“'T is so they name it,” answered Jocelyn.
“Bones o' me!” growled Will, “I do begin to love this Fool.”
“And didst pronounce thyself our brother, Fool?” questioned Gurth.
“Aye, verily!”
“Then brethren let us be henceforth, and comrades to boot!” cried Rick. “Jolly Clerks o' Saint Nicholas to share and share alike—ha? So then 't is accorded. And now what o' yon lily-livered imp? 'T is a sickly youth and I love him not. But he hath a cloak, look'ee—a cloak forsooth and poor Rick's a-cold! Ho, lad—throw me thy cloak!”
“Beshrew me!” roared Gurth. “But he beareth belt and wallet! Ha, boy, give thy wallet and girdle—bestow!”
“And by sweet Saint Nick,” growled Will, “the dainty youngling disporteth himself to mine eyes in a gold finger-ring! Aha, boy! Give now thy trinket unto an honest tanner.”
Hereupon and with one accord up started the three, fierce-eyed; but Jocelyn, laughing, rose up also.
“Back, corpses!” quoth he, swinging the heavy fetters to and fro between shackled wrists. “Stand, good Masters Dry-bones; of what avail cloak, or wallet, or ring to ye that are dead men? Now, since corpses ye are insomuch as concerneth this world, be ye reasonable and kindly corpses. Sit ye then, Masters Dust-and-Ashes, and I will incontinent sing ye, chant or intone ye a little song of organs and graves and the gallows-tree whereon we must dance anon; as, hearken:
“Sing a song of corpses three
That ere long shall dancing be,
On the merry gallows-tree—
High and low,
To and fro,
Leaping, skipping,
Turning, tripping,
Wriggling, whirling,
Twisting, twirling:
Sing hey for the gallows-tree.”