He did not live long
After that. In the autumn 130
A deep wound appeared
In his neck, and he sickened.
He died very hard.
For a hundred days, fully,
No food passed his lips;
To the bone he was shrunken.
He laughed at himself:
'Tell me, truly, Matrona,
Now am I not like
A Korojin mosquito?' 140
"At times the old man
Would be gentle and patient;
At times he was angry
And nothing would please him;
He frightened us all
By his outbursts of fury:
'Eh, plough not, and sow not,
You downtrodden peasants!
You women, sit spinning
And weaving no longer! 150
However you struggle,
You fools, you must perish!
You will not escape
What by fate has been written!
Three roads are spread out
For the peasant to follow--
They lead to the tavern,
The mines, and the prison!
Three nooses are hung
For the women of Russia: 160
The one is of white silk,
The second of red silk,
The third is of black silk--
Choose that which you please!'
And Grandfather laughed
In a manner which caused us
To tremble with fear
And draw nearer together....
He died in the night,
And we did as he asked us: 170
We laid him to rest
In the grave beside Djoma.
The Grandfather lived
To a hundred and seven....
"Four years passed away then,
The one like the other,
And I was submissive,
The slave of the household,
For Mother-in-law
And her husband the drunkard, 180
For Sister-in-law
By all suitors rejected.
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