human
Welcome, friend, said the knight.
gpt
How fares it with you and your brave comrade?
human
We suffer who sojourn in Mesech, said Hough.
gpt
Old Penfold lies grievously sick of a fever.
human
Dwell you far away?
gpt
Nigh upon two miles by land and water. We have returned to the cave which we occupied before our taking of the Dutch ship.
human
My wife shall prepare a medicine. She is well skilled in the arts of healing, said the other.
gpt
You shall bring us to your cave with all speed.
human
The disease has already taken hold upon his mind, said Hough.
gpt
One time he is holding his mother's gown, old man though he be, and wandering in water-meadows to pluck long purples and clovers, muttering as he picks at his blanket. 'Here is trefoil, good for cattle, but noisome to witches.' Another time he reaches for his sword, and swears--the Lord forgive him--at the weakness which holds him down. 'The French are upon us, comrades,' he calls. 'Let me not lie like an old dame with swollen legs.' Then he falls a-crying, and shouts, 'England! England!' Methinks if his mind were healed he would stand up again.