For my lady mother, in truth, loves Barcsai." "Hearest thou, wife, hearest thou what says the infant?" "Do not believe him, my dear master, the infant is drunken." He is gone upon the words of his wife, Upon the words of his wife toward Kolozvar. Before he had traveled half of the road, There came to his spirit the words of the little infant, And immediately he returns toward the mansion, Toward the mansion. Before his door he halts. "Open the door, open the door, my lady wife." "In a moment I will open it, in a moment, my dear, beloved master, But first let me put on my every-day garment, But first let me put on my apron." "Open the door, open the door, my lady wife." "In a moment I will open it, my dear beloved master, But first let me put on my shoes new-soled, But first let me knot around my head my every-day kerchief." "Open the door, open the door, my lady wife." She did not know what to say; to open the door she was forced. "Give me, give me, the key to the great chest." "I cannot give you it, I cannot give you the key of the great chest, In the neighborhood I have been; I jumped over the hedge, And it's there I lost the key of the great chest-- We will find it at the fair blush of morning, At the fair blush of morning, at the brightening of the earth." Then he struck so strongly the great painted chest That he broke it in two halves. Barcsai fell out and rolled upon the earth. He took his sword and cut off his head. "Hearken, my wife, hearken, my wife, hearken, Of three deaths, which do you choose? Do you choose that I cut off your head? Or with your silky locks that I sweep the house? Or do you choose to watch until the morning, And serve as a torch to seven wassailers?" "Of the three deaths I choose To serve as a torch to seven wassailers." "My servant, my servant, my very little servant, Bring me, bring the great pot of pitch. Bring me, bring me, the great piece of linen, The great piece of linen, of linen fine, received as a present. Begin at her head, and to the sole of her feet wrap her, The fine linen knot around her head. Begin at her head, and to the sole of her feet cover her with pitch. Begin at the sole of her feet and set the whole on fire. "At her head I will place the Wallach fifer, At her feet I will place the gypsy fiddler. Whistle, Wallach, whistle from thy Wallach pipe, Play, gypsy, play from thy gypsy fiddle, Whistle with all thy might, play with all thy soul, That the heart of my wife may be rejoiced." KURIS PISTA. "Go, my child, where the maidens spin Within their chamber fair." "Ah, mother, I dare not venture in,