Fain would I do you mirth, an 259 I wist how. And of a mirth I am right now bethought. To do you ease, 260 and it shall costë nought. Ye go to Canterbury; God you speed, The blissful Martyr quitë you your meed; And well I wot, as ye go by the way, Ye shapen you 261 to talken and to play: For truëly comfórt nor mirth is none To ridë by the way as dumb as stone: And therefore would I makë you disport, As I said erst, and do you some comfórt. And if you liketh all 262 by one assent Now for to standen at my judgëment, And for to worken as I shall you say To-morrow, when ye riden on the way, Now by my father’s soulë that is dead,