FYTTE 2
How Pertinax mine host's large ears did wring, And Jocelyn of these same ears did sing.
Now the town was full, and every inn a-throng with company--lords, bothgreat and small, knights and esquires and their several followings, asarchers, men-at-arms, and the like, all thither come from far and nearto joust at the great tournament soon to be, to honour the birthday ofBenedicta, Duchess of Tissingors, Ambremont, and divers other fair cities,towns and villages. Thus our travellers sought lodgment in vain, whereatSir Pertinax cursed beneath his breath, and Duke Jocelyn hummed, as waseach his wont and custom; and ever the grim Knight's anger grew.
Until, at last, an humble inn they saw-- A sorry place, with bush above the door. This evil place they straightway entered in, Where riot reigned, the wild, unlovely din Of archers, men-at-arms, and rogues yet worse, Who drank and sang, whiles some did fight and curse. An evil place indeed, a lawless crew, And landlord, like his inn, looked evil too: Small was his nose, small were his pig-like eyes, But ears had he of most prodigious size, A brawny rogue, thick-jowled and beetle-browed, Who, spying out our strangers 'mid the crowd,
Beholding them in humble, mean array, With gestures fierce did order them away. "Nay," quoth Sir Pertinax, "here will we bide, Here will we eat and drink and sleep beside. Go, bring us beef, dost hear? And therewith mead, And, when we've ate, good beds and clean we 'll need." "Ho!" cried the host. "Naught unto ye I'll bring Until yon Fool shall caper first and sing!" Said Jocelyn: "I'll sing when I have fed!" "And then," quoth Pertinax, "we will to bed!" "And wilt thou so?" the surly host replied; "No beds for likes o' ye do I provide. An' ye will sleep, knave, to the stable go, The straw is good enough for ye, I trow."
"Ha!" roared Sir Pertinax. "A stable? Straw? This to me, thou filthy clapper-claw, Thou fly-blown cod's-head, thou pestiferous thing!" And, roaring, on the brawny host did spring;
By his large ears Sir Pertinax did take him, And to and fro, and up and down, did shake him; He shook him quick and slow, from side to side, While loud for aid the shaken landlord cried. Whereat the vicious crowd, in sudden wrath, Shouted and cursed and plucked their daggers forth. But, ere to harm our bold Knight they were able, Duke Joc'lyn lightly sprang on massy table; Cock's-comb a-flaunt and silver bells a-ring, He laughing stood and gaily plucked lute-string, And cut an antic with such merry grace That angry shouts to laughter loud gave place.
Thereafter he sang as followeth:
"Bold bawcocks, brave, bibulous, babbling boys, Tall tosspots, come, temper this tumult and noise; So shall I sing sweetly such songs as shall sure Constrain carking care and contumacy cure. Thus, therefore--"
But here the surly landlord raised much clamour and outcry, whiles hetouched and caressed his great ears with rare gentleness.
"Oho, my yeres!" roared he. "My yeres do be in woeful estate. Oho, what o'yon fierce-fingered rogue, good fellows, what o' yon knave--'a did twist myyeres plaguily and wring 'em roguishly, 'a did! Shall 'a not be beaten anddrubbed out into the kennel, ha? What o' poor Nykins' yeres, says I--myyeres, oho!"
"Thine ears, unsavoury scullion," laughed Jocelyn; "thine ears, forsooth?Hark ye, of thy so great, so fair, so fine ears I'll incontinent make asong. List ye, one and all, so shall all here now hear my song of ears!"Forthwith Duke Jocelyn struck his lute and sang:
"Thine ears, in sooth, are long ears, Stout ears, in truth, and strong ears, Full ears, I trow, and fair ears, Round ears also and rare ears. So here's an ear that all eyes here Shall see no beauty in, 'tis clear. For these o' thine be such ears, Large, loose, and over-much ears, Ears that do make fingers itch, Ears to twist and ears to twitch.
If thine ears had gone unseen, Pulled forsooth they had not been; Yet, since pulled indeed they were, Thine ears plain the blame must bear. So of thine ears no more complain, Lest that thine ears be pulled again. So hide thine ears as best ye may, Of which same ears, to end, I say Thine ears indeed be like my song, Of none account, yet over long!"
Now hereupon was huge laughter and merriment, insomuch that thethick-jowled landlord betook himself otherwhere, and all men thronged uponour jester, vociferous for more.
"Aye, but, bold tosspots," laughed Jocelyn, "how now, sit ye without winein very truth?"
"Not so, good Fool," they cried. "Here be wine a-plenty for us and forthee!"
"Go to, tall topers," quoth the Duke, "ye are witless, in faith, for thereis no man here but is without wine, as in song will I shew--mark now:
"'Tis plain that ye are wine without, Since wine's within ye, topers stout. Without your wine, ye whineful show, Thus wine-full, wine without ye go. Being then without your wine, 'tis true, Wine-less, ye still are wine-full too. But, mark! As thus ye wine-full sit, Since wine's within, out goeth wit. Thus, truth to tell, tall topers stout, Both wine and wit ye go without!"
By such tricks of rhyme, jugglery of words, and the like, Duke Jocelyn wonthis fierce company to great good humour and delight; insomuch that diversof these roysterers pressed wine upon him and money galore. But, the hourgrowing late, he contrived at last to steal away with Sir Pertinax, whichlast, having fed copiously, now yawned consumedly, eager for bed. Howbeit,despite the Knight's fierce threats, they found no bed was to be had inall the inn, and so, perforce, betook them at last to the stable.
There, while our Knight cursed softly, though full deep, Soon in the straw our Duke fell fast asleep.
My daughter GILLIAN propoundeth:
GILL: O, father, dear, I greatly fear You 'll never be a poet! MYSELF: Don't be too hard upon the bard, I know it, girl, I know it! These last two lines, I quite agree, Might easily much better be. Though, on the whole, I think my verse, When all is said, might be much worse. GILL: Worse, father? Yes, perhaps you're right, Upon the whole--perhaps, it might. MYSELF: But hark now, miss! Attend to this! Poetic flights I do not fly; When I begin, like poor Lobkyn, I merely rhyme and versify. Since my shortcomings I avow, The story now, you must allow, Trips lightly and in happy vein? GILL: O, yes, father, though it is rather Like some parts of your "Beltane." MYSELF: How, child! Dare you accuse your sire Of plagiary--that sin most dire? And if I do, small blame there lies; It is myself I plagiarise.
GILL: Why, yes, of course! And, as you know. I always loved your "Beltane" so.
MYSELF: But don't you like the "geste" I'm writing?
GILL: Of course! It's getting most exciting, In spite of all the rhymes and stuff--
MYSELF: Stuff? Enough! My daughter, you're so sweetly frank. Henceforth my verses shall be blank. No other rhyme I'll rhyme for you Till you politely beg me to. Now then, your blank-verse doom you know, Hey, presto, and away we go!