There did live once a sleepy man who'd snooze away the day, and slumber deep as cow and crook would make off with his hay. He'd rake again, the very next, and lament his undoing, but afterward, he'd choose to sleep, neglectful of his shooing. He slept so much that mountains sprites those nasty mischief-makers, hatched plan one night to make things right and filled up their dream-shakers. They stole upon the sleeping gent young Yyeirdoyesst his name was, and covered him from head to toe in sparkling shiny sleep-dust. You did too much (said leader-sprite, admonishing his cousin) for now this man will sleep not nights but years – perhaps five dozen. The sprites they panicked, cried and fled, they raced on back to hearths they knew, they wailed and gnashed and foamed with dread, young Yyeirdoyesst they left for dead. But here a goddess came along, her life a careless happy song, she saw the poor man sitting there, with ruddy cheeks and golden hair, and spied the mischief all too soon, and bore him off for home, the moon. Oh what is done?! (she cried aloud, remembering the veils and shrouds that guard the waters of the moon from mortal man's intrusion) act is act, for worse or better; with me he stays but not in fetters. And so she ceased his magic slumber, hoping he would soon recover. Yyeirdoyesst he sat upright, looked around, realized his plight, shrugged his shoulders, lay back down, then bid the goddess fair good-night. Enraged his sloth did made her, mere death it could not slake her, she quickly conjured up his doom, then cast his mug upon the moon, then cast his body down below, and now his face will ever show, on lunar surface brightly.
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
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