The cause ?-O'er which was to possess it

No mean reward, I must confess it.

He raved, I reasoned, so it went

Until the wily one, while seeming

To yield his ground and to relent,

Devised, to work my ruin scheming,

A knavish ruse. 'Enough! This sparring,

This shameful tiff, life's pleasures marring,'

Said he with solemn mien, 'must cease.

Is it not better to make peace?

Whose sword this is to be, I'm thinking,

Fate can decide. We'll each an ear

Put to the ground, and if a ringing

Should yours reach first, why, brother dear,

You will have won it.' And, so saying,

He dropped on to the ground, and I,

I followed suit and lay down by

His side.... Ah, knight, there's no gainsaying

I was a dolt, a knucklehead,

A perfect ass to have believed him-

1 told myself I would deceive him

And was myself deceived instead!

The ugly wretch stood up, and, stealing

On tiptoe to me from the back,

The sword raised. Dastardly attack!-

It sang, a death-blow to me dealing.

Ere I could turn, my poor head was

No longer in its place, alas.

Preserved by some dark, occult force,

It lives (which is no boon, of course),

But all the rest of me, unburied,

Rots in a place to man unknown;

With blackthorn thickly overgrown

My frame is; by the midget carried