A piteous cry was heard from within, and while the prince
was proclaiming a reward to any one who would enter into the burning pile,
and elucidate the mystery of the doleful voice, forth waddled the little
fat friar in an agony of fear, out of the fire into the frying-pan;
for he was instantly taken into custody and carried before Prince John,
wringing his hands and tearing his hair.
"Are you the friar," said Prince John, in a terrible voice,
"that laid me prostrate in battle, mowed down my men like grass,
rescued my captive, and covered the retreat of my enemies?
And, not content with this, have you now set fire to the castle
in which I intended to take up my royal quarters?"
The little friar quaked like a jelly: he fell on his knees,
and attempted to speak; but in his eagerness to vindicate himself
from this accumulation of alarming charges, he knew not where to begin;
his ideas rolled round upon each other like the radii of a wheel;
the words he desired to utter, instead of issuing, as it were,
in a right line from his lips, seemed to conglobate themselves
into a sphere turning on its own axis in his throat:
after several ineffectual efforts, his utterance totally failed him,
and he remained gasping, with his mouth open, his lips quivering,
his hands clasped together, and the whites of his eyes turned up
towards the prince with an expression most ruefully imploring.
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