Which of Duke Joc'lyn's woeful plight doth tell,
And all that chanced him pent in dungeon cell.
* * * * *
In gloomy dungeon, scant of air and light,
Duke Joc'lyn lay in sad and woeful plight;
His hands and feet with massy fetters bound,
That clashed, whene'er he moved, with dismal sound;
His back against the clammy wall did rest,
His heavy head was bowed upon his breast,
But, 'neath drawn brows, he watched with wary eye
Three ragged 'wights who, shackled, lay hard by,
Three brawny rogues who, scowling, fiercely eyed him,
And with lewd gibes and mocking gestures plied him.
But Joc'lyn, huddled thus against the wall,
Seemed verily to heed them none at all,
Wherefore a red-haired rogue who thought he slept
With full intent upon him furtive crept.
But, ere he knew, right suddenly he felt
Duke Joc'lyn's battered shoe beneath his belt;
And falling back with sudden strangled cry,
Flat on his back awhile did breathless lie,
Whereat to rage his comrades did begin,
And clashed their fetters with such doleful din
That from a corner dim a fourth man sprang,
And laughed and laughed, until their prison rang.
“Well kicked, Sir Fool! Forsooth, well done!” laughed he,
“Ne'er saw I, Fool, a fool the like o' thee!”
Now beholding this tall fellow, Jocelyn knew him
for that same forest-rogue had wrestled with him
in the green, and sung for his life the “Song of
Roguery.” Wherefore he smiled on the fellow and
the fellow on him:
Quoth JOCELYN: I grieve to see
A man like thee
In such a woeful plight--
Quoth the ROGUE: A Fool in fetters,
Like his betters,
Is yet a rarer sight.
“Ha i' the clout, good fellow, for Folly in fetters is Folly in need, and
Folly in need is Folly indeed! But, leaving folly awhile, who art thou and
what thy name?”
Saith the ROGUE: Robin I'm named, Sir Fool,
Rob by the few,
Which few are right, methinks, for
so I do.
“Then, Rob, if dost rob thou'rt a robber, and being robber thou'rt
perchance in bonds for robbing, Robin?”
“Aye, Fool, I, Rob, do rob and have robbed greater robbers that I might
by robbery live to rob like robbers again, as thou, by thy foolish folly,
fooleries make, befooling fools lesser than thou, that thou, Fool, by such
fool-like fooleries may live to fool like fools again!”
Quoth JOCELYN: Thou robber Rob,
By Hob and Gob,
Though robber-rogue, I swear
That 't is great pity
Rogue so pretty
Must dance upon thin air.
Quoth ROBIN: Since I must die
On gallows high
And wriggle in a noose,
I'll none repine
Nor weep nor whine,
For where would be the use?
Yet sad am I
That I must die
With rogues so base and small,
Sly coney-catchers,
Poor girdle-snatchers,
That do in kennel crawl.
“And yet,” said Jocelyn, “thou thyself art rogue and thief confessed. How
then art better than these thy fellows?”
“By degree, Sir Fool. Even as thou'rt Fool o' folly uncommon, so am I no
ordinary rogue, being rogue o' rare parts with power of rogues i' the wild
wood, while these be but puny rogues of no parts soever.”
“No rogues are we!” the three did loudly cry,
“But sad, poor souls, that perishing do lie!”
“In me,” quoth one, “behold a man of worth,
By trade a dyer and yclepen Gurth;
In all this world no man, howe'er he try,
Could live a life so innocent as I!”
The second spake: “I am the ploughman Rick,
That ne'er harmed man or woman, maid or chick!
But here in direful dungeon doomed be I,
Yet cannot tell the wherefore nor the why.”
Then spake Red-head, albeit gasping still:
“An honest tanner I, my name is Will;
'T was me thou kickedst, Fool, in such ill manner,
Of crimes unjust accused--and I, a tanner!”
Here Joc'lyn smiled. “Most saintly rogues,” said he;
“The Saints, methinks, were rogues compared with ye,
And one must needs in prison come who'd find
The noblest, worthiest, best of all mankind.
Poor, ill-used knaves, to lie in dungeon pent,
Rogues sin-less quite, and eke so innocent,
What though your looks another tale do tell,
Since I'm your fellow, fellows let us dwell,
For if ye're rogues that thus in bonds do lie,
So I'm a rogue since here in bonds am I,
Thus I, a rogue, do hail ye each a brother,
Like brethren, then, we 'll comfort one another.”
Thus spake Jocelyn, whereafter these “saintly rogues” all three grew
mightily peevish and, withal, gloomy, while Robin laughed and laughed at
them, nodding head and wagging finger.
“Prithee, good Motley,” he questioned, “what should bring so rare a Fool
to lie in dungeon fettered and gyved along of innocent rogues and roguish
robber?”
Whereto Duke Jocelyn answered on this wise:
“Hast heard, belike, of Gui the Red?”
(Here went there up a howl)
“A mighty lord of whom't is said,
That few do love and many dread.”
(Here went there up a growl)
“This potent lord I chanced to view,
Behaving as no lord should do,
And thereupon, this lord I threw
In pretty, plashing pool!
“Whereon this dreadful lord did get
Exceeding wroth and very wet;
Wherefore in dungeon here I'm set,
For fierce and froward Fool.”
Here went there up a shout of glee.
Cried Robin: “O sweet Fool,
I would I had been there to see
This haughty lord of high degree
In pretty, plashing pool.”
Here shout of glee became a roar,
That made the dungeon ring;
They laughed, they rolled upon the floor,
Till suddenly the massy door
On creaking hinge did swing;
And to them the head jailer now appeared,
A sombre man who sighed through tangled beard.
“How now, rogue-lads,” said he, “grow ye merry in sooth by reason o' this
Fool! Aye me, all men do grow merry save only I, Ranulph, Chief Torturer,
Ranulph o' the Keys, o' the Gibbet, o' the City Axe--poor Ranulph the
Headsman. Good lack! I've cut off the head o' many a man merrier than I--
aye, that have I, and more's the pity! And now, ye that are to die so soon
can wax joyous along o' this motley Fool! Why, 't is a manifest good Fool,
and rare singer o' songs, 't is said, though malapert, with no respect for
his betters and over-quick at dagger-play. So 't is a Fool must die and
sing no more, and there's the pity on't for I do love a song, I--being a
companionable soul and jovial withal, aye, a very bawcock of a boy, I.
To-morrow Red Gui doth hale ye to his Castle o' the Rock, there to die all
five for his good pleasure, as is very fitting and proper, so be merry
whiles ye may. Meantime, behold here another rogue, a youngling imp. So is
five become six, and six may laugh louder than five, methinks, so laugh
your best.”
Then Ranulph o' the Keys sighed, closed the great door and went his way,
leaving the new captive to their mercies. Fair he was and slender, and of
a timid seeming, for now he crouched against the wall, his face hid 'neath
the hood of ragged mantle; wherefore the “saintly” three incontinent
scowled upon him, roared at him and made a horrid clashing with their
fetters:
“Ha, blood and bones!” cried Rick the Ploughman. “What murderous babe art
thou to go unshackled in presence o' thy betters?”
“Aye, forsooth,” growled Will the Tanner, “who 'rt thou to come hither
distressing the last hours o' we poor, perishing mortals? Discourse, lest I
bite the heart o' thee!”
“Pronounce, imp!” roared Gurth the Dyer, “lest I tear thy liver!”
“Sit ye, here beside me, youth,” said Jocelyn, “and presently thou shalt
know these tearers of livers and biters of hearts for lambs of innocence
and doves of gentleness--by their own confessions. For, remark now, gentle
boy, all we are prisoners and therefore guiltless of every offence--indeed,
where is the prisoner, but who, according to himself, is not more sinned
against than sinner, and where the convicted rogue but, with his tongue,
shall disprove all men's testimony? So here sit three guileless men,
spotless of soul and beyond all thought innocent of every sin soever.
Yonder is Rob, a robber, and here sit I, a Fool.”
“Ha!” cried Rick. “Yet murderous Fool art thou and apt to dagger-play!
Belike hast slain a man this day in way o' folly--ha?”
“Two!” answered Jocelyn, nodding. “These two had been more but that my
dagger brake.”
Here was silence awhile what time Jocelyn hummed the line of a song and his
companions eyed him with looks askance.
“Why then, good Folly,” said Rick at last, “'t is for a little spilling o'
blood art here, a little, pretty business o' murder--ha?”
“'T is so they name it,” answered Jocelyn.
“Bones o' me!” growled Will, “I do begin to love this Fool.”
“And didst pronounce thyself our brother, Fool?” questioned Gurth.
“Aye, verily!”
“Then brethren let us be henceforth, and comrades to boot!” cried Rick.
“Jolly Clerks o' Saint Nicholas to share and share alike--ha? So then 't is
accorded. And now what o' yon lily-livered imp? 'T is a sickly youth and
I love him not. But he hath a cloak, look'ee--a cloak forsooth and poor
Rick's a-cold! Ho, lad--throw me thy cloak!”
“Beshrew me!” roared Gurth. “But he beareth belt and wallet! Ha, boy, give
thy wallet and girdle--bestow!”
“And by sweet Saint Nick,” growled Will, “the dainty youngling disporteth
himself to mine eyes in a gold finger-ring! Aha, boy! Give now thy trinket
unto an honest tanner.”
Hereupon and with one accord up started the three, fierce-eyed; but
Jocelyn, laughing, rose up also.
“Back, corpses!” quoth he, swinging the heavy fetters to and fro between
shackled wrists. “Stand, good Masters Dry-bones; of what avail cloak, or
wallet, or ring to ye that are dead men? Now, since corpses ye are
insomuch as concerneth this world, be ye reasonable and kindly corpses.
Sit ye then, Masters Dust-and-Ashes, and I will incontinent sing ye, chant
or intone ye a little song of organs and graves and the gallows-tree
whereon we must dance anon; as, hearken:
“Sing a song of corpses three
That ere long shall dancing be,
On the merry gallows-tree--
High and low,
To and fro,
Leaping, skipping,
Turning, tripping,
Wriggling, whirling,
Twisting, twirling:
Sing hey for the gallows-tree.”
“Stint--stint thy beastly song now!” cried Will, pale of cheek. But Jocelyn
sang the louder:
“Sing a song of dying groans,
Sing a song of cries and moans,
Sing a song of dead men's bones,
That shall rest,
All unblest,
To rot and rot,
Remembered not,
For dogs to gnaw
And battle for,
Sing hey for the dead rogue's bones.”
“Abate--ha--abate thy fiendish rant!” cried Rick, glancing fearfully over
shoulder.
“Aye, Fool--beseech thee! Fair flesh may not abide it!” cried Gurth,
shivering, while Robin grinned no more and the fearful youth leaned
wide-eyed to behold the singer, this strange, scarred face beneath its
battered cock's-comb, these joyous eyes, these smiling lips as Jocelyn
continued:
“Now ends my song with ghosts forlorn,
Three gibbering ghosts that mope and mourn,
Then shrieking, flee at breath of dawn,
Where creatures fell
In torment dwell,
Blind things and foul,
That creep and howl,
That rend and bite
And claw and fight.
Where fires red-hot
Consume them not,
And they in anguish
Writhe and languish
And groan in pain
For night again.
Sing hey for pale ghosts forlorn.”
Now when the song was ended, the three looked dismally on one another and,
bethinking them of their cruel end, they groaned and sighed lamentably:
My daughter GILLIAN interposeth:
GILL: Father, I like that song, it's fine;
But let me ask about this line:
“Blind things and foul,
That creep and howl.”
Now tell me, please, if you don't mind,
Why were the little horrors blind?
MYSELF: The beastly things, as I surmise,
Had scratched out one another's eyes.
GILL:
I suppose this place where creatures fell
In torments dwell is meant for--
MYSELF:
Well,
I think, my Gill, the place you've guessed,
So let me get on with our Geste.
... they groaned and sighed lamentably--
My daughter GILLIAN interjecteth:
GILL: Father--now don't get in a huff--
But don't you think they've groaned enough?
MYSELF: My Gillian--no! Leave well alone;
This is the place for them to groan.
Lamentably they did together moan,
And uttered each full many a hollow groan.
My daughter GILLIAN interposeth:
GILL: But, father, groans are so distressing,
And groans in verse are most depressing--
MYSELF:
Then peace, child, and in common prose
I'll let the poor rogues vent their woes:
... they groaned and they sighed lamentably--
My daughter GILLIAN interrupteth:
GILL: What, father, are they groaning still?
MYSELF:
Of course they are, and so they will,
And so shall I; so, girl, take heed,
And cease their groaning to impede.
Is it agreed?
GILL: Oh, yes, indeed!
MYSELF: Then with our Geste I will proceed.
... they groaned and sighed lamentably.
“Alack!” cried Gurth, “I had not greatly minded till now, but this
vile-tongued Fool hath stirred Fear to wakefulness within me. Here's me,
scarce thirty turned, hale and hearty, yet must die woefully and with a
maid as do love me grievously!”
“And me!” groaned Rick. “No more than twenty and five, I--a very lad--and
with two maids as do languish for me fain and fond!”
“Ha, and what o' me?” mourned dismal, redheaded Will. “A lusty, proper
fellow I be and wi' maids a score as do sigh continual. And me to die--O
woe! And I a tanner!”
“Content ye, brothers!” said Jocelyn. “Look now, here's Gurth hath lived
but thirty years, and now must die--good: so shall he die weighted with
less of sin than had he lived thirty more. Be ye comforted in this,
distressful rogues, the shorter our life the less we sin, the which is a
fair, good thing. As for these shackles, though our bodies be 'prisoned our
souls go free, thus, while we languish here, our souls astride a sunbeam
may mount aloft, 'bove all pains and tribulations soever. Thus if we must
dance together in noose, our souls, I say, escaping these fleshy bonds,
shall wing away to freedom everlasting. Bethink ye of this, grievous
knaves, and take heart. Regarding the which same truths I will, for thy
greater comforting, incontinent make ye a song--hearken!
“Let Folly sing a song to cheer
All poor rogues that languish here,
Doomed in dismal dungeon drear,
Doomed in dungeon dim.
“Though flesh full soon beneath the sod
Doth perish and decay,
Though cherished body is but clod,
Yet in his soul man is a God,
To do and live alway.
So hence with gloom and banish fear,
Come Mirth and Jollity,
Since, though we pine in dungeon drear,
Though these, our bodies, languish here,
We in our minds go free.”
Thus cheerily sang Jocelyn until, chancing to see how the youth leaned
forward great-eyed, watching as he sung, he broke off to question him
blithely:
“How now, good youth, hast a leaning to Folly e'en though Folly go
fettered, and thyself in dungeon?”
“Fool,” answered the youth, soft-voiced, “me-thinks 't is strange Folly can
sing thus in chains! Hast thou no fear of death?”
“Why truly I love it no more than my fellow-fools. But I, being fool
uncommon, am wise enough to know that Death, howsoe'er he come, may come
but once--and there's a comfortable thought!”
So saying, Jocelyn seated himself beside the youth and watched him
keen-eyed.
“And thou canst sing of Freedom, Fool, to the jangle of thy fetters?”
“Truly, youth, 't is but my baser part lieth shackled, thus while body
pineth here, soul walketh i' the kindly sun--aye, e'en now as I do gaze on
thee, I, in my thought, do stand in a fair garden--beside a lily-pool,
where she I love cometh shy-footed to meet me, tall and gracious and sweet,
as her flowers. A dream, belike, yet in this dream she looketh on me with
eyes of love and love is on her lips and in her heart--so is my dream very
precious.”
At this, the youth shrank beneath his cloak while in an adjacent corner the
three rolled dice with Robin and quarrelled hoarse and loud.
“Youth,” said Jocelyn, “I pray thee, tell me thy name.”
Without lifting head the youth answered:
“Hugo!”
“Look up, Hugo!” But Hugo bowed his head the lower.
“Hast wondrous hair, Hugo--red gold 'neath thy hood!”
Here came a slim, white hand to order the rebellious tress but, finding
none, trembled and hid itself. Then very suddenly Jocelyn leaned near and
caught this hand, clasping it fast yet with fingers very gentle, and spake
quick and eager:
“Hugo--alas, Hugo! What bringeth thee in this evil place? Art in danger?
Speak, speak!”
“Nay, here is no harm for me, Joconde. And I am hither come for sake of a
poor Fool that is braver than the bravest--one did jeopardise his foolish
life for sake of a maid, wherefore I, Hugo, do give him life. Take now this
wallet, within is good store of gold and better--a potent charm to close
all watchful eyes. Hist, Joconde, and mark me well! Ranulph o' the Axe is
a mighty drinker--to-night, drawn by fame of thy wit, he cometh with his
fellows. This money shall buy them wine, in the wine cast this powder so
shall they sleep and thou go free.”
“Aye!” said Jocelyn, “and then?”
“There will meet thee a dwarf shall free thee of thy fetters, and by secret
ways set thee without the city--then, tarry not, but flee for thy life--”
“Now by the Holy Rood!” quoth Jocelyn softly, “never in all this world was
there prisoner so happy as this poor Fool! But, Hugo, an I win free by
reason of a brave and noble lady, so long as she bide in Canalise, so long
must I--”
My daughter GILLIAN interposeth:
GILL: O, father, now I understand--
Of course, this Hugo is Yolande!
MYSELF: Exactly, miss, the fact is clear;
But how on earth did she get here?
I don't want her here--
GILL: Why not?
MYSELF: Because, being here, she spoils my plot,
Which would drive any author frantic--
GILL: I think it's fine, and most romantic.
Besides, you know, you wrote her there--