Forget our star!
Not while the memory of beauty pains
And Amor vincit omnia.
[The heralds blare their trumpets; the priests swing their censers; the choir-boys, slowly entering the Cathedral, chant their hymn to St. Thomas, in which all the pilgrims join. Just as Chaucer and the Prioress are about to enter, the curtain falls.]
Explicit pars quarta.
FINIS.
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