Did men him dread, but throughout every land
He would make folk their own true god deny.
"Nebuchadnezzar is God," did he proclaim,
"No other God may here adored be."
So in the land none dared his wrath provoke
Save where Eliachim the priest held rule.
Heed now what death befell this captain proud.
Amid his host he drunk and sleeping lay
Within his tent, large hung as is a barn,
And yet for all his pomp and all his might,
Came Judith secretly, and from his neck
Smote off his head and bore it to her town.
And none of all the guards knew what befell.----

"Ho! stop!" cried the Knight. "Good sir, I beg you no more of this. A
little of sorrow suffices. It is as wearisome, Sir Monk, to hear the
stories of those who from great prosperity have fallen to poverty and
death, as it is cheering to hear of those who from poor estate rise
to greatness and fame. Of the latter I pray you tell." "Yes, indeed,"
shouted the Host. "By St. Paul's great bell, you say right, Sir
Knight. The Monk must stop this doleful talk. It's not worth a fly.
Your tale annoys all the company, Sir Monk, Dan Piers, or whatever
your name may be. I assure you it is only the tinkling of your bridle
bells that has kept me awake this last half-hour. What's the good of
a tale if the audience is all asleep? Come, tell us a tale of
hunting." "No," answered the Monk with dignity. "I take no pleasure
in mere frivolity. Let another tell a tale. I have said my say." At
that the Host turned to the Nun's Priest. "Come near, Sir John. You
tell a tale to cheer us. What though your horse be a sorry jade, all
bone and mud, you have a merry heart, I know." "I have indeed,"