The Lay Of Ulrich

Kazka pro Ulrikh

Lo! F'r I hath hearede tell,
that a fine man of Wythe, || wrappede in th' trappings of his wealth,
did come upon the opus of th' north, || that opulent realm of Othorüm.
No lenger hadde this noble || passed into Novaček
than dide he witnesse || a man of th' Wîzerstisch,
grey-haired and glowerynge, || abidyng his turne at th' gallows.
Curious was his condicioun, || and so th' sire cride outt:
"Ho there, ye that waiten to hange! || to whom hast thou brought harm
to deserve such a fate?" at this th' greybeard || raised his face, and with fier bifore hise eyes he sayde:
"I am Dašamir, and mine deeds art mine own, || lest thou deme me worthi of thy owene name."

Undeterred, th' noble answerde: || "I am Ulrich, sone of Ulfbert!
Now telle me freend, why is || thy nekke bounede for th' noose?"
"I dared to question our Imperial masters" replied old Dašamir. "Alas, I fear my derision
of Sterzic Wythe has set my fate in stone."