ughing, "and between these fair women and Diana I find no
resemblance, but only a difference."

"And in what consists the difference, John?"

"Herein, sire, that Diana carried her horn at her side; but these fair
ladies make their husbands wear their horns on the forehead!"

A loud peal of laughter from the gentlemen, a yell of rage from the
ladies, was the reply of this new epigram of John Heywood. They arranged
themselves in two rows, and thus formed a lane through which John
Heywood had to pass.

"Come, John Heywood, come and receive your punishment;" and they raised
their thorny rods threateningly, and flourished them with angry gestures
high above their heads.

The scene was becoming to John in all respects very piquant, for these
rods had very sharp thorns, and only a thin linen shirt covered his
back.

With bold step, however, he approached the fatal passage through which
he was to pass.

Already he beheld the rods drawn back; and it seemed to him as if the
thorns were even now piercing his back.

He halted, and turned with a laugh to the king. "Sire, since you have
condemned me to die by the hands of these nymphs, I claim the right of
every condemned criminal--a last favor."

"The which we grant you, John."

"I demand that I may put on these fair women one condition--one
condition on which they may whip me. Does your majesty grant me this?"

"I grant it!"

"And you solemnly pledge me the word of a king that this condition shall
be faithfully kept and fulfilled?"

"My solemn, kingly word for it!"

"Now, then," said John Heywood, as he entered the passage, "now, then,
my ladies, my condition is this: that one of you who has had the most
lovers, and has oftenest decked her husband's head with horns, let her
lay the first stroke on my back." [Footnote: Flogel's "Geschichte der
Hofnarren," p.899]

A deep silence followed. The raised arms of the fair women sank. The
roses fell from their hands and dropped to the ground. Just before so
bloodthirsty and revengeful, they seemed now to have become the softest
and gentlest of beings.

But could their looks have killed, their fire certainly would have
consumed poor John Heywood, who now gazed at them with an insolent
sneer, and advanced into the very midst of their lines.

"Now, my ladies, you strike him not?" asked the king.

"No, your majesty, we despise him too much even to wish to chastise
him," said the Duchess of Richmond.

"Shall your enemy