THE COMB.
Workmen a-plenty hired themselves to the pope, but, one and all, they laboured wageless; the daughter, whatsoe'er the height of the haycock, pissed o'er it.
Yet another workman and a bold did accept the conditions; if the pope's daughter pissed o'er the haycock which he had mown, no claim for his work he make. Then mowed the workman his hay; when he had mown it and set it in a heap, he lay down beside the haycock, drew forth his yard from his drawers and fell to toying with it. The pope's daughter drew nigh to the workman to scrutinise the haycock, cast a glance at him, and said:
"What dost thou, little peasant?"
"I rub my comb."
"What dost comb with this comb of thine?"
"Come—I will comb thee. Lie down on the hay."
The pope's daughter lay down on the hay, the workman fell to combing her, and he winnowed her as was proper. Anon the young girl rose up and said:
"What a delicious comb!"
Afterwards she sought to piss o'er the haycock; of no avail; she did piss upon herself, as it might run from a sieve. Seeking out her father, she spake him, saying:
"The haycock is too high; I may not piss o'er it."
"Ah! my daughter! here in sooth is a goodly workman. I will hire him for a year."
And when the workman came to receive his wage, the pope said:
"Friend, hire thyself to me for a year."
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