Baldry was brought in, chewing a straw. There were straws sticking in his hair and more on his clothes. He stood before the King with his eyes cast down and his hands clasped before him, a dejected figure.
“Thou insolent!” said the King, after regarding him for a moment. “Thou impertinent one! Think not to trick me by this show of sorrow. Tell me, have you said aught to this stranger that would lead him to believe me a tyrant?”
Baldry took the straw from his mouth, dried it carefully and deposited it within the bosom of his doublet. He placed his hand daintily over his mouth and coughed a little cough. Then he spoke:
“My liege lord and master, it is true that I did in some sort induce my dear friend Gorbo to believe you more despotic than is perhaps the case. But in my defence I must say that I had some good reason for it, namely, to wit”--here he checked off the items on his fingers--“Firstly, the idea occurred to me a choice one. Secondly, it seemed to be full of humour. Thirdly, I was highly amused at it. Fourthly, it tickled me greatly. Fifthly----”
“Silence me that lewd mouth!” cried the King to the jailor. A kerchief was hastily whipped round Baldry’s mouth and held while they waited further orders.
“Listen to my words,” said the King sternly, “for you will hear but few again. We can pardon much levity in a professional fool, but this more than reaches the limits of our patience. Go forth from our presence and from our palace and from our City—and keep on going. Know all,” he continued, turning to the court, “that Baldry is henceforth exiled from our dominions.”
Baldry started violently and stared at him as if he could not comprehend. Then, as the bitter truth dawned upon him, he turned, and with bowed head, paced slowly forth. But after some four or five steps he paused, placing his hand upon his heart as if with a sudden pang. Then, raising his hands aloft with a gesture of despair, he swayed, and fell at full length on his face, as falls a tree.
There was general consternation, and all rushed forward. One, skilled in leechcraft, knelt down and, bending his head sideways, listened carefully. Then he rose. “I cannot hear his heart beat,” he said sadly. “He is dead.”
They made way for the King, from whose countenance the stern look had faded, giving place to one of deep sorrow. He stood looking down at the prostrate figure and heaved a deep sigh, almost a groan. At length he spoke—in blank verse, for nothing less could express his bitter feelings:
“Alas, poor fool! is’t thus that comes the end,
The terminus of all your antic ways?
Could not the fate which spares the grim tom-cat
That yesternight did rack my harmless slumbers,
Making the moonlight tremble with his yells,
Have spared thee too? Can’st ne’er again
Devise thy lightsome jests, thy bonnetings,
Thy traps of booby poised on half-op’d door,
Or juggle with the table furnishings?
No, thou art dead, and I without my fool
Am left to mourn the law inscrutable
That gives us chiefly what we would not have.
The violet withers while the rhubarb thrives,
The buttered slice falls ever upside-down,
The horse we back does seldom find a place,
The horse we back not comes a romping in.
Too late, poor fool, this unavailing woe!
I loved thee more than thou did’st ever know.”
“Then in that case,” said Baldry, turning smartly over on to his back, “why are you making things so difficult?”