GILL: Father—now don't get in a huff—
But don't you think they've groaned enough?
MYSELF: My Gillian—no! Leave well alone;
This is the place for them to groan.
Lamentably they did together moan,
And uttered each full many a hollow groan.
My daughter GILLIAN interposeth:
GILL: But, father, groans are so distressing,
And groans in verse are most depressing—
MYSELF:
Then peace, child, and in common prose
I'll let the poor rogues vent their woes:
... they groaned and they sighed lamentably—
My daughter GILLIAN interrupteth:
GILL: What, father, are they groaning still?
MYSELF:
Of course they are, and so they will,
And so shall I; so, girl, take heed,
And cease their groaning to impede.
Is it agreed?
GILL: Oh, yes, indeed!
MYSELF: Then with our Geste I will proceed.
... they groaned and sighed lamentably.
“Alack!” cried Gurth, “I had not greatly minded till now, but this vile-tongued Fool hath stirred Fear to wakefulness within me. Here's me, scarce thirty turned, hale and hearty, yet must die woefully and with a maid as do love me grievously!”
“And me!” groaned Rick. “No more than twenty and five, I—a very lad—and with two maids as do languish for me fain and fond!”
“Ha, and what o' me?” mourned dismal, redheaded Will. “A lusty, proper fellow I be and wi' maids a score as do sigh continual. And me to die—O woe! And I a tanner!”
“Content ye, brothers!” said Jocelyn. “Look now, here's Gurth hath lived but thirty years, and now must die—good: so shall he die weighted with less of sin than had he lived thirty more. Be ye comforted in this, distressful rogues, the shorter our life the less we sin, the which is a fair, good thing. As for these shackles, though our bodies be 'prisoned our souls go free, thus, while we languish here, our souls astride a sunbeam may mount aloft, 'bove all pains and tribulations soever. Thus if we must dance together in noose, our souls, I say, escaping these fleshy bonds, shall wing away to freedom everlasting. Bethink ye of this, grievous knaves, and take heart. Regarding the which same truths I will, for thy greater comforting, incontinent make ye a song—hearken!
“Let Folly sing a song to cheer
All poor rogues that languish here,
Doomed in dismal dungeon drear,
Doomed in dungeon dim.
“Though flesh full soon beneath the sod
Doth perish and decay,
Though cherished body is but clod,
Yet in his soul man is a God,
To do and live alway.
So hence with gloom and banish fear,
Come Mirth and Jollity,
Since, though we pine in dungeon drear,
Though these, our bodies, languish here,
We in our minds go free.”
Thus cheerily sang Jocelyn until, chancing to see how the youth leaned forward great-eyed, watching as he sung, he broke off to question him blithely: