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150 At last they came to a village gate; A beggar lay whistling there; He whistled and sang and laughed, and rolled On the grass in the soft June air.

The weary couriers paused and looked At the scamp so. blithe and gay, And one of them said, "Heaven save you, friend, You seem to be happy to-day."

"Oh, yes, fair sirs," the rascal laughed, And his voice rang free and glad; "An idle man has so much to do That he never has time to be sad."

"This is our man," the courier said, "Our luck has led us aright; I will give you a hundred ducats, friend, For the loan of your shirt to-night."

The merry blackguard lay back on the grass And laughed till his face was black; "I would do it, God wot," and he roared with fun, "But I haven't a shirt to my back."

Each day to the king the reports came in Of his unsuccessful spies, And the sad panorama of human woes Passed daily under his eyes.

And he grew ashamed of his useless life And his maladies hatched in gloom; He opened the windows and let in the air Of the free heaven into his room.

And out he went m the world and toiled In his own appointed way; And the people blessed him, the land was glad, And the king was well and gay.