Meanwhile the Priest, aggrieved and pained,
Waited and wondered that no word
Of mass or requiem he heard,
As by the Holy Church ordained;
Then to the Magistrate complained,
That as this woman had been dead
A week or more, and no mass said,
It was rank heresy, or at least
Contempt of Church; thus said the Priest;
And straight the cobbler was arraigned.

He came, confiding in his cause,
But rather doubtful of the laws. 
The Justice from his elbow-chair
Gave him a look that seemed to say: 
“Thou standest before a Magistrate,
Therefore do not prevaricate!”
Then asked him in a business way,
Kindly but cold:  “Is thy wife dead?”
The cobbler meekly bowed his head;
“She is,” came struggling from his throat
Scarce audibly.  The Justice wrote
The words down in a book, and then
Continued, as he raised his pen: 
“She is; and hath a mass been said
For the salvation of her soul? 
Come, speak the truth! confess the whole!”
The cobbler without pause replied: 
“Of mass or prayer there was no need;
For at the moment when she died
Her soul was with the glorified!”
And from his pocket with all speed
He drew the priestly title-deed,
And prayed the Justice he would read.

The Justice read, amused, amazed;
And as he read his mirth increased;
At times his shaggy brows he raised,
Now wondering at the cobbler gazed,
Now archly at the angry Priest. 
“From all excesses, sins, and crimes
Thou hast committed in past times
Thee I absolve!  And furthermore,
Purified from all earthly taints,
To the communion of the Saints
And to the sacraments restore! 
All stains of weakness, and all trace
Of shame and censure I efface;
Remit the pains thou shouldst endure,
And make thee innocent and pure,
So that in dying, unto thee
The gates of heaven shall open be! 
Though long thou livest, yet this grace
Until the moment of thy death
Unchangeable continueth!”

Then said he to the Priest:  “I find
This document is duly signed
Brother John Tetzel, his own hand. 
At all tribunals in the land
In evidence it may be used;
Therefore acquitted is the accused.” 
Then to the cobbler turned:  “My friend,
Pray tell me, didst thou ever read
Reynard the Fox?”—­“O yes, indeed!”—­
“I thought so.  Don’t forget the end.”

INTERLUDE

“What was the end?  I am ashamed
Not to remember Reynard’s fate;
I have not read the book of late;
Was he not hanged?” the Poet said. 
The Student gravely shook his head,
And answered:  “You exaggerate. 
There was a tournament proclaimed,
And Reynard fought with Isegrim
The Wolf, and having vanquished him,
Rose to high honor in the State,
And Keeper of the Seals was named!”

At this the gay Sicilian laughed: 
“Fight fire with fire, and craft with craft;
Successful cunning seems to be
The moral of your tale,” said he. 
“Mine had a better, and the Jew’s
Had none at all, that I could see;
His aim was only to amuse.”