I had not been looking about me long, when I heard four fiddlers, just
dead, summoned to the bar. "How is it," asked the King of Terrors, "that
ye, who are so found of joy, did not stay on yonder side of the chasm?
For on this side joy never existed." "We have done no man ever any
hurt," said one of the minstrels, "but on the contrary have made them
merry, and quietly took whatever was given us for our pains." "Have ye
caused no one," said Death, "to lose time from his work, or to absent
himself from church, eh?" "No," replied another, "unless we were some
Sundays after service in an inn till the morrow, or in summer time on the
village green, and indeed we had a better and more beloved congregation
than the parson." "Away, with them to the land of Oblivion," cried the
terrible king, "bind the four, back to back, and pitch them to their
partners, to dance barefoot on glowing hearths, and scrape their fiddles
for ever without praise or pay."
The next to come to the bar was a king from near Rome. "Raise thy hand,
caitiff," bade one of the officers. "I hope," said he, "ye have somewhat
better manners and favor for a king.
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