Hath Anyone Else in the Tavern Noticed Sigbert Is Dead?

He hath been dead for a while, too.

Drinking oneself into a stupor is a common and fun way to acquit one’s humours of the many pangs of daily lyfe. Indeed, ‘twould be nigh on suspicious if a peasant were not to partake in such reckless indulgences from tyme to tyme.

But ‘tis also important not to drink oneself so blind that thou dies right there in the middle of the tavern.

Such seems to be the case with Sigbert the cowbrusher, who apparently hath been sitting here dead at the table with us for hours. ‘Tis hard to tell when exactly he died or precisely what the cause be, but his demise was inconspicuous enough to go almost completely unnoticed. Most e’eryone are still drinking and merrymaking and seem generally unaware of his lamented status.

At one point the barkeep e’en poured him another ale, despite the fact that he had clearly soiled himself and his toes were being eaten by a stray tomcat.

“Egad! That mangy tomcat ist always gnawing on Sigbert’s toes,” saidst Thomalkin the ropetwiner. “Leave him be!”

And that’s not e’en the lot of it. Honestly, methinks Gaadfried might be dead, too. But he also gets that way all the tyme. He got so drunk once he didn’t awaken for three days so we buried him out in the paddock. Next evening we went to the tavern and there he was again on his usual stool having an ale. He didn’t mention anything about being buried alive, so we just left it at that and got drunk again.

But concerning Sigbert, if no one’s going to so much as notice and the barkeep ist not going to kick us out on account of the dead body at our table, methinks the only thing to do ist to keep enjoying ourselves.