‘_Pard._ By the first part of this last tale, It seemeth you came of late from the ale: For reason on your side so far doth fail, That you leave reasoning, and begin to rail. Wherein you forget your own part clearly, For you be as untrue as I: But in one point you are beyond me, For you may lie by authority, And all that have wandered so far, That no man can be their controller. And where you esteem your labour so much, I say yet again, my pardons are such, That if there were a thousand souls on a heap, I would bring them all to heaven as good sheep, As you have brought yourself on pilgrimage, In the last quarter of your voyage, Which is far a this side heaven, by God: There your labour and pardon is odd. With small cost without any pain, These pardons bring them to heaven plain: Give me but a penny or two-pence, And as soon as the soul departeth hence, In half an hour, or three-quarters at the most, The soul is in heaven with the Holy Ghost.’ The Poticary does not approve of this arrogance of the Friar, and undertakes, in mood and figure, to prove them both ‘false knaves.’ It is he, he says, who sends most souls to heaven, and who ought, therefore, to have the credit of it. ‘No soul, ye know, entereth heaven-gate, ‘Till from the body he be separate: And whom have ye known die honestly, Without help of the Poticary? Nay, all that cometh to our handling, Except ye hap to come to hanging.... Since of our souls the multitude I send to heaven, when all is view’d Who should but I then altogether Have thank of all their coming thither?’ The Pardoner here interrupts him captiously— ‘If ye kill’d a thousand in an hour’s space, When come they to heaven, dying out of grace?’ But the Poticary not so baffled, retorts— ‘If a thousand pardons about your necks were tied; When come they to heaven, if they never died? · · · · · But when ye feel your conscience ready, I can send you to heaven very quickly.’ The Pedlar finds out the weak side of his new companions, and tells them very bluntly, on their referring their dispute to him, a piece of his mind. ‘Now have I found one mastery, That ye can do indifferently; And it is neither selling nor buying, But even only very lying.’