“We will stop whenever you like,” cried the Korils.
“Will you promise that?” said Benead, who was not unwilling to try a round with them, as much for the novelty of the thing as that he might have it to talk about.
“We will promise thee,” said the dwarfs.
“By the Saviour’s cross?”
“By the Saviour’s cross.”
The hunchback, satisfied that such an oath secured him from all dangers, took his place in their chain; and the Korils began their round, singing their accustomed song:
“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday;
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.”[1]
In a few minutes Guilcher stopped.
“With all due deference to you, good gentlefolks,” said he to the dwarfs, “your song and dance seem to me very monotonous. You stop too early in the week; and without having much claim to be a skilful stringer of rhymes, I fancy I can lengthen the chorus.”