‘Nay, olde cherl, by god, thou shall nat so,’ 750
Seyde this other hasardour anon;
‘Thou partest nat so lightly, by seint Iohn!
Thou spak right now of thilke traitour Deeth,
That in this contree alle our frendes sleeth.
Have heer my trouthe, as thou art his aspye, 755
Tel wher he is, or thou shalt it abye,
By god, and by the holy sacrament!
For soothly thou art oon of his assent, (430)
To sleen us yonge folk, thou false theef!’
‘Now, sirs,’ quod he, ‘if that yow be so leef 760
To finde Deeth, turne up this croked wey,
For in that grove I lafte him, by my fey,
Under a tree, and ther he wol abyde;
Nat for your boost he wol him no-thing hyde.
See ye that ook? right ther ye shul him finde. 765
God save yow, that boghte agayn mankinde,
And yow amende!’—thus seyde this olde man.
And everich of thise ryotoures ran, (440)
Til he cam to that tree, and ther they founde
Of florins fyne of golde y-coyned rounde 770
Wel ny an eighte busshels, as hem thoughte.
No lenger thanne after Deeth they soughte,
But ech of hem so glad was of that sighte,
For that the florins been so faire and brighte,
That doun they sette hem by this precious hord. 775
The worste of hem he spake the firste word.