The latter tightened his cloak
about him, and withdrew some three or four paces from his companion.
"Nuncle," said the jester--for such was in fact his vocation--"I wonder
for what property master keeps a fool?--I bethink me 'tis for his wit:
more wit and less honesty, though." The palmer was silent.
"Art going to the hall?" continued he. "The fool is whipt there for
being honest. Have a care, nuncle; if Sir Osmund catch thee, thou hadst
as good bequeath thy bones to the Pope to make into saint's gear.--I'm
very sad, nuncle!"
"Sad!" said the pilgrim; "in good troth, an' thou be sad, the cock of
the hall yonder is but in sorry plight."
"'Tis more wholesome to cry to-day," said the dolorous knave, "knowing
ye shall laugh to-morrow, than to laugh to-day, and to-morrow's dool
somehow making your mirth asthmatic:
"Be merry to-morrow; to-day, to-day,
Your belly-full fill of grief;
When sorrow hath supp'd, go play, go play,
For mirth I wot is brief.
"Ay, grandam, ye are wise; and an old woman's wit best becomes a fool:
"When sorrow hath supp'd, go play, go play,
For mirth I wot is brief.
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