University of Virginia Library

THE KING AND THE PEASANT.

A SICILIAN TALE.

There lived a man who, from his youth,
Was known to all as “Peasant Truth,”
Because 't was said he 'd sooner die
Than tell or hint the smallest lie.
Now, when it happened that the King
Had heard, at last, this wondrous thing,
He bade the peasant come and keep
The royal flock of goats and sheep
(To wit,—one goat, a little lamb
A fine bell-wether, and a ram).
And once a week he went to court
To see the King, and make report
How fared the flock, and truly tell
If each were doing ill or well;
Whereat the King was well content,
And home the happy peasant went.
At last, a wicked courtier—struck
With envy at his neighbor's luck—
Essayed to put him in disgrace,
And gain himself the peasant's place.
“Think you, good Sire, in very sooth,
He never lies,—this Peasant Truth?
He'll lie next Saturday,” he said,
“Or, for a forfeit, take my head!”
“So be it! and I'll lose my own,”
The King replied, “if it be shown,
With all the arts that you may try,
That Peasant Truth can tell a lie!”
And now the wicked courtier fain
Some trick would try his end to gain.
But still he failed to find a plan
To catch at fault the honest man,
Until at last, in sheer despair,
He told his wife (a lady fair
As one in all the world could find,
And cunning, like all womankind)
About the wager he had made,
And all the case before her laid.
“And is that all?” the woman said,
Tossing in scorn her handsome head;
“Leave all to me, and never doubt
That what you wish I'll bring about!”
Next day the crafty dame was seen,
Appareled like a very queen,
And on her brow a diamond star,
That like a meteor blazed afar,
Approaching where the peasant stood
Among his flock. “Now, by the Rood!”
He cried, amazed, “but she is fair
And beautiful beyond compare!”
Then, bowing to the earth, quoth he,
“What may your Highness want with me?
Whate'er you ask, I swear to grant!”
“Ah!” sighed the lady, “much I want
Some roasted wether, else shall I
(Such is my longing!) surely die!”
“Alas!” he said, “just this one thing
I cannot do. I serve the King,
Who owns the wether that you see,
And if I kill him, woe is me!”
Alack the day for Peasant Truth!
His tender soul was moved to ruth;
For, weeping much, and saying still
That she should die, she had her will,
And of roast wether took her fill!
“Ah!” sighed the man when she was gone,
“Alas! the deed that I have done!
To kill the sheep! What shall I say
When I am asked, next Saturday,
‘How fares the wether?’ I will tell
His Majesty the sheep is well.
No, that won't do! I'll even say
A thief has stolen him away.
No, that won't answer. I will feign
Some prowling wolf the sheep has slain.
No, that won't do! Ah! how can I
Look in his face and tell a lie?”
Now when the peasant came to court
On Saturday, to make report,
As was his wont, the King began
His questioning; and thus it ran:
“How is my goat? I prithee tell!”
“The goat, your Majesty, is well!”
“And how 's my ram?” “Good Sire, the ram
Is well and frisky.” “How 's my lamb?”
“He 's well and beautiful, in sooth.”
“And how 's my wether, Peasant Truth?”
Whereat he answered, “O my King,
I hate a lie like—anything.
When on the mountain-side afar
I saw the lady with the star,
My soul was dazzled with her beauty,
And I forgot my loyal duty,
And when she asked for wether's meat,
I killed the sheep, that she might eat.”
“Good!” said the King, “my wager 's won!
This grievous wrong that you have done,
My truthful peasant, I forgive;
In health and wealth long may you live!
While this, your enemy, instead,
Shall justly lose his foolish head.”