at once to vote that he should tell on.  “This is my plan, then.  As you journey to Canterbury every one of you shall tell