But, Sirs, one word forgot I in my tale; I have relícs and pardon in my mail, As fair as any man in Engleland, Which were me given by the Popë’s hand. If any of you will of devotión Offer, and have mine absolutión, Come forth anon, and kneelë here adown, And meekëly receivë my pardoún. Or ellës takë pardon, as ye wend, 3667 All new and fresh at every townë’s end, So that ye offer, always new and new, Nobles or pence which that be good and true. ’Tis an honoúr to evereach that is here, That ye have a suffisant pardonére T’ assoilë 3668 you in country as ye ride, For áventúrës which that may betide. Paráventure there may fall one or two Down of his horse, and break his neck in two. Look, what a surety is it to you all, That I am in your fellowship y-fall, That may assoil you bothë more and lass,