Vardiello was in trouble.  Trouble made him think of food.

“I’d best go eat the hen,”  he said.  “She will not have a brood.”

He plucked her, then he cooked her and he laid her on a plate

and was about to eat her when he thought of something.  “Wait.”

He went into the cellar where he opened up a tap

to pour himself a glass of wine.  But then he heard, “Yap-yap!”

He rushed upstairs in time to see the dog had grabbed the hen.

He chased the dog, retrieved the bird, and brought it back again.

By now wine from the open tap had poured out on the floor.

He tried to sop it up with flour.  The mess grew even more.

He feared to face his mother when she found out what he’d done,

so he took that pot of poisoned nuts and ate them, every one.

He hid inside the oven and he waited there to die. 

He heard his mother’s footsteps and he heard her shriek, “Oh, my!”

The hen, the mess, the walnuts, and Vardiello not in sight....

“Where are you son?” she sighed.  “Come out.  You’re going to be all right.

It wasn’t really poison.  But the hen and chicks are dead.

You meant no harm, but now we’ll have to sell this cloth instead.

Take it to town.  Get what you can.  Be careful what you do

or folk who use too many words will get the best of you.”

“     I know what I’m about,” Vardiello said, “and I’ll do well.”

    He went into the town and cried, “I have some cloth to sell.”

    But whenever someone asked, “How much?”  or even, “Let me see,”

    Vardiello said, “Too many words.  You’re not the man for me."