“’Tis a foul cruelty to kill or to wound a prisoner.”
“Thou lookest on me with a cruel eye; wouldst thou prevent me?” said he.
“Aye,” said she.
“Well, then,” said Lamme, “I will do him no hurt: let me only fetch him out from his cage. The skiff! where is the skiff?”
They climbed down into it speedily; Lamme made haste to row, weeping the while.
“Thou art sad, husband?” said Calleken to him.
“Nay,” said he, “I am glad: doubtless thou wilt never leave me again?”
“Never!” said she.
“Thou wast pure and faithful, thou sayest; but, sweet, my darling, beloved Calleken, I lived but to find thee, and lo, now, thanks to this monk, there will be poison in all our happiness, poison of jealousy ... as soon as I am sad or but only tired, I shall see thee naked, submitting thy lovely body to that infamous flagellation. The spring time of our loves was mine, but the summer was for him; the autumn will be gray, soon will come the winter to bury my faithful love.”
“Thou art weeping?” said she.