The falconer gently drew back a sliding board,
of a foot square, towards the top of the door, which covered a hole of
the same size, strongly latticed, through which the warder, without
opening the door, could look in upon his prisoner. From this aperture he
beheld the wretched Gaston suspended by the neck, by his own girdle, to
an iron ring in the side of his prison. He had clambered to it by means
of the table on which his food had been placed; and in the agonies of
shame and disappointed malice, had adopted this mode of ridding himself
of a wretched life. He was found yet warm, but totally lifeless. A proper
account of the manner of his death was drawn up and certified. He was
buried that evening in the chapel of the castle, out of respect to his
high birth; and the chaplain of Fitzallen of Marden, who said the service
upon the occasion, preached, the next Sunday, an excellent sermon upon
the text, "Radix malorum est cupiditas," which we have here transcribed.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
[Here the manuscript from which we have painfully transcribed, and
frequently, as it were, translated this tale, for the reader's
edification, is so indistinct and defaced that, excepting certain
"howbeits," "nathlesses," "lo ye's!" etc.
Pages:
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95