And he took the pudding from off his platter.
“My lord son,” said his mother, “now you shall give to me, who am old, some of this old wine you have kept for yourself.”
And she took the cup out of his hand.
“My lord brother,” said the younger son, “methinks you have too much of this roast of lamb with sweet chestnuts; I will take it, if you please.”
And he put the roast of lamb before his own place.
“My lord son,” said his mother, “you do not much like, it seems, this fair cheese and barley tart, give it to me, I pray you.”
And the Miserable, dumbfounded, gave it to her.
“My lord brother,” said the younger son, “you have been sitting there long enough like an emperor, will you be pleased to stir your limbs now and serve us?”
And the Miserable, getting up, served them as he was bidden.
“My lord son,” said his mother, “I see you now submissive to our orders, will you be pleased to ask my pardon for having so long kept me standing like a private servant, fetching you food and drink, though I am your mother?”