200 205 210 Of God, that sholde live so mery as I!" Putte in his thought that he shold poyson beye, And preyed him, that he him wolde selle The pothecarie answerde, "And thou shalt have A thing that, al-so God my soule save, 215 In al this world ther nis no creature, That ete or dronke hath of this confiture Noght but the mountance of a corn of whete, as I!" By and by the fiend, our enemy, put it into his in the town, and asked for some poison with which he might Ye, sterve he shal, and that in lasse whyle This cursed man hath in his hond y-hent What nedeth it to sermone of it more? 220 225 230 235 And whan that this was doon, thus spak that oon, "Now lat us sitte and drinke, and make us merie, And with that word it happed him, par cas, 240 he will die in less time than thou canst travel a mile at a foot-pace, the poison is so strong and violent." The cursed man took the box of poison, and ran to a man in the next street, and borrowed three large bottles from him; in two he poured his poison, the third he kept clean for his own use. He planned to spend the whole night in carrying the gold out of the place. Now when this rioter (the villain!) had filled his three large bottles with wine, he again repaire to his comrades. What's the use of preaching any more? For just as they' planned, they slew him right away. When this was done, one said: "Now let us sit down and drink and make merry, and then we will bury his body." With that word he happened by chance to take up the bottle containing poison, 245 5 And drank, and yaf his felawe drinke also, Wroot never in no canon, ne in no fen, Than hadde thise wrecches two, er hir ending. And eek the false empoysoner also. Chaucers Wordes unto Adam, His Owne Scriveyn Adam scriveyn, if ever it thee bifalle Boece or Troilus to wryten newe, Under thy lokkes thou most have the scalle, But after my making thou wryte trewe. So ofte a daye I mot thy werk renewe, Hit to correcte and eek to rubbe and scrape; and drank, and gave it to his companion to drink, as a result But certainly I suppose that Avicenna never wrote in any book or in any chapter more notable symptoms of poisoning than these wretches had before their ending. Thus died these two murderers, and also the false poisoner. Adam my scribe, if it befall thee to copy again Boethius or Troilus, under thy locks thou oughtest to have the scab, unless thou copy accurately according to my composition. So often I have to go over thy work, to correct and rub and scratch it; and all is through thy negligence and haste. ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POPULAR BALLADS The king sits in Dumferling toune, To sail this schip of mine?" |