“So help me the Promise, fair sirs,” said Isaac, even more alarmed than before, “as no such sounds ever crossed my lips! Alas! I am an aged beggar’d man⁠—I fear me a childless⁠—have ruth on me, and let me go!”

“Nay,” said the Friar, “if thou dost retract vows made in favour of holy Church, thou must do penance.”

Accordingly, he raised his halberd, and would have laid the staff of it lustily on the Jew’s shoulders, had not the Black Knight stopped the blow, and thereby transferred the Holy Clerk’s resentment to himself.

“By Saint Thomas of Kent,” said he, “an I buckle to my gear, I will teach thee, sir lazy lover, to mell with thine own matters, maugre thine iron case there!”

“Nay, be not wroth with me,” said the Knight; “thou knowest I am thy sworn friend and comrade.”

“I know no such thing,” answered the Friar; “and defy thee for a meddling coxcomb!”