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Updated: May 4, 2025
No sooner was the mask off than Fra Alberto was incontinent recognized of all, who raised a general outcry against him, giving him the scurviest words and the soundest rating was ever given a canting knave; moreover, they cast in his face, one this kind of filth and another that, and so they baited him a great while, till the news came by chance to his brethren, whereupon half a dozen of them sallied forth and coming thither, unchained him and threw a gown over him; then, with a general hue and cry behind them, they carried him off to the convent, where it is believed he died in prison, after a wretched life.
I can still see even at my age the deer on Tom-a-chrochair, and read the scurviest letters my enemies send me, but my trouble is that I cannot understand the flageolet." "The flageolet, your Grace," said MacIver bewildered. "I thought you spoke of your eyesight." "And so I did.
Then he brightened, and broke forth into ribaldry like a nightingale. Finger in ears stuffed I. 'No words; naught but the bare melody. For oh, Margaret, note the sly malice of the Evil One! Still to the scurviest matter he wedded the tunablest ditties." Catherine. "That is true as Holy Writ." Sybrandt. "How know you that, mother?" Cornelis. "He! he! he!" Eli.
He came not often, but ever was he welcome, those nights the more glorious for his qualities of humour and generosity, his tales that stirred like the brassy cry of trumpets, his tolerance of the fool and his folly, his fatalist excuse for any sin except the scurviest. And there was the flageolet!
In summer, he's pinched for a living and cowers O'er the fire-pot in winter, for warmth and for light. The curs of the street dog his heels, as he goes, And the scurviest rascal may rail at the wight. If he lift up his voice to complain of his case, He finds not a soul who will pity his plight. Since such is the life and the lot of the poor, It were better he lay in the graveyard forthright!
My Joan says, ''Tis time to buy thee a shroud. 'I dare say, so 'tis, says I; but try and borrow one first. In comes my lady, this Margaret, which she died three years ago, by your way on't, opens the windows, makes 'em shift me where I lay, and cures me in the twinkling of a bedpost; but wi' what? there pinches the shoe; with the scurviest herb, and out of my own garden, too; with sweet feverfew.
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