“When didst thou drink as deep a drought of water before, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst ?” said the Black Knight.

“Never since my wine-butt leaked, and let out its liquor by an illegal vent,” replied the friar, “and so left me nothing to drink but my patron’s bounty here.”

Then plunging his hands and head into the fountain, he washed from them all marks of the midnight revel.

Thus refreshed and sobered, the jolly priest twirled his heavy partisan round his head with three fingers, as if he had been balancing a reed, exclaiming at the same time, “Where be those false ravishers, who carry off wenches against their will? May the foul fiend fly off with me, if I am not man enough for a dozen of them.”

“Swearest thou, Holy Clerk?” said the Black Knight.