A single ríma from the anonymous tradition, preserved in Nokkrar rímur og kvæði (Reykjavík, 1906), pp. 50–63. A poor but beautiful farmer's wife is pursued by three powerful men — the mayor, the church clerk, and the magistrate. Rather than yield, she devises a scheme with her husband: he pretends to leave town, hides nearby, and when each suitor comes to her bed, he hammers on the door cursing like a demon. Each man flees into the night without his clothes. The wife collects the garments and the farmer takes them to church for public identification — humiliating all three. A classic fabliaux in Icelandic dress, composed in ferskeytt metre (ABAB). This is the first known complete English translation.
Mansöngr
1.
I let Dvalinn's steed of verse
be dragged from sand and speech;
though Bifurr's beast goes water-deaf,
it drifts to hearing's beach.
2.
A stranger brought to me a page,
a plea came with it too:
that when I looked and read the thing,
I'd set it into verse anew.
3.
He said it was for a worthy man,
whom noble virtues grace;
he told me the name was Þorvaldur —
well-known in every place.
4.
My craft is next to nothing
at serving Són's sweet blend;
to refuse a meagre poem first —
that I call beyond my end.
5.
An old saying I shall therefore
bring forward as my guide:
that even in a goat-pen there is
some wool of worth inside.
6.
So it goes — if any man
should ask of me a cup
from Fjallar's horn for his delight,
to stir some pleasure up.
7.
If one is pressed to do a task
unused to such a trade,
I think he cannot be blamed for that,
though the work be roughly made.
8.
This much mends it: the ballad-boat
may drip a little rain,
but neither shall the scripture crack,
nor the old Creed break in twain.
9.
I know that I am scarcely fit
to polish songs with care;
this answers to my meagre craft
in the smithy of praise and prayer.
10.
He who asked for this offered cloth —
let him recite the woe;
I bid him judge it graciously,
and let love's failings go.
The Story
11.
From the histories I hear this told,
through all the world's abode:
it has been, and it is certain,
that the pot is cracked on every road.
12.
Caution through the ages
should be a man's firm friend,
for most often, soon and late,
jest follows earnest to the end.
13.
He who bears both power and wit
amid the world's proud pleasure —
that man Satan most resembles,
who would steal from God his treasure.
14.
One may see the rich man equally
in sin and crooked desire;
the pious poor are honoured still,
though long despised and lower.
15.
The mighty Lord gives counsel
to the wretched and the good;
the snares of tricksters often turn
to mockery, as they should.
16.
If men would only look and learn
from wisdom's proper school,
in many tales they'd find therein
a fitting rule and tool.
17.
A like-natured tale I have,
of fair and worthy line,
set down in frost-ships on this page,
composed for pleasure mine.
18.
Worthy Rósamunda, I name her so —
she met such trials with skill;
steadfast in counsel, she served well
against the fourfold ill.
19.
In those men Amor's desire was kindled
for the woman rich in gold;
and so from them all honour fled,
and the silver-debt went uncollected.
20.
Never again did they press their suit,
those breakers of the arm-ring's peace;
from that came only wasted errands
and the loss of coins that ceased.
21.
An ill beginning, most often near
to ill by crooked measure;
an ill man likewise wins ill fame —
ill served, with little treasure.
22.
The mansöngr's word from the mouth of verse
draws now toward its ending;
listen to the history —
it shall now be told, unbending.
23.
Of a farmer I shall tell —
he had a virtuous bride;
fair of face was that golden woman,
and they loved with proper pride.
24.
Poor was the warrior of flame,
yet held his household still;
the land, they say, of the full field's bond
surpassed each maiden's will.
25.
Where her white skin shone so bright,
the old proverb comes to mind:
where the hide is fairest there
the tanner comes to find.
26.
So it has gone often enough —
though I name no one here —
many men have long desired
the fair gift of a woman dear.
27.
In a place not far from there
a mayor had his seat,
where the farmer and his golden bride
kept household, clean and neat.
28.
The wealthy man burned in lust's desire,
that hider of bright light;
he let the hair-goddess know
his full will, day and night.
29.
That same place's church clerk
came to speak with her, this man,
exceedingly gentle and worldly-wise,
after their usual plan.
30.
Privately the bride was asked
to save herself from this;
supported by her wit, she held,
and cast not much amiss.
31.
Fair she seemed, the headdress-lady —
desire would not be chained;
though she held no rents or riches,
his longing still remained.
32.
The magistrate laid out the same,
begged her to grant his will;
all three spoke low, but all alike —
little differed, nil from nil.
33.
Now three men courted the fair one,
the spinner of bright thread;
she promised nothing to a soul,
but spoke with her husband instead.
34.
"It troubles me," he said, "and more,
if I could get fine clothes;
poverty presses hard on me —
penniless, as each man knows."
35.
"I doubt it would be without danger
to refuse the powerful outright;
their gentle voices turn to bitter
and vengeance hammers come to smite."
36.
"Therefore I am minded to please
this authority of ours,
lest in them an evil fire should kindle
and we pay with all our powers."
37.
See how wise the woman was,
wrapped in skill and deed:
"I shall free both me and you,
if my counsel you will heed."
38.
"Do not stray from what I bid you" —
the farmer heard and held his peace —
"otherwise it costs us here
our marriage-bond," she said, "its lease."
39.
"Let it be known among the men
that you have left this place,
ridden off into the town
to pay your debts apace."
40.
"In secret here at home lie hid,
be quiet and be calm,
no further from me than you stand,
where my every word is balm."
41.
"When these men come to my bed,
charmed by Amor's line,
you will see no candle lit
nor light within this house of mine."
42.
"You shall pound upon the door
and bid me open wide;
let your words be neither mild nor bright —
curse and name the fiend beside."
43.
"Perhaps I'll win you clothes this way,
if my counsel holds its art,
and our marriage-honour here
shall stay whole in either heart."
44.
Then the farmer rode away
up the road toward the town;
the mayor heard the news right quick
and stirred with joy — his heart leapt round.
45.
He found and greeted the headdress-woman,
made his plea with grace,
set his hawk-perch on her shoulders —
she said "Yes" with a doleful face.
46.
Glad he was that clouds had lifted,
candles lit within the hall;
he went up to the woman's bed —
the lady kept his clothes withal.
47.
When he thought to kneel and pray,
perhaps to say his evening grace,
she put out the light, they say,
both content to share the place.
48.
Hard came a hammering upon the door —
both woman and guest could hear;
the guest would not stay quiet then,
for the working hour was near.
49.
Mightily angry was the farmer,
cursing fit to kill;
the golden stream could not withstand it —
she collapsed in terror's thrill.
50.
The treasure-woman unlocked the door —
there was no staying him;
behind them both, the mayor slipped out
and vanished in the dim.
51.
He escaped upon his flight
before the game was played;
a rude blow was the only gift
that lingered on him, unrepaid.
52.
Had a light been burning in the doorway
and shone out after him,
then his greatest boast, I think,
would have shrunk exceedingly slim.
53.
The woman kept the clothes, every stitch;
her counsel held its thread.
The farmer lay, and the golden tree,
together in peace abed.
54.
The second evening, there the clerk
came to visit the fair one;
he nodded and was cunning too,
said none would bar his fun.
55.
The churchman beside the woman
knew how to play it sweet,
but the golden treasure-woman
took it all in measured beat.
56.
She brought the talk to its final point,
spoke low to the thread of gold;
he stripped off every stitch he wore
and gave them to her to hold.
57.
He was come into the marriage-bed,
she put the candle's light to death;
a hammering struck the house's wing,
hard, with dark cursing breath.
58.
She feigned great fury, the ring-tree did,
bade her open the door;
the treasure-woman dared do nothing else
but rush to the threshold's floor.
59.
In secret the wife warns the man
so he might flee from harm:
"I think the farmer will have your life
if he finds you in here, warm."
60.
The linen-woman takes the lock away,
not a moment to repay;
the clerk leaps in, as fast as he can,
into the outhouse, there to stay.
61.
The frightened priest stood there shaking,
had not reached his clothes;
it seemed to him, for life or blood,
a dim road toward his woes.
62.
He bore such grief and bitter ache
within his breast through all that need;
he leapt and staggered out the door,
on life and death to feed.
63.
The priest in that fell flatly down
as he made to rush on past;
the farmer guessed, and gave him a blow —
he could not reach for more so fast.
64.
And so his fortune bid him hence,
homeward fled with speed;
he thanked his luck that he escaped,
though the clothes were lost indeed.
65.
Along the road, how the fellow froze!
His luck was meagre toll;
he shivered too in a bruised daze,
could bear the sitting on no more.
66.
The third evening, right on cue,
the suitor came to roam:
the magistrate arrived at last,
and the farmer was not seen at home.
67.
He speaks to the ribbon-bridge,
he set to cheer his mood:
"Grant me now the blessed life
for which I've long pursued."
68.
The headdress-woman feigned refusal,
though his manner was polite;
at last, in time, it came to pass —
she promised him delight.
69.
Glad, he flung his clothes aside,
hurried off to bed;
he played the lover, hoped and won —
the sun of drink would lie there, said.
70.
The linen-woman doused the light,
feigned her willing part;
upon the door-post came a blow,
hammered with a fist, not heart.
71.
Great terror the ring-woman bore,
she pondered such a course;
fire-angry was the farmer then,
and cursed with equal force.
72.
To the door the faithful woman goes,
pushes back the lock;
the farmer strides into the house —
she braced against the shock.
73.
From the guest all gladness fled,
no time to dress was given;
behind the golden woman's back
he crept out, barely shriven.
74.
The frightened spear-man barely managed
to steal away from there,
but such a torment in his breast
he bore — no clothes to wear.
75.
In the darkness of the night and woe,
homeward now he rolled;
the clothes were kept beside the woman —
a hard school, I am told.
76.
Now he walked and now he crawled,
fearing watchmen's call;
bent and nearly dead from cold,
come to death's own hall.
77.
It is sore to tie a knot of sin —
one may see the marks right here.
So do the dark deeds sometimes end
for those who hold them dear.
78.
The clothes the golden woman received,
the serpent-bed of earth;
above the chest, beneath the bench,
and one upon her berth.
79.
The farmer's headdress-woman now
gave him clothes with gentle love;
he tied them in a bundle-knot
and bore them to the church above.
80.
He wished no secrecy upon them,
said he wanted all to tell;
whoever owned them, let them come —
he bade them not to hide as well.
81.
The clothes, he said, he had found
inside his own abode;
but he had seen no owner there
amid those garments fine and showed.
82.
The farmer asks the mayor first,
the breaker of the serpent's hoard,
with cunning counsel to help him out —
what should be done with the lord?
83.
The fire-stream ruler appears,
the trial would clench his breast;
"I recognise none of those," he says,
"but one thing I'll suggest:
84.
"Speak to the priest, the darkness-bright,
dressed in his Mass-gown fine;
bid him announce them from the pulpit —
that would be the best design."
85.
Most of the folk will notice then,
before the sermon breaks;
the farmer thanks him for the little help
and goes to the priest with what it takes.
86.
"Inside my house, O ring-woman's lord,
I found these garments fair;
I tied them in a bundle-knot
and brought them with me here."
87.
"I bring them now, O church-friend,
that you might point the way;
up on the pulpit, if you please,
I wish that you'd display."
88.
"Then perhaps it comes to light,
some leaf-bright owner found;
do that for me, if you would,
good priest, on holy ground."
89.
The book-reader cleared his throat,
bade him follow the rule instead:
"That scarcely falls within my charge,
in the priest's fine office," he said.
90.
More sharply in speech he then appears —
the clerk would not let it rest:
"Go at once and hurry now,
and find the magistrate, that's best."
91.
No further words could be obtained
from him with any truth;
the farmer twists before the clerk's advice
and comes to the man of ruth.
92.
"Do you recognise this bundle of ours?"
the farmer asks him straight.
"Those are handsome garments there,
fine, of the better weight."
93.
The rich man sends the sea-branch back,
gives his answer plain:
"Enjoy the clothes — they're yours to keep,
as you have earned and gained."
94.
He'd rather be left free and clear,
the cold-wave dealer said,
than have these clothes come back again —
perhaps, some other time instead.
95.
The magistrate's words and counsel thus
the farmer answered well;
he kept his bundle, headed home,
and thought it went quite swell.
96.
So he enjoyed them, wrapped in grace,
he and the thread-woman's kin;
the history of that household there
tells us nothing more within.
Envoi
97.
Of cunning and the art of craft,
old Cato once declared:
he said it was well, when there arrived
a hook against a snare prepared.
98.
So it went in the tale here told,
between the men and wife;
the wise and worthy oak-of-waves
won them all with skill and life.
99.
She kept her honour and her troth
with decency and pride,
while the mockery spread through all the land,
those breakers of the giant-tide.
100.
It shall not astonish me at all,
though the wretched lose their guard,
when so few can mend their ways —
the chiefs themselves fall just as hard.
101.
This I find for thanks indeed,
to Him who fashioned all:
that honest simplicity stands firm,
while the great in cunning fall.
102.
The Lord's grace defends us well,
we wretches, His own fold;
the world's and the flesh's wiles
He can cause to wane and grow cold.
103.
May victory be certain for them all,
the willow-treasure's friends and thanes,
so that we come home redeemed with honour,
through the sorrows' narrow lanes.
104.
He begs who composed these errands
for the ground of Móinn's steeds —
for Þorvaldur, who made the request,
gentle fortune's seeds.
105.
He bids him judge it graciously,
and speak of it with care;
sincere within the thought-hall's veil —
your servant, standing there.
Colophon
Bóndakonuríma ("The Ríma of the Farmer's Wife") is a single ríma of 105 stanzas in ferskeytt metre (ABAB), preserved in Nokkrar rímur og kvæði (Reykjavík, 1906), pp. 50–63. The poet is anonymous; the ríma is commissioned for a man named Þorvaldur (st. 3, 104). The composition date is unknown but likely 17th–18th century.
The poem belongs to the fabliaux tradition — a tale of sexual trickery in which a clever wife outwits her suitors. Three powerful men — the mayor, the church clerk, and the magistrate — court the beautiful wife of a poor farmer. She devises a scheme: the farmer pretends to leave town but hides nearby. When each suitor comes to her bed, the farmer hammers on the door with curses; the terrified man flees naked into the night. The wife collects all three sets of clothes. The farmer then takes the bundle to church for public identification — each man, recognising his own garments, denies ownership rather than face humiliation. The farmer keeps the clothes.
The mansöngr (st. 1–22) is unusually long, with extended moral reflection on sin, power, and the tricks of the mighty — framing the fabliaux not as bawdy entertainment but as moral instruction. The envoi (st. 97–105) returns to this theme, citing Cato and praising honest simplicity over the cunning of the powerful.
The OCR text (Google Books digitization) contains numerous scanning artifacts, broken ligatures, and misread characters. All readings are best-effort from the available source.
Translated from Icelandic by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026. This is the first known complete English translation.
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Source Text
Ríma af einni Bóndakonu
1.
Dvalins læt eg dælu-jór
dragast tals úr sandi,
vatnsdaufur þó bifurs bjór,
berist að heyrnar landi,
2.
Oóðkunningi bar mér blað,
bón sú þar með fylgdi,
þegar eg liti' og læsi það,
í ljóð upp setja skyldi,
3.
Skilaði fyrir merkan mann,
er mætar dygðir pryða,
sagði að heiti Þorvald þann,
þektann góðu víða.
4.
Mín er næsta mentin stöð,
að miðla sónar blandi,
fyrstu neita klénri kvöð,
kalla' eg ógjörandi.
5.
Máltak gamalt mun eg því.
mér til dæmis kynna,
að geitakofa ei sé í,
ullu gott að finna.
6.
Svo fer það, et mætti mig,
maður nokkur biðja,
fjalars staupi fyrir sig,
fram til gamans ryðja.
7.
Einu ef gengur á annann fast,
ótamt verk að gera,
mér þykir hann eigi' að ábyrgjast,
þó ördugtkynni að vera.
8.
Það er til bóta þetta sinn,
þrösts á bát ef damla,
lér raskat ekki ritningin,
né rengist Credó gamla.
9.
Veit eg mér er varla hent,
að vanda ljóða iðju,
þetta svarar minni ment,
mærðar dikta' í smiðju.
10.
Þann sem bað um boðnar-pel,
þá böguna gjöri þylja,
bið eg hann að virða vel,
og vansemd kærleiks hylja.
11.
Af historíunni heyri' eg það,
heims um bygðar slotin,
vera mun, og víst er það,
víða pottur brotinn.
12.
Varhygð þyrfti' um veraldar tíð,
að vera hugföst manni,
alloftast því ár og síð,
alvara fylgir gamni.
13.
Þann sem vald og vizku ber,
með völtum heims fögnuði,
sérslíkastur satan er,
að svíkja hann frá guði.
14.
Sjá má ríkann svo sem hinn,
í synd og girndum röngum,
opt er frómlynd fátæktin,
þó foröktuð sé löngum.
15.
Voldugur drottinn veitir ráð,
vesælum frómum lyðum,
vélin snúist hafa í háð,
hjá hrekkjamönnum tíðum.
16.
Ef menn vildu eftir sjá,
út af spektar næmi,
í mörgum sögum mundi þá,
mega þar til dæmi.
17.
Þíðlíkt efni eitt eg hef,
auðs af fríðri línu,
í frostasnekkjur fram á bréf,
fært að gamni mínu.
18.
Rósamunda merka tel,
mætti hún slíkum órum,
dygg í ráðum dugði vel,
dómurunum fjórum.
19.
Í þeim kveiðist amors girnd,
auðs til gnár í fyrstu,
svo varð frá þeim sæmdin spyrnd,
að silfurgjaldið mistu.
20.
Aldrei meir sitt biðu barð,
brjótar mundarfanna,
erindisleysa úr því varð,
og afsjón peninganna.
21.
Illa byrjað oftast nær,
ilt með setning röngum,
illan líka orðstyr fær,
illa bjargast löngum.
22.
Mannsöngs glósa máls af krá,
mun að ending hneigjast,
historíuna hlýðið á,
hún skal nú fram segjast.
23.
Bónda einum byrti' eg frá,
brúði átti fróma,
álits fríð var auðargná,
untust þau með sóma.
24.
Fátækur var brjótur brands,
bú þó halda mundi,
foldin sögð er fullu bands,
fegri hverju sprundi.
25.
Þar sem hún lisa alhvít er,
orðshátt gamlan kenni,
skinnamakarinn skrifast hér,
skunda þangað nenni.
26.
Svo hefur gengið oft til enn,
enga þó til nefni,
girnst hafa löngum margir menn
motrar fagra gefni.
27.
Í einum stað þar allskamt frá
einn var borgmeistari,
sem bóndi og þessi bauga-ná
búskaps hreyfðu pari.
28.
Brann í ástar girnd hinn gildi,
gautur ljósa hylja,
merkja lætur hadda hildi,
hann sinn fulla vilja.
29.
Sama staðar kirkju klerkur,
kom á tal við hana,
ofur hægur og umgangs merkur,
eftir þeirra vana.
30.
Innilega brúði bað,
að bjarga sér nú viður,
studdur vizku stilti að,
og steypti' ei mörgu niður.
31.
Falleg þótti faldabrík,
fýsn ei parið heftir,
þó hún sé ei af reitum rík,
rak honum girndin eftir.
32.
Byfógetinn bar upp slíkt,
bað sinn vilja hylli,
allir töluðu lágt, en líkt,
lítið bar á milli.
33.
Nú voru þrír að tala til,
tvinna blíðrar gefni,
engu lofaði bauga-bil,
við bónda' er sagt hún nefni.
34.
Mér er, tér hann, til og frá,
ef tignar fengi' eg klæði,
fyrst mig stríðir fátækt á,
félaus erum við bæði.
35.
Vænti' eg ei sé vandalaust,
voldugum alls að synja,
beiskist þeirra blíða raust,
brátt á hefndir dynja.
36.
Því er mér hugur að þóknast heldur
þessu yfirvaldi,
en í þeim kvikni ilsku eldur,
svo okkur verði að gjaldi.
37.
Veigs hvað niftin viturlig,
vafin snild og dáðum,
mun eg leysa mig og þig,
ef mínum hlýðir ráðum.
38.
Breyttu' ei af þeim býð eg þér,
bóndinn hlýddi og þagði,
annars skeður okkur hér,
ektabrot, hún sagði.
39.
Fyrða láttu fá það spurt,
fold kvað elda rínar,
að reistur sértu í bæinn burt,
að borga skuldir þínar.
40.
Í leyndum heima ligg þú hér,
í laumi kyr þar eirir,
en ei lengra í frá mér,
en orð mín gjörvöll heyrir.
41.
Þá seggir koma í sæng hjá drós,
seyrðir amors línu,
þú sér ei inni loga ljós,
lengur í húsi mínu.
42.
Berja skaltu á bustarhjört,
og bið mig upp að ljúka,
orð þín séu' ei blíð né björt,
blótaðu' og nefndu púka.
43.
Kannske vinna klæði þér,
kunni eg með þeim ráðum,
en ektaskapar æran hér,
okkur haldist báðum.
44.
Síðan reisti bóndinn burt,
í bæinn upp á veginn;
borgmeistarinn það brátt fékk spurt
og brá við hjartans feginn.
45.
Fann og heilsar falda-gná,
fagurt bað og lagði,
haukastéttir herðar á,
hún, já, döpur sagði.
46.
Kættist af því komið var húm,
kveikt var ljós í ranni,
fór hann upp til fljóðs í rúm,
fötin geymdi svanni.
47.
Þegar hann hugði að krjúpa' á kné,
kvöldbæn' máske þylja,
slökkti hún ljós, sem sagt er sé,
samt að beggja vilja.
48.
Hart var barið högg á dyr,
svo heyrði víf og gestur,
vildi hann þá ei vera kyr,
því vinnutímann brestur.
49.
Bísna reiður bóndinn var,
blóti gjörði flíka,
ströndin guls ei stóð við par,
strjúk hún ofan líka.
50.
Upplauk dyrum auðarlaug,
ei varð fyrirstaðan,
á bak við þau í burtu smaug,
borgmeistarinn þaðan.
51.
Komst hann svo á flótta-för.
fyrr en leikið hafði,
ómak fái ein sú spjör,
utan á honum lafði.
52.
Hefði' í dyrum logað ljós,
og lýst verið eftir honum,
mundi þá hans mesta hrós,
minkað hafa að vonum.
53.
Fljóðið geymdi fötin öll,
féll að hennar ráðum,
bóndinn legst og bauga-þöll
bæði' í sæng með náðum.
54.
Kvöldið annað kemur þar,
klerkur að hitta svanna,
kinkaði kolli' og klókur var,
kvað sér mundi' ei banna.
55.
Kirkjumaður kvendi hjá
kunni blítt að láta,
en því tekur auðar-gná,
öllu' í sniðin máta.
56.
Lét svo þar til lykta skraf,
lágt við þöllu seima,
fótum öllum fór hann af,
og fékk henni þau að geyma.
57.
Hann er komin í hjónasæng,
hún nam ljósið slökkva,
barið var högg á hússins væng,
hart með blóti dökkva.
58.
Lézt stórreiður bauga-bör
bað hana upp að ljúka,
annað þorði ei auðarvör,
en til dyra að strjúka.
59.
Í laumi prestinn varar víf,
svo voða forðast kynni,
eg hygg að bóndinn hafi þitt líf,
ef hittir hann þig hér inni.
60.
Líneik tekur loku frá,
en lundur oturs gjalda,
hleypur inn, sem hraðast má,
í hús til eyju spalda.
61.
Hræddur prestur hokin stóð,
hafði ei náð til fata,
leizt honum sízt fyrir líf né blóð,
líðug mundi gata.
62.
Bar því harðast böl og sút
í brjósti um tilstand nauða,
hleypur til og arkar út,
upp á líf og dauða.
63.
Prestur í því flatur féll,
þá framhjá gjörði keyra,
grunaði bónda, og gaf honum skell,
hann gat ei náð til meira.
64.
Með svoddan móti sagði happ,
sér heim flyta lysti,
þakkaði lukku það hann slapp,
þó að fötin misti.
65.
Á leiðinni hvað lafði fraus,
lukka var það toldi,
líka sveið í lamdan daus,
svo lengi ei sitja þoldi.
66.
Þriðja kvöldið þegar í stað,
þangað mærð vill sveima,
byfógetann bar þar að,
en bóndinn sást ei heima.
67.
Talar hann við tvinnabrú,
tók að hressa geðið,
heilla lífið lofa mér nú,
sem lengi hef eg þig beðið.
68.
Fól lézt ekki faldagná,
fagurt þó hann léti,
svo kom loks um síðir þá,
sagt er hún góðu héti.
69.
Feginn kastar fötum hann,
flýtir sér að hátta,
lék alsollinn, vona vann,
veigsól mundi þar nátta.
70.
Líneik slökkti ljósið þar,
lézt sig viljug géfa,
bustar-hjörts á bringu var
barið högg með hnefa.
71.
Hræðslu stóra hringþöll bar,
hugsar aðferð slíka,
bál forreiður bóndinn var
og blótaði nokkuð líka.
72.
Til dyranna gengur dreiglagná
dygg frá loku ýtir,
bóndinn inn í bæinn þá,
brá sér strax með flýtir.
73.
Af gesti rennur gleðin þá,
gafst ei tóm að klæðast,
bakatil við baugagná,
bar sig út að læðast.
74.
Hræddum tókst það geira grér
að gat laumast þaðan,
en sú kvöl í brjósti ber,
bætti ei fata skaðann.
75.
Í nætur myrkri og nógri eymd,
nú varð heim að róla,
en fötin voru hjá fljóði geymd,
frá eg það harðan skóla.
76.
Ymist gekk hann eða skreið,
óttaðist vöku-kauða,
króknaður nærri' í kulda' og neyð,
komin í sjálfan dauða.
77.
Sárt er að vefja synda-hnút,
sjá má hér þess merkin.
Svona ganga sumum út
saurug myrkra-verkin.
78.
Klæðin góðu falið fékk,
foldin orma dynu,
fyrir ofan kistu, undir bekk,
og ein í rúmi sínu.
79.
Fékk nú bónda falda norn,
föt með kærleik blíðan,
batt hann þau í bagga-korn,
og bar til kirkju síðan.
80.
Lysti hann enga launung á,
leggja, sagðist vilja,
hverjir ættu, hann bað þá,
hér um sig ei dylja.
81.
Klæðin sagðist hafa hann,
í húsi fundið sínu,
en engann séð þar eignar-mann,
inni að gózi fínu.
82.
Borgmeistarann biðja fer,
brjótur orma skara,
með hagleg ráð að hjálpa sér,
hvernig með skal fara.
83.
Rínarelda-rjóður tér,
raunin brjóst vill spenna,
engin kenzl eg á þau ber,
en eitt vil eg þér kenna.
84.
Skrafa við prestinn skjóma-grér,
skryddan messu kjólnum,
bið hann að lýsa, bezt það er,
bagganum upp á stólnum.
85.
Flest þá verður fólkið við,
fyrr en sermon bresti;
þakkar bóndi lítið lið,
og leggur nú að presti.
86.
Í húsi mínu hrings hjá norn,
hitti' eg klæðnað fríðann,
batt eg hann í bagga-korn,
og bar hann hingað síðan.
87.
Kem eg með hann kirkju fíl,
svo kunni hann fram að vísa,
upp á stólnum óska vil,
að honum gjörið lýsa.
88.
Í ljós þá kann að leiða sig,
laufa einhver rjóður;
farið þér að því, fyrir mig
fallega! prestur góður.
89.
Bóklesarinn birsti sig,
bað hann reglu gætti,
það kemur varla viður mig,
í veglegu prests embætti.
90.
Frekur í ræðu framar tér:
falt ei þetta lét 'ann,
farðu strax og flýttu þér,
findu byfógetann.
91.
Af honum fleirum orðum náð,
ei gat hann með sanni,
kreikar nú fyrir klerksins ráð,
og kemur að ríkis-manni.
92.
Berið þér kenzl á bagga vorn?
bóndinn tér í lagi,
það eru falleg fata-korn,
fín, af skárra tagi.
93.
Sendir ríkur seima brátt,
svar á móti gefur:
fata njóta eins þú átt,
og aflað þeirra hefur.
94.
Vildi heldur vera frí,
veitir kólgu bríma,
en koma þessi klæðin í,
kann ske nokkurn tíma.
95.
Byfógetans boðum þeim,
bóndinn vel nam svara;
á bagga sínum heldur heim,
og haglega þótti fara.
96.
Naut svo þeirra náðum í,
og niftin frænings leira;
historían af hyski því,
hermir ekki meira.
97.
Um klókskapinn og kænsku-par,
Cató forðum sagði:
kvað það vel, þó kæmi þar,
krókur á móti bragði.
98.
Svo fór hér í sögðum leik,
seggja og vífs á milli,
viturlega vella eik,
vann þá meður snilli.
99.
Hélt svo æru og hjóna-trygð,
heiðarlega með sóma,
en gabbið liðu um breiða bygð,
brjótar jötna-dóma.
100.
Ekki skal mig undra neitt,
þó auma bresti varnir,
þá svo fá riði sínu breytt,
sjálfir höfðingjarnir.
101.
Það eg víst til þakka finn,
þeim sem skapaði' alla,
að ærleg stendur einfeldnin,
en oft stórvitrir falla.
102.
Herrans náð oss verndar vel,
vesalinga sína,
satansheims, og holdsins vél,
hann kann láta dvína.
103.
Sé þeim öllum sigurinn vís,
seljum auðs og þegnum,
svo hólpnir komist heim með prís,
görmungar í gegnum.
104.
Iskar sá, sem erindin kvað,
ygg fyrir móins grunda,
Þorvaldi, sem þar um bað,
þægra lukku-stunda.
105.
Biður hann að virða vel,
og vinsamlega mælir,
einlægur um þanka-þel,
þénustubúinn, sæll!
Source Colophon
From Nokkrar rímur og kvæði (Reykjavík: Prentsmiðja Ísafoldar, 1906), pp. 50–63. Digitized by Google Books. OCR text contains numerous scanning artifacts, broken ligatures, and misread characters from the original Fraktur type. All readings are best-effort.
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