For if, messire, if--per De and by
Our Sweet Lady of Shene Chapel within the Wood, if, I say, in thy new and
sudden-put-on attitude o' folly, thou wilt save alive all rogues soever,
then by Saint Cuthbert his curse, by sweet Saint Benedict his blessed
bones, by--"
"Hold now, Pertinax," said the Duke, slipping his lute into leathern bag
and slinging it behind wide shoulders, "list ye, Sir Knight of Shene, and
mark this, to wit: If a rogue in roguery die then rogue is he forsooth;
but, mark this again, if a rogue be spared his life he may perchance and
peradventure forswear, that is, eschew or, vulgarly speaking, turn from his
roguish ways, and die as honest as I, aye, or even--thou!"
Here Sir Pertinax snorted as they strode on together, yet in a little they
turned aside from the hot and dusty road and journeyed on beneath the trees
that grew thereby.
"By all the fiends, my lord, and speaking vulgarly in turn, this belly o'
mine lacketh, these my bowels do yearn consumedly unto messes savoury and
cates succulent--"
Whereat the Duke, smiling merry-eyed, chanted roguishly:
"A haunch o' venison juicy from the spit now?"
"Aha!" groaned the Knight, "Lord, let us haste--"
"A larded capon to thee might seem fit now?"
"Saints!" sighed the Knight, "but for one little taste.
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