He might charge me as well with heresy;

And if he did, here, in this place,

I’d call him liar, and spit in his face!”

The Father, he saw, cast a gracious eye

When he heard him thus the Devil defy;

The wrath, of which he had eased his mind,

Left a comfortable sort of warmth behind,

Like what a cheerful cup will impart,

In a social hour, to an honest man’s heart;

And he added, " For all the witchcraft here,

I shall presently make that matter clear.

“Though I am, as you very well know, Father Kijf,

A peaceable man, and keep clear of strife,

It’s a queerish business that now I’ve been in;

But I can’t say that it’s much of a sin.

“However, it needs must be confess’d,

And as it will set this people at rest,

To come with it at once was best:

Moreover, if I delayed, I thought

That some might perhaps into trouble be brought.

“Under the seal I tell it you,

And you will judge what is best to do,

That no hurt to me and my son may ensue.

No earthly harm have we intended,

And what was ill done has been well mended.

“I and my son, Piet Pieterszoon,

Were returning home by the light of the moon;

From this good city of Cologne,

On the night of the execution day;

And hard by the gibbet was our way.

“About midnight it was we were passing by,

My son, Piet Pieterszoon, and I,

When we heard a moaning as we came near,

Which made us quake at first for fear.

“But the moaning was presently heard again,

And we knew it was nothing ghostly then;

“Lord help us, Father!" Piet Pieterszoon said,

“Roprecht, for certain, is not dead!”

“So under the gallows our cart we drive,

And, sure enough, the man was alive;

Because of the irons that he was in,

He was hanging, not by the neck, but the chin.

“The reason why things had got thus wrong,

Was, that the rope had been left too long;

The Hangman’s fault — a clumsy rogue,

He is not fit to hang a dog.

“Now Roprecht, as long as the people were there,

Never stirr’d hand or foot in the air;

But when at last he was left alone,

By that time so much of his strength was gone,

That he could do little more than groan.

“Piet and I had been sitting it out,

Till a latish hour, at a christening bout;

And perhaps we were rash, as you may think,

And a little soft, or so, for drink.

“Father Kijf, we could not bear

To leave him hanging in misery there;

And ’twas an act of mercy, I cannot but say,

To get him down, and take him away.

“And, as you know, all people said

What a goodly end that day he had made;

So we thought for certain, Father Kijf,

That, if he were saved, he would mend his life.

“My son, Piet Pieterszoon, and l,

We took him down, seeing none was nigh;

And we took off his suit of irons with care,

When we got him home, and we hid him there.

“The secret, as you may guess, was known

To Alit, my wife, but to her alone;

And never sick man, I dare aver,

Was better tended than he was by her.

“Good advice, moreover, as good could be,

He had from Alit, my wife, and me;

And no one could promise fairer than he:

So that we and Piet Pieterszoon, our son,

Thought that we a very good deed had done.

“You may well think we laughed in our sleeve,

At what the people then seem’d to believe;

Queer enough it was to hear them say,

That the Three Kings took Roprecht away; —

“Or that St. Ursula, who is in bliss,

With her Army of Virgins had done this:

The Three Kings and St. Ursula, too,

I warrant, had something better to do.

“Piet Pieterszoon, my son, and I,

We heard them talk as we stood by,

And Piet look’d at me with a comical eye.

We thought them fools, but, as you shall see,

Not over-wise ourselves were we.

“For I must tell you, Father Kijf,