"My lord aloft doth hang full oft
Poor rogues the like o' me,
But all men know where e'er he go
A greater rogue is he.
"The king abroad with knight and lord
Doth ride in majesty,
But strip him bare and then and there
A shivering rogue ye'll see,
"Sirs, if ye will my life to spill,
Then hang me on a tree,
Since rogue am I, a rogue I'll die,
A roguish death for me.
"But i' the wind the leaves shall find
Small voices for my dole,
"And when I'm dead sigh o'er my head
Prayers for my poor rogue soul;
For I'm a rogue, and thou 'rt a rogue,
And so in faith is he,
As we are rogues, so ye are rogues,
All rogues in verity."
The singing done, the Duke sat lost in thought,
What time Sir Pertinax did stamp and snort:
"Ha, by the Mass! Now, by the Holy Rood!
Ne'er heard I roguish rant so bold and lewd!
He should be whipped, hanged, quartered, flayed alive--"
"Then," quoth the Duke, "pay him gold pieces five,"
"How--pay a rogue?" the Knight did fierce retort.
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