He bides below the town in a great house of stone, and entertains our Prince Miller's Son's archers.

I will bring all that are sober of them." "God help us then!" quoth Jorian; "it is past eleven o' the clock, and as I know them man by man, there will not be so much as one left able to prop up another by this time!" "Aha!" cried the head above; "you say that because you know the archers.
But I say I shall bring full twenty of them--because I know the strength of the Burgomeister's ale.

Hold the place for half an hour and twenty right sober men shall ye have." And with that the Lubber Fiend disappeared in a final avalanche of brick-dust and clay clods.
He was gone, and half an hour was a long time to wait.

Yet in such a case there was nothing for it but to stand it out.

So I besought the maids to retire again to their inner chamber, into which, at least, neither bullets nor arrows could penetrate.