"Oh, have done!" broke in the youth impetuously. "Suffer me to leave you, Sir Crispin, to your bottle, your croaking, and your memories."
"Aye, go your ways, sir; you'd be sorry company for a dead man - the sorriest ever my evil star led me into. The door is yonder, and should you chance to break your saintly neck on the stairs, it is like to be well for both of us."
And with that Sir Crispin Galliard lay back in his chair once more, and took up the thread of his interrupted song
But, heigh-o! she cried, at the Christmas-tide, That dead she would rather be-O! Pale and wan she crept out of sight, and wept
'Tis a sorry -
A loud knock that echoed ominously through the mean chamber, fell in that instant upon the door. And with it came a panting cry of -
"Open, Cris! Open, for the love of God!"
Sir Crispin's ballad broke off short, whilst the lad paused in the act of quitting the room, and turned to look to him for direction.
"Well, my master," quot
This is well-written, but kind of depressing. It is the story of a battle-hardened knight with a pathetic excuse for a squire. It turns out that the squire is the knight's long-lost son and the knight does everything in his power to make this wretch of a son happy. My personal opinion is that the knight should have slapped him and left him in a ditch somewhere. Alas, he does not.
Read this if you have a burning desire to champion the causes of spoiled brats.