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"Par Dex!" he broke off, "here is a right good song for thee, trolled forth upon this balmy-breathing morn sweet as any merle; a song for thee and me to sing to our children one day, mayhap so come, rejoice, my rueful Rogerkin smile, for to-day I sing and Garthlaxton is ablaze." "And my master grieveth for a Fool!" growled sulky Roger, "and twenty and two good men slain."
Heroes were we all, last night nay, very Titans four 'gainst an army! whiles now, within this balmy-breathing morn you shall see Walkyn o' the Bloody Axe with grim Black Rogerkin, down at the brook yonder, a-sprawl upon their bellies busily a-tickling trout for breakfast, while I, whose good yew bow carrieth death in every twang, toasting deer-flesh on a twig, am mocked of wanton warblers i' the green: and thou, who art an Achilles, a Hector, an Ajax a very Mars do sleep and slumber, soft and sweet as full-fed friar Heigho!
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