Читать книгу The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe - Various - Страница 78

Four weeks they travel'd painfully,

They paid their vows, and then

To La Calzada's fatal town

Did they come back again.

The Mother would not be withheld,

But go she must to see

Where her poor Pierre was left to hang

Upon the gallows tree.

Oh tale most marvelous to hear,

Most marvelous to tell!

Eight weeks had he been hanging there,

And yet was alive and well!

"Mother," said he, "I am glad you're return'd,

It is time I should now be released:

Though I can not complain that I'm tired,

And my neck does not ache in the least.

"The Sun has not scorch'd me by day,

The Moon has not chilled me by night;

And the winds have but helped me to swing,

As if in a dream of delight.

"Go you to the Alcayde,

That hasty Judge unjust,

Tell him Santiago has saved me,

And take me down he must!"

Now, you must know the Alcayde,

Not thinking himself a great sinner,

Just then at table had sate down,

About to begin his dinner.

His knife was raised to carve

The dish before him then;

Two roasted fowls were laid therein,

That very morning they had been

A Cock and his faithful Hen.

In came the Mother, wild with joy:

"A miracle!" she cried;

But that most hasty Judge unjust

Repell'd her in his pride.

"Think not," quoth he, "to tales like this

That I should give belief!

Santiago never would bestow

His miracles, full well I know,

On a Frenchman and a thief."

And pointing to the Fowls, o'er which

He held his ready knife,

"As easily might I believe

These birds should come to life!"

The good Saint would not let him thus

The Mother's true tale withstand;

So up rose the Fowls in the dish,

And down dropt the knife from his hand.

The Cock would have crow'd if he could:

To cackle the Hen had a wish;

And they both slipt about in the gravy

Before they got out of the dish.

And when each would have open'd its eyes,

For the purpose of looking about them,

They saw they had no eyes to open,

And that there was no seeing without them.

All this was to them a great wonder,

They stagger'd and reel'd on the table;

And either to guess where they were,

Or what was their plight, or how they came there,

Alas! they were wholly unable:

Because, you must know, that that morning,

A thing which they thought very hard,

The Cook had cut off their heads,

And thrown them away in the yard.

The Hen would have pranked up her feathers,

But plucking had sadly deform'd her;

And for want of them she would have shiver'd with cold,

If the roasting she had had not warm'd her.

And the Cock felt exceedingly queer;

He thought it a very odd thing

That his head and his voice were he did not know where,

And his gizzard tuck'd under his wing.

The gizzard got into its place,

But how Santiago knows best:

And so, by the help of the Saint,

Did the liver and all the rest.

The heads saw their way to the bodies,

In they came from the yard without check,

And each took its own proper station,

To the very great joy of the neck.

And in flew the feathers, like snow in a shower,

For they all became white on the way;

And the Cock and the Hen in a trice were refledged,

And then who so happy as they!

Cluck! cluck! cried the Hen right merrily then,

The Cock his clarion blew,

Full glad was he to hear again

His own cock-a-doo-del-doo!