―Bestir thyself, sirrah! cried he who had knocked. Look to our steeds. And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it.

―Lackaday, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. I know not what to offer your lordships.

―How now, fellow? cried the second of the party, a man of pleasant countenance, so servest thou the king’s messengers, Master Taptun?

An instantaneous change overspread the landlord’s visage.

―Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. An you be the king’s messengers (God shield His Majesty!) you shall not want for aught. The king’s friends (God bless His Majesty!) shall not go afasting in my house I warrant me.

―Then about! cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect. Hast aught to give us?