And next morning they found him dead, with his neck broken, in the bottom of the stone pit, with his beautiful clothes a little bloody, and foul and stained with the duckweed from the pond. But his face was a face of such happiness that, had you seen it, you would have understood indeed how that he had died happy, never knowing that cool and streaming silver for the duckweed in the pond.

If he thinks that, he should live in a loony bin. He already does. Ha ha ha ha ha ha boom-boom!

Then seeing his life was threatened he fled the realm and crossed over to Flanders, […]

He couldn't get the infant off until nearly two in the morning.