"
"Not so," the Duke, short-breathing, made reply,
"Methinks this rogue is too much man to die."
"How?" cried the Knight; "not slay a knave--a thief?
Such clemency is strange and past belief!
Mean ye to let the dog all scathless go?"
"Nay," said the Duke, square chin on fist, "not so,
For since the rogue is plainly in the wrong
The rogue shall win his freedom with a song,
And since forsooth a rogue ingrain is he,
So shall he sing a song of roguery.
Rise, roguish rogue, get thee thy wind and sing,
Pipe me thy best lest on a tree ye swing!"
Up to his feet the lusty outlaw sprang,
And thus, in clear melodious voice, he sang:
"I'll sing a song not over long,
A song of roguery.
For I'm a rogue, and thou'rt a rogue,
And so, in faith, is he.
And we are rogues, and ye are rogues,
All rogues in verity.
"As die we must and turn to dust,
Since each is Adam's son,
A rogue was he, so rogues are we,
And rascals every one.
"The Abbot sleek with visage meek,
With candle, book and bell,
Our souls may curse, we're none the worse,
Since he's a rogue as well.
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