"Be easy, old fellow!" said Morten, in a soothing tone; "I myself drank of it on the stairs. Well! what said he to the change?"
"Not so much as yon stone flask, comrade! The hound would sooner let himself be spitted than speak a fair word to any man: perhaps, too, he thought it was poison I brought him,--but, death and pestilence!"--here he paused and spit again--"I can never believe"----
"Make thyself easy, Mads! thou knowest thou hast not tasted a drop; at any rate here is something to rince thy throat with, which I warrant thee is good and wholesome. I will sing thee a merry song the while; which will do the bishop good as well." While Morten again replenished his comrades' cups, he cleared his throat and sang:
"In Sjöborg tower a spider's web
Holds sure a struggling fly;
He once was king and country's dread,
And held his head full high.
Then strive and toil, and toil and strive,
That web thou'lt never leave alive."
"What song is that?" asked Niels the horseman; "I never heard it before."
"It was made to mock the bishop below," said Morten; "and I it was who made it. Now ye shall hear; for to plague him properly, and mock his useless learning, I have managed to cram a little Latin into it that I learned of Father Gregory:" and Morten continued,--