This was fine fun to the old hag, and she produced another barrel
of beer, which the mob emptied speedily, and then began talking,
shouting, screaming, roaring like flocks of wild geese; and when
the old hag saw that they had got enough under their caps to make
them quite desperate, she began--

"Was not her beer as good as any beer in the duchy?"

"Ay, ay--better!" shouted the mob, "Where dost thou live, mother?"

To this she gave no answer, but continued: "Yet this beer cost but
eightpence a quart, by which they could see how the wicked and
cruel government oppressed them. Oh, it was a sin that cried to
Heaven, to see how princes and nobles scourged and skinned the
poor folk. They swilled wine of the best, and plenty, in their own
gorgeous castles, but grudged poor bitter poverty its can of beer!
Shame on such a government!"

"True, true!" shouted the mob; "she is right: we are scourged and
skinned by these worthless nobles. Come, brothers, let us off to
the council-hall, and if they will not take off the tax, we'll
murder every soul of them."

Illa.--"And be asses for their pains. Was that all they
could do--pray the mighty council, forsooth, to lower the
tax? Oh, brave fellows! What! had they not the power in their own
hands, if they would only be united? Had they never heard how the
people of Anklam had, in former times, killed their rulers and
governors, and then did justice to themselves? What right had
prince, minister, or council to skin a people? They had all stout