wouldn't take the trouble to answer you! What! are those all you know?


THE GRAVE-DIGGER.

Oh! we'll sing you so many of them, that you will end by stopping short.


Fully an hour was passed in this contest. As the two combatants were the
most learned men in the province in the matter of ballads, and as their
repertory seemed inexhaustible, it might well have lasted all night,
especially as the hemp-beater seemed to take malicious pleasure in
allowing his opponent to sing certain laments in ten, twenty, or thirty
stanzas, pretending by his silence to admit that he was defeated.
Thereupon, there was triumph in the bridegroom's camp, they sang in
chorus at the tops of their voices, and every one believed that the
adverse party would make default; but when the final stanza was half
finished, the old hemp-beater's harsh, hoarse voice would bellow out the
last words; whereupon he would shout: "You don't need to tire yourselves
out by singing such long ones, my children! We have them at our fingers'
ends!"

Once or twice, however, the hemp-beater made a wry face, drew his
eyebrows together, and turned with a disappointed air toward the
observant matrons. The grave-digger was singing something so old that
his adversary had forgotten it, or perhaps had never known it; but the
good dames instantly sang the victorious refrain through their noses, in
tones as shrill as those of the sea-gull; and the grave-digger, summoned
to surrender, passed to something else.