“Old man,” he continued to Cæcilius in a low voice, and in Latin, “your curse has not worked on me yet.”
“My son,” answered the priest, “you are granted one day more for repentance.”
“Lucky for you as well as for me,” was the reply: and he continued his song:—
“Gurta, the witch, was out with the rest;
Though as lame as a gull, by his highness possessed,
She shouldered her crutch, and danced with the best.
“She stamped and she twirled in the shade of the yew,
Till her gossips and chums of the city danced too;
They never are slack when there’s mischief to do.
“She danced and she coaxed, but he was no fool;