“It does not please my reverence,” answered the churchman, “that there should be such an animal as a drunken priest, or, if there were, that a layman should so speak him. Be mannerly, my friend, and conclude the holy man only wrapt in meditation, which makes the head dizzy and foot unsteady, as if the stomach were filled with new wine⁠—I have felt it myself.”

“Well, then,” answered Father Dennet, “a holy brother came to visit the Sacristan at Saint Edmund’s⁠—a sort of hedge-priest is the visitor, and kills half the deer that are stolen in the forest, who loves the tinkling of a pint-pot better than the sacring-bell, and deems a flitch of bacon worth ten of his breviary; for the rest, a good fellow and a merry, who will flourish a quarterstaff, draw a bow, and dance a Cheshire round, with e’er a man in Yorkshire .”

“That last part of thy speech, Dennet,” said the Minstrel, “has saved thee a rib or twain.”