"Who, and what art thou, noble champion?" said Prince John, still

laughing.

"A fool by right of descent," answered the Jester; "I am Wamba, the

son of Witless, who was the son of Weatherbrain, who was the son of an

Alderman."

"Make room for the Jew in front of the lower ring," said Prince John,

not unwilling perhaps to, seize an apology to desist from his original

purpose; "to place the vanquished beside the victor were false

heraldry."

"Knave upon fool were worse," answered the Jester, "and Jew upon bacon

worst of all."

"Gramercy! good fellow," cried Prince John, "thou pleasest me--Here,

Isaac, lend me a handful of byzants."

As the Jew, stunned by the request, afraid to refuse, and unwilling

to comply, fumbled in the furred bag which hung by his girdle, and

was perhaps endeavouring to ascertain how few coins might pass for a

handful, the Prince stooped from his jennet and settled Isaac's doubts

by snatching the pouch itself from his side; and flinging to Wamba a

couple of the gold pieces which it contained, he pursued his career

round the lists, leaving the Jew to the derision of those around him,

and himself receiving as much applause from the spectators as if he had

done some honest and honourable action.




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