caterwauling of a cat in the gutter? Nevertheless, Sir Knight, I drink this cup to thee, to the success of all true lovers—I fear you are none,” he added, on observing that the knight (whose brain began to be heated with these repeated draughts) qualified his flagon from the water pitcher.
“Why,” said the knight, “did you not tell me that this water was from the well of your blessed patron, St. Dunstan?”
“Ay, truly,” said the hermit, “and many a hundred of pagans did he baptize there, but I never heard that he drank any of it. Everything should be put to its proper use in this world. St. Dunstan knew, as well as anyone, the prerogatives of a jovial friar.”
And so saying, he reached the harp, and entertained his guest with the following characteristic song, to a sort of derry-down chorus, appropriate to an old English ditty.
I’ll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain, To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain ; But ne’er shall you find, should you search till you tire, So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar. Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career, And is brought home at evensong prick’d through with a spear; I confess him in haste—for his lady desires No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar’s. Your monarch?—Pshaw! many a prince has been known To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown, But which of us e’er felt the idle desire To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar! The Friar has walk’d out, and where’er he has gone, The land and its fatness is mark’d for his own; He can roam