“And wherefore?” questioned Beltane, leaning him upon his quarter-staff.

“For three rarely reasonable reasons, sweet sir, as thus:—­item, for that the sun burneth, item, my belly is empty, and item, thou, lured by this my foolish pipe art hither come to folly.  So I, a fool, do greet thee, fool, and welcome thee to this my palace of ease and pleasaunce where, an ye be minded to list to the folly of a rarely foolish fool, I will, with foolish jape and quip, befool thy mind to mirth and jollity, for thou art a sad fool, methinks, and something melancholic!”

Quoth Beltane, sighing: 

“’Tis a sad world and very sorrowful!”

“Nay—­’tis a sweet world and very joyful—­for such as have eyes to see withal!”

“To see?” quoth Beltane, frowning, “this day have I seen a dead man a-swing on a tree, a babe dead beside its cradle, and a woman die upon a spear!  All day have I breathed an air befouled by nameless evil; whithersoever I go needs must I walk ’twixt Murder and Shame!”

“Then look ever before thee, so shalt see neither.”

“Yet will they be there!”

“Yet doth the sun shine in high heaven, so must these things be till God and the saints shall mend them.  But if thou must needs be doleful, go make thee troubles of thine own but leave the woes of this wide world to God!”

“Nay,” said Beltane, shaking his head, “how if God leave these things to thee and me?”

“Why then methinks the world must wag as it will.  Yet must we repine therefore?  Out upon thee for a sober, long-legged, doleful wight.  Now harkee!  Here sit I—­less fool!  A fool who hath, this day, been driven forth of my lord’s presence with blows and cruel stripes!  And wherefore?  ’Twas for setting a bird free of its cage, a small matter methinks—­though there be birds—­and birds, but mum for that!  Yet do I grieve and sigh therefore, O doleful long-shanks?  Not so—­fie on’t!  I blow away my sorrows through the music of this my little pipe and, lying here, set my wits a-dancing and lo!  I am a duke, a king, a very god!  I create me a world wherein is neither hunger nor stripes, a world of joy and laughter, for, blessed within his dreams, even a fool may walk with gods and juggle with the stars!”

“Aye,” nodded Beltane, “but how when he awake?”

“Why then, messire,” laughed the fellow, leaping nimbly to his feet, “why then doth he ask alms of thee, as thus:  Prithee most noble messire, of thy bounty show kindness to a fool that lacks everything but wit.  So give, messire, give and spare not, so may thy lady prove kind, thy wooing prosper and love strengthen thee.”

Now when the jester spake of love, my Beltane must needs sigh amain and shake a doleful head.

“Alas!” said he, “within my life shall be no place for love, methinks.”

“Heigho!” sighed the jester, “thy very look doth proclaim thee lover, and ’tis well, for love maketh the fool wise and the wise fool, it changeth saints into rogues and rogues into saints, it teacheth the strong man gentleness and maketh the gentle strong.  ’Tis sweeter than honey yet bitter as gall—­Love! ah, love can drag a man to hell or lift him high as heaven!”