Let him take this dish
from my hand, and eat joyfully, lest when he goes home he may speak scorn
of bridegroom and bride, and our Cornish weddings."
The servant brought the dish down: he gave a look at the stranger's shabby
dress, turned up his nose, and pretending to mistake, put the dish into
the hand of the Dane.
"Hold, lads," quoth the stranger. "If I have ears, that was meant for me."
He seized the platter with both hands; and therewith the hands both of the
Cornishman and of the Dane. There was a struggle; but so bitter was the
stranger's gripe, that (says the chronicler) the blood burst from the
nails of both his opponents.
He was called a "savage," a "devil in man's shape," and other dainty
names; but he was left to eat his squab pie in peace.
"Patience, lads," quoth he, as he filled his mouth. "Before I take my
pleasure at this wedding, I will hand my own dish round as well as any of
you."
Whereat men wondered, but held their tongues.
And when the eating was over and the drinking began, the Princess rose,
and came round to drink the farewell health.
With her maids behind her, and her harper before her (so was the Cornish
custom), she pledged one by one each of the guests, slave as well as free,
while the harper played a tune.
She came down at last to the strangers.
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