But the king said he had
promised, come what might, come what may, he'd not part Billy Beg and his
bull, so he could not.
Then the queen sent for the Hen-Wife, and asked what she should do. "What
will you give me," said the Hen-Wife, "and I'll very soon part them?"
"Anything at all," said the queen.
"Then do you take to your bed, very sick with a complaint," said the
Hen-Wife, "and I'll do the rest."
So the queen took to her bed, very sick with a complaint, and the king
came to see what could be done for her. "I shall never be better of this,"
she said, "till I have the medicine the Hen-Wife ordered."
"What is that?" said the king.
"A mouthful of the blood of Billy Beg's bull."
"I can't give you that," said the king, and went away, sorrowful.
Then the queen got sicker and sicker, and each time the king asked what
would cure her she said, "A mouthful of the blood of Billy Beg's bull."
And at last it looked as if she were going to die. So the king finally
set a day for the bull to be killed. At that the queen was so happy that
she laid plans to get up and see the grand sight. All the people were to
be at the killing, and it was to be a great affair.
When Billy Beg heard all this, he was very sorrowful, and the bull noticed
his looks. "What are you doitherin' about?" said the bull to him.
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