Then I think, said our king, that it is venison.
Each fool, quoth Richard, full well may know that:
Never are we without two or three in the roof,
Very well fleshed, and excellent fat:
But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou go;
We would not, for two pence, the king should it know.
Doubt not, then said the king, my promised secrecy;
The king shall never know more on't for me.
A cup of lambs-wool[134] they drank unto him then,
And to their beds they passed presently.
The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,
For to seek out the king in every town.
At last, at the miller's cot, soon they espy'd him out,
As he was mounting upon his fair steed;
To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee;
Which made the miller's heart wofully bleed;
Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the Rood.
The king perceiving him fearfully trembling
Drew forth his sword, but nothing he said:
The miller down did fall, crying before them all,
Doubting the king would cut off his head.
But he, his kind courtesy for to requite,
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight.
PART THE SECOND.
And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am determined
Against St. George's next sumptuous feast,
That this old miller, our new confirmed knight,
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest:
For, in this merriment, 'tis my desire
To talk with the jolly knight, and the young squire.
When as the noble lords saw the king's pleasantness,
They were right joyful and glad in their hearts:
A pursuivant there was sent straight on the business,
The which had oftentimes been in those parts.
When he came to the place, where they did dwell,
His message orderly then 'gan he tell.
God save your worship, then said the messenger,
And grant your lady her own heart's desire;
And to your son Richard good fortune and happiness;
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.
Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say,
You must come to the court on St. George's day.
Therefore, in any case, fail not to be in place.
I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest:
What should we do there? faith, I am half afraid.
I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least.
Nay, quoth the messenger, you do mistake;
Our king he provides a great feast for your sake.