The dawn is approaching.
The peasants make ready 290
To cross by the ferry.
"Eh, Vlass," says the carter,
As, stooping, he raises
The span of his harness,
"Who's this on the ground?"
The Elder approaches,
And Klimka behind him,
Our seven as well.
(They're always most anxious
To see what is passing.) 300
Some fellow is lying
Exhausted, dishevelled,
Asleep, with the beggars
Behind some big logs.
His clothing is new,
But it's hanging in ribbons.
A crimson silk scarf
On his neck he is wearing;
A watch and a waistcoat;
His blouse, too, is red. 310
Now Klimka is stooping
To look at the sleeper,
Shouts, "Beat him!" and roughly
Stamps straight on his mouth.
The fellow springs up,
Rubs his eyes, dim with sleep,
And old Vlasuchka strikes him.
He squeals like a rat
'Neath the heel of your slipper,
And makes for the forest 320
On long, lanky legs.
Four peasants pursue him,
The others cry, "Beat him!"
Until both the man
And the band of pursuers
Are lost in the forest.
"Who is he?" our seven
Are asking the Elder,
"And why do they beat him?"
"We don't know the reason, 330
But we have been told
By the people of Tiskov
To punish this Shutov
Whenever we catch him,
And so we obey.
When people from Tiskov
Pass by, they'll explain it.
What luck? Did you catch him?"
He asks of the others
Returned from the chase.
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