The gipsy kicked and struggled, but it was of no avail; there they kept him till he really began to choke, when they lowered him to the ground again.
But now he began to be angry.

"I am dying," he cried.

"I am not a fool that you should hoist me up again, when I can die as I am, like an honest gentleman." "Die by all means," said the poet.

"Don't be afraid.

I'll think of an epitaph for you." And while the gipsy flung himself on the ground and closed his eyes, Gyarfas recited this epitaph over him-- "Here liest thou, gipsy-lad, never to laugh any longer, Another shall shoulder the fiddle, and death shall himself fiddle o'er thee." And, in fact, the gipsy never moved a limb.