GILL: Well, I merely intended to say it was ripping; But, if you object to my praises--
MYSELF: I only object to your phrases, For there"s no author but will own He "liveth not by bread alone."
As for myself, if what I write Doth please--then praise with all your might.
GILL: Well, then, the Witch is splendid, though I"m very curious to know Just how her face all fiery grew, And what the stuff was that she threw-- The stuff that made the soldiers sneeze And brought them choking to their knees It sounds as though it might be snuff.
MYSELF: My dear, they"d not found out such stuff.
But grisly witches long ago Did many strange devices know.
Indeed, my Gill, they knew much more Than wise folk gave them credit for.
GILL: Well, what was it? You haven"t said.
MYSELF: I"ll get on with our Geste instead.
FYTTE 7
That telleth to the patient reader nought, Save how the Duke was to the wild-wood brought.
With sleepy eyes Duke Jocelyn watched afar, In deep, blue void a solitary star, That, like some bright and wakeful eye, did seem To watch him where he lay "twixt sleep and dream.
And, as he viewed it winking high above, He needs must think of Yolande and his love, And how, while he this twinkling star did view, She, wakeful lying, might behold it too, Whereas she lay a spotless maid and fair, Clothed in the red-gold glory of her hair; And, thinking thus, needs must he fondly sigh, Then frowned to hear a l.u.s.ty snore hard by--
--and looking whence came this sound, the Duke sat up and his wonder grew; for by light of a fire that glowed in a blackened fissure of rock he beheld himself couched on a bed of bracken within a roomy cave. Beside the fire leaned a mighty, iron-shod club, and beyond this, curled up like a dog, snored Lobkyn Lollo, the Dwarf. Hereupon Jocelyn reached out and shook Lob to wakefulness, who grunted sleepily, rubbed his eyes drowsily and yawned mightily:
Quoth JOCELYN: Good Dwarf, where am I?
Answered LOBKYN: Safe, Fool, safe art thou, I trow, Where none but Lob and friends do know.
JOCELYN: But how am I hither?
LOBKYN: Why, truly thou art hither, Fool, Because thou art not thither, Fool!
In these two arms, thy life to save, I bore thee to this goodly cave.
JOCELYN: How may one of thy inches bear man of mine so far?
LOBKYN: Why, Fool, though I of inches lack, I"m mighty strong, both arm and back, Thou that art longer man than me, Yet I am stronger man than thee, Though, l.u.s.ty Fool, big fool you be, I"d bear thee, Fool, if thou wert three.
And mark, Fool, if my grammar seemeth weak, Pray license it since I in verse must speak.
JOCELYN: And pray why must thou speak in verse?
LOBKYN: Nature hath on me laid this curse, And, though to speak plain prose I yearn, My prose to verse doth ever turn.
Therefore I grieve, as well I might, Because of my poetic plight-- Though bards and rhymers all I scorn, Alack! I was a rhymer born.
JOCELYN: Alack! poor Dwarf, as thou must versify, By way of courtesy, then, so will I.
LOBKYN: How, Fool, then canst thou rhyme?
JOCELYN: Aye, Dwarf, at any time!
In dark, in light, By day, by night, Standing, sitting, As be fitting, Verses witty, Quaint or pretty, Incontinent I"ll find.
Verses glad, Dwarf, Verses sad, Dwarf, Every sort, Lob, Long or short, Lob Or verses ill, Yet verses still Which might be worse, I can rehea.r.s.e When I"m for verse inclined.
So, Lob, first speak me what became Of our old Witch, that potent dame.
LOBKYN: Why, Fool, in faith she wrought so well With direful curse and blasting spell That every howling soldier-knave, Every rogue and base-born slave That by chance I did not slay, From my grand-dam ran away.
JOCELYN: A n.o.ble Witch! Now, Lobkyn, tell What hap"d when in the fight I fell, And how alive I chance to be.
LOBKYN: Fool, I was there to succour thee.
I smote those pike-men hip and thigh, That they did mangled pike-men lie; Their arms, their legs, their skulls I broke, Two, three, and four at every stroke.
I drave them here, I smote them there, I smote, I slew, I none did spare, I laughed, I sang, I--
"Ha, Lob!" growled a sleepy voice. "Now, as I"m a tanner, here"s a-many I"s! By Saint Crispin, meseemeth thou"rt all I"s--for as thou fought I fought, or thought I fought, forsooth!"
LOBKYN: True, Will, did"st fight in goodly manner, Though fightedst, Will, like any tanner; But I did fight, or I"m forsworn, Like one unto the manner born.
I fought, forsooth, with such good will, "Tis marvel I"m not fighting still.
And so I should be, by my fay, An I had any left to slay; But since I slew them all--
"Hold there!" cried the Tanner. "I slew one or two, Lob, and Robin likewise. Thou"rt a l.u.s.ty fighter, but what o" me and Robin--ha, what o"
we?"
LOBKYN: In faith, ye"re proper men and tall, And I"m squat man, my stature small, Nath"less, though small and squat I be, I am the best man of the three.
"Why, as to that," quoth the Tanner, ""tis but you says so! As to me I think what I will, and I do think--"
But here Lobkyn started up and seized the great club; quoth he:
"Hark and mark, Heard ye nought there i" the dark?"
"Not I!" answered Will.
"Methought I heard an owl hoot," said Jocelyn.
"Aye," nodded Lobkyn:
"Aye, Fool, and yet this owl I "ll swear, Hath ne"er a feather anywhere.
This owl hath ne"er a wing to fly, But goes afoot like thou and I.
Now mark, And hark!"
Hereupon the Dwarf laid finger to lip and uttered an owl-cry so dismal, so tremulous and withal so true to nature that it was wonder to hear.
Instantly, from the dimness beyond the cavern-mouth, the cry was repeated, and presently was heard a panting and "plaining, a snuffling and a shuffling, and into the light of the fire hobbled the old Witch. Beholding Jocelyn sitting cross-legged on his couch of fern, she paused and, leaning on her crooked stick, viewed him with her wise, old eyes.
"Aha, Motley!" she croaked. "Oho, thou flaunting jackanapes, didst peril thy foolish flesh for me that am poor and old and feeble, and cursed by all for witchcraft! So have I with my potions ministered to thee in thy sickness, and behold thou"rt alive, hale and strong again. Give me thy hand! Aha, here"s cool, unfevered blood! Show me thy tongue. Oho! Aha! A little sup o" my black decoction--roots gathered at full o" moon--a little sup and shall be thyself by to-morrow"s dawn. But--as for thee, thou good-for-naught, thou wicked elf--aha! would"st dare leave thy poor old grannam weak and "fenceless? Give me thy rogue-ear!" Obediently, the mighty Dwarf arose and sighfully suffered the old woman to grasp him by the ear and to tweak and wring and twist it as she would.
"What dost thou here i" the wild-wood, thou imp, thou poppet o" plagues, thou naughty wap-de-staldees?"